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On the Train

  A second short story

  By Christine Brand

  Copyright 2014 Christine Brand

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  Also available: On the Terrace - a short story

  "This is Haslemere, this train is for London Waterloo, the next station is Godalming."

  I sit down in a seat where I have a good vantage point of the carriage. The doors close with a few beeps and I hear the whistle blow. The train pulls away.

  "This is your guard speaking, I'd like to welcome you aboard this service and remind passengers that safety information is displayed in all carriages. If you require any assistance on your journey I am located towards the front of this five coach train."

  I look out the window. It is evening, the tree tops a little darker than the sky above. Mostly all I see is the reflection of the passengers in the carriage. It is after rush hour, not many people on board, but there are a few familiar faces, people I see regularly. I sit in the quiet coach; it is not always quiet, but a least it is not loud. People are usually too polite, or timid to complain when someone is making noise. I count eight other passengers today.

  A spaniel bounds in from the next carriage, sniffing voraciously at everything. A young man follows behind at the end of a thick black lead. The dog is wagging her tail excitedly and all of the passengers smile as she passes. One old lady, I call her Knitting Nancy, holds out her hand and the spaniel gives it a quick lick, Waggy's human mumbles an apology as Knitting Nancy pats her on the head. Nancy wipes her hand on a tissue she pulls from her sleeve, and then returns to her knitting.

  The young man looks at each group of seats as he passes, moving straight through when he doesn't find what he is looking for.

  Knitting Nancy is making a small jumper today in lush pink yarn, I can hardly believe how fast she knits, not even looking at her needles as they click, click away and the garment grows. In the summer she stares out the window, but when it is dark she watches the other passengers. I often wonder if she comes to the same conclusions as I do. I don't know how far Nancy travels because I leave the train at Guildford, but I see her two or three times a week and she never has the same article twice.

  Today she is watching a pair of teenagers I have not seen before, playing air hockey or something similar, on a tablet. Peacock seems to be winning, while Mouse looks happy to let her win. I sense that Mouse will defer to Peacock in most matters. I notice that both girls are wearing Dr Marten's boots; Mouse has standard black and Peacocks' are Floral patterned. Everything Peacock has apart from her school uniform is patterned, none of them match, but the overall effect manages to look quite trendy. Although the girls have made an effort to change out of their uniform it is obvious they have not been home yet.

  There is a married couple sitting behind the girls, Mr and Mrs Bicker. They are regulars, every Tuesday to see 'Emily', who I take to be their daughter. Mr Bicker seems to delight in playing devil's advocate to any opinion Mrs Bicker has, although tonight they are strangely quiet.

  Diamond Geezer stumbles into the carriage lurching from seat to seat and causing Nancy to adopt a disapproving frown.

  "What you looking at," he slurs at no one in particular as he raises his can of cider to stop it spilling as the train sways.

  Diamond Geezer brushes past me, leaving a strange waft of soap powder and cider in his wake. He walks towards the last passenger, a middle-aged lady with bright red hair, a colour that although it suits her, looks like it was designed for a much younger person. Her Coat is a similar colour to her hair, with darker panels at the sides. She is wearing a lilac tunic underneath it, with black trousers and sensible shoes; I think she must work in a care home. She looks both strong and capable, like a caricature of a nurse.

  "The next station is Godalming; please mind the gap between the train and the platform edge."

  I almost hope Diamond Geezer stops to talks to Apple Lady as I suspect she will take no nonsense from anyone, but I feel a small relief as he moves through to the next carriage. Once before he has sat down here, and started loudly singing 'rugby club' songs before being reminded that this is the quiet coach. The friendly guard chatting to him as he ushered him through to an emptier carriage.

  Apple Lady does not have any fruit today, but when I see her on her way to work the late shift she is usually munching on a shiny green Granny Smith, and reading a Mills and Boon type novel. An actual book, dog eared around the corners. I wonder if she has a library full of such books for the old dears in the care home.

  I feel the train slowing; two men in suits and raincoats stand up and make their way to the doors. When the doors open the two commuters step carefully off the train. I haven't had an opportunity to observe them as they sat at the far end of the coach. We don't often have commuters this late, as mostly they are going the other way, coming from London. I look out onto the brightly lit station. A woman is waiting by the stairs to the underpass, holding hands with a young girl in a blue patterned jacket and stripy woollen hat and mittens. The woman points along the platform and the girl jumps up and down waving.