Wednesday, 4 April 2012

The 16.45 to Westby.

This blog post is also published on Tearose Blog.


Light as a feather, she made her way through the crowded carriages, searching; gazing into each face, looking at every passenger; he must be here somewhere.
The train was packed with commuters, shoppers, day-trippers and holiday makers. No-one moved out of her way and she cursed quietly to herself as she almost fell over a student who was sitting on his back-pack, in the middle of the aisle. Claire wrinkled her pretty nose in disgust,  the guy obviously needed to bathe more often, but he sat there , fiddling with a loose molar, totally oblivious to her presence.
Some little boy in a Western outfit, complete with toy gun and stetson, dropped the orange he was peeling and Claire watched as it rolled under the dustier of the two seats next to her. She bent to retrieve it , but a chap grabbed it and, smiling ruefully, handed it back to the lad, who pouted and threw it, ungratefully, to the floor. Then Claire observed him methodically kick the facia on the next seat, while his Mother continued reading her 'chick-lit'.
Claire pushed on, anxiously searching; he must be on this train, he always caught the 16.45, where was he ?
Carriage after carriage was searched and she became tearful and distraught. Trying to catch her breath, she sat down next to a group of business men, all discussing the pros and cons of various tyres. The man nearest to her, dressed in a smart, dark grey, city suit, was extolling the virtues of some special radials that he had recently bought. Claire touched his arm and tried to speak to him, maybe he had seen Mark. But the chap ignored her and carried on with his tale and Claire rose in disappointment.

                                 " Ponces ! " she thought, as she pushed on and on through chattering passengers, " no-one cares !! "

On she went , through carriage after carriage, some people were reading, others listening to iPods and some were beginning to gather belongings, anticipating their destination. Claire felt sick, she had to find him, she had to warn him. Tears poured down her cheeks as she came to the last carriage. She was frantic now, her red hair streaming out behind her, her eyes wild with fear as she scanned the faces of the final few passengers. The train was speeding towards the level crossing. She hadn't found him; she would have to try tomorrow .....................................................................

The 16.45 pulled into Westby, startling a pigeon, who flew up into the roof of the station, flapping in alarm. The passengers alighted and dispersed, other travellers boarded, there was a flurry of activity on the platform and then the train departed and all was calm. The ticket collector chatted casually to a couple who were waiting for their train,

                                " Oh, aye, youse want the next train, me ducks ! That were the 16.45 ", he nodded knowledgeably and sucked on a hollow tooth,  " Aye, unlucky train, that 16.45 ........ Big crash t'other month at the level crossing back there, "  He pointed with a nicotine stained finger,  " A bloke killed ... would've been ok but he were standing up to look for a glimpse o' is girl. But the worst was when't blokes girl-friend threw 'erself  off't platform th'  next day. Distraught, she were.  Threw  'erself  right in front of't 16.45, she did ..........Aye , shame, Claire Hudson were a right bonny lass "

Light as a feather, she made her way through the crowded carriages, searching .....................................



This is this weeks entry for Matt's word game and contains the words ;

          Feather, Molar,  Western, Orange, Bathe, Dustier, Ponces, Radials, Group, Facia, Pigeon.

If you would like to join in just visit Matt's blog page at http://miblodelcarpio.blog.co.uk/ for rules and links to previous entries.

1 comment:

  1. Once again you blow me away with your writing abilities. I looked at your other blog page, it is lovely.

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