Wow. Look at you! I guess there are plenty of other seats, but I guess you never know, “Is this seat taken?”
“There are plenty of others” irritated by another interruption, Michelle didn’t look up from her essay.
“Oh. Well …?” then again, I guess maybe sometimes you do!
She sighed, “Does it look like it?” her eyes still firmly fixed on the page, pen poised.
Terry sat on the opposite side of the table from her. What the heck. I’ve asked. I’d seem daft, or rude … or something … If I don’t sit. Anyway, one stop is less than ten minutes. Can’t speak to her though. She’s obviously working on something important. Terry placed his laptop bag on the seat next to him, then turned to stare out of the window at the passing scenery.
For a few minutes the pair stayed like that. Michelle trying to pick up her thread; Terry watching the industrial estate slide by.
Wow. Nice aftershave. Pen still on the page, without lifting her head, Michelle glanced up. Cool suit too. Damn. Now, I’d quite like to chat. She sniffed, trying to get his attention, “None of the others would do, then?” That didn’t come out quite right!
Terry flicked her a quick glance, “If it bothers you that much, I’ll move” and grasped the strap of his laptop bag.
“Hey, no. It’s … ” He looks a bit older than me. She tried to hide a smile, and wealthier. She gave a quick tug at the neck of her T-Shirt, then scratched at the denim above the rip across her knee, “… It’s a free country. Sit where you like. I m …” A free country! What was that all about?
Free country?! What, do you think you own this train! “No. That’s okay. I’m only on for the one stop. Like you said, plenty of other seats.” Terry turned his head and began to stand. Damn. She is gorgeous. Why did I say that?
No need to be that annoyed about it. Don’t you want to talk? Maybe it’s my clothes, Michelle wondered? Maybe you know you’re better off than me? “Well, suit yourself” she looked back down at the page.
I bet you think I’m a proper stiff, wearing this get up? And I guess you’re bit younger than me? Trust my luck that I meet you the day of my interview. Terry was half out of his seat, staring down at the top of her head, “Erm … Do you know how much longer until the next stop?”
Michelle lifted her head. He has lovely eyes too. Then she caught sight of the approaching station canopy, she smiled and flicked her chin at the window, “About thirty seconds. What’s y … ?”
“Well I guess …” Standing, Terry turned to look out of the window, as the first of the platform signs came into view, “Well … What’s, what?”. He swayed, as the train began to break.
Gorgeous accent too. Why did this start out like this? I’ve got another week before this damn essay needs to be in. “Your name? What’s your name?” Michelle painted her very brightest smile on her face. Maybe he can stay on for another stop? There’ll be a train coming back the other way soon enough
This is the first job interview I’d had in four months. Why would you suddenly start talking now?! “My names …”. The electronic voice began announcing the station, making him pause.
Michelle watched him lift his bag onto his shoulder, then step awkwardly out into the aisle. Oh well. But what a shame, “It’s what?” she called, as the announcement stopped, and he turned his back and began to walk away. Two rows away, Terry turned back at the sound of her voice, almost bumping into one of the seats as he hurried on, “Terry” he called, “Nice to have met you”, then he turned back around and began to hurry for the doors.
The chimes had already begun as Terry rushed from the train, laptop bag banging against his thigh. He turned, started to head left, changed his mind, turned around. Fumbling in the inside pocket of his suit jacket for his phone, he peered up at the station signage, trying to find an exit. The correct exit.
Sixteen minutes to the interview, the large text on the lock screen shouted at him, as he pressed his thumb to unlock. Right. The exit was left. He turned again and began to head back the other way, walking too quickly to be able to pull up the map and get directions to the location.
Cab. There would be a cab. All stations have a rank. He hurried down the steps, still unable to get the maps working, trying to hold the laptop bag still with his free hand. Left. Into the tunnel that ran toward a road.
Daylight. The outskirts of an industrial estate. He swung his gaze this way and that. Low grey metal and plastic buildings, emblazoned with logos and names of companies he did not know.
No cabs.
He stopped walking. Breathing hard, despite the relatively short walk. His thumb unlocked the phone once more. The map sprung up and he pressed to locate himself, then tried to key in the address, struggling to move the laptop bag out of the way. He paused. Took a couple of deep breaths. Popped the phone into his outside jacket pocket, then lowered the laptop bag to the pavement. Phone back out the map popped up again. Now two handed he keyed in the address.
A fifteen-minute walk. He flicked his glance to the time. In thirteen minutes. Thirteen.
Can’t make a bad impression. Mustn’t be late. This was the first interview he’d secured in four months. Despite who knew how many applications; how many CVs posted to a myriad job sites; the connections of his LinkedIn tree shaken so hard a few branches had apparently fallen off. Thirteen minutes.
He grabbed the strap of the notebook bag and yanked it up toward his shoulder. The strap came loose from the rings holding it and the bag tumbled to the floor.
No cabs. How could there be no cabs?! He stooped, fumbled but finally plucked the bag from the floor, then set off at a pace, desperately trying to get the hooks back into the rings so that he could sling the notebook over his shoulder. A hundred yards down the pavement and his phone chimed in above the anxiety in his head … Turn around. Turn around.
He stopped. Cursed. Spun around and headed back toward the station exit. Still fourteen minutes to his destination. Eleven minutes to go. He broke into a jog, but felt the sweat slick his shirt to his back before he had gone six steps. He slowed, back to a walk. Get a grip. The direction timer was always wrong.
There was maintenance to pay. One of each, Emily – the eldest – just gone six years old; now at school; costing more. The payments had been reduced, as agreed, since his last contract had been cut short. However, the embarrassment of not being able to pay as required was way worse than the pain of the overdraft and credit card bills that were – barely – filling that gap. He was down to one meal a day. No outings. Hardly any nights out.
He quickened his pace. Not running, but walking so fast that he might as well be.
Seven minutes to his destination. Two minutes to go.
Can’t be late. Can’t let the kids down.
One minute to his interview slot. Five minutes to go. Frantically staring up at the names and logos of the few – now brick and glass– buildings that displayed them. Maybe the location was wrong? Maybe it would be this next one? No. Maybe the next?
Late.
His head slumped a little as his pace quickened, the shirt now plastered to his back. As he forced up his gaze, something caught his eye. Something shiny bounced away along the pavement. His gaze drawn to it as he was about to pass.
A penny.
He almost walked past it. Almost. Then stopped, stooped and fumbled it up from the floor. For a moment he stared at it, staring back up at him from the palm of his hand. He shoved it into his pocket and continued on.
Four minutes late. He crashed through the doors and glanced about frantically, spied the small reception desk and hurried over. A woman smiled up at him as he approached.
“Mr S …” he was out of breath, unable to get out the name. He gulped in air. “Sanson”
“For the interviews?”
He nodded, still breathing hard.
“May I take your name?”
“Terry. Terry Clamp” finally, a little breath had come.
The woman looked down. Taped on a keyboard. Looked up at a screen.
“Terry” a wide smile, “Mr Sanson apologies. He’s running around nine minutes late. Can you take a seat?”
Terry beamed a smile, relief seemingly washing away the sweat, “Sure. No problem”
The coin. It’s wasn’t the coin. It was not. He told himself, over and over, as he made his way to the indicated soft chairs and table, beside the window with a view of the pond.
Face washed. Hair combed. Suit straight. A relaxed Terry Clamp strode confidently into Mr Sanson’s office. Shake hands. Maintain eye contact. Smile.
Fifty-one minutes later he emerged back into the daylight, notebook bag held by the handle, down by his thigh and plucked his phone from his inside pocket.
“Hey, Alison. You alright?”
She bitched and moaned in his ear. When there was finally a pause, “Yeah. Well don’t worry about it. Payments will be back where they should be at the end of the month” and clicked off the connection.
A cab stopped and after a moment, a couple of suited businessmen clambered out. Terry flicked a quick wave at the driver, who acknowledged with a nod. It was nothing to do with the coin. Nothing at all. Well … Maybe not directly?
Stupid. Stupid. This was just stupid.
Michelle stood from the bench seat and began to walk along the platform. The bridge across the tracks, to the other platform, was only a few yards away.
Why would he be at the station? He only got off the train, at the last stop, just thirty minutes ago. Why would he be back at the station so soon?
She climbed the first two steps.
What else do I have to do today? The essay will wait. Let’s face it, it’s waited long enough already – What will another couple of hours matter?
She stopped, stared down at her feet, then raised her head to look up at the sky.
What will I do if he isn’t there? Just get the next train back? How long should I wait? He was dressed for work. He could be wherever that is, all day. Am I going to sit about and wait? What if he doesn’t get the train back … What if he didn’t come from the direction that he lives in the first place? He could have been at a meeting. Anything. What am I thinking?!
She climbed another handful of steps. Canvas bag bumping gently against her thigh.
He did seem kinda nice, though. And hey, it’s not every day I bump into someone like that. Heck. I hardly ever bump into someone like that.
She gritted her teeth. Cut it out. There’s no chance he’ll be back at the last station and no way I’ll ever see … Terry … again.
She climbed the rest of the steps to the walkway over the tracks, walked a few paces and then stopped, lent her arms on the barrier and stared out along the tracks. In the distance she saw a train approaching, it was headed back the way she had come.
Stupid. Just stupid.
The train slowed as it approached the gantry on which she stood. She watched as the engine slid beneath.
Stupid. Stupid me.
The train crawl up to the platform. She waited for the doors to open while the voice in her head screamed at her. She was only going to embarrass herself, or at the very least spend an hour or more sat alone on a platform to no useful purpose at all.
Michelle stood for a moment in the doorway of the carriage, turning her head to glance both ways along the platforms. A couple of people were waiting on the opposite side of the tracks, a few were boarding the train a carriage or two down from her. There was no sign of Terry.
He’s probably come back here and got a train already, the voice berated her. Or he won’t be coming back at all. Or he’ll be working late and you’ll be what, sat here after dark mooning over someone you barely met? Get a grip! The doors beeped. The first hiss as they began to close.
She jumped down onto the platform. The canvas bag – with her essay, books, purse, train pass and phone inside – caught in the doors. She tugged at it, began to walk, then jog beside the now moving train. The bag was caught fast. The train picking up speed. She pulled as hard as she could, then let go as the train outpaced her, the straps of her bag waving at her as she watched it trundle away.
Now what?!
She turned around. A train pulled up to the other platform. She looked for an exit sign. Saw one to the right and began to run. If she could stop that train a guard might help her out. The exit sign pointed down a flight of stairs. She clattered down them, then raced along the tunnel beneath the tracks. Another set of stairs, taken two at a time. Easy enough, but she heard the train begin to pull away before she was half way up. She came out on the platform to see its carriages sliding by.
Now both platforms were deserted.
Five minutes later she had descended the stairs to the staffed ticket booths, which were closed. A little further along, two automated ticket machines laughed at her lack of cash and her missing phone with its electronic wallet. Miraculously there was a pay phone … If she could remember the number for any of her friends, she might have called reverse. The timetables showed another train, back toward her room in the shared house, in forty minutes. Maybe that guard would take pity on her?
She wandered out of the station tunnel and on to a pavement bathed in sunshine. At least that was something. She heaved in a breath and sat down on a low wall. Half an hour of sunbathing. Life wasn’t so bad – Even if she would have to figure out how to block her phone and cancel her cards, when she got back.
“Hey” Terry returned his gaze to the back of the cabby’s head, “the station’s that way” and pointed uselessly back toward a road they had just passed.
“Rank’s on the other side” the driver called, “Just takes a minute to circle around”
“Oh” Terry sat back – laughing at himself for his earlier mistake – and watched the plastic and metal buildings slide by.
That minute later he tapped his phone on the cabby’s handset, then grabbed his notebook bag and clambered out, “Cheers” slammed the door and turned to head for the entrance.
Sat on a low wall, just beside the entrance, was the most gorgeous looking …
The penny felt like a five-kilo weight, tugging at his trouser leg.
It was nothing to do with the coin. Nothing. At. All.
*