standing alone in a little window of fresh air.
There wasn’t a train waiting over on this side and there were no people clogging up the view neither. I hugged the bag close to my chest – Lucca had travelled light – and swayed from left to right, craning my neck to see if anyone came through the steam. There was a rumbling noise, and then a bulky shadow in the smoke ahead gathered itself into a porter’s trolley stacked so high I couldn’t see the man behind pushing it. It was coming towards me and coming fast.
I stepped aside to let it pass, only it didn’t. It swerved and came straight at me, the metal rollers gnawing at the platform as it gathered speed. I dodged to the right, but the trolley swung towards me again. The teetering packing cases strapped together in a pyramid taller than a man juddered and slipped to one side at the sharp change of direction.
I still couldn’t see the porter, but I called out to warn him I was there. The words became a yelp of pain as the metal-bound corner of one of the trunks stacked aboard clipped the edge of my left leg, sending me and Lucca’s bag toppling over the platform edge and down onto the track below. I lay there, stunned I think, for a second. The bag had fallen into the middle of the track just ahead of me. It had broken open and was lying on its side. Bits and pieces had spilled out and something white, a shirt perhaps, was flapping about almost indecently over the cinders. Lucca wouldn’t be happy.
I blinked hard as I lay there and thought I should go and pick it all up. My ears were ringing from the fall, but then I realised that the noise was coming from somewhere outside my head.
The metal rail below my cheek was singing. Something was coming.
I snatched myself up onto all fours in the cinders and twisted my neck to look back down the track. Two golden eyes blinked in the steam and a whistle fit to wake the dead ripped through the air. I tried to stand, but the coarse hem of my coat was caught up in the bolts holding the rail. I yanked hard but it wouldn’t come free.
I could feel my heart going off like a steam hammer. The rail beneath my left boot was shuddering now as the approaching engine grumbled into the platform. I screamed for help but my voice was lost in the rumble and metal of the oncoming train.
Where was old dander and buttons when I needed him, I thought?
Buttons?
I ripped at the horn buttons on my travel coat, there wasn’t time to undo them – I just tore like a wild cat. Mostly they popped off, but two at the bottom were stubborn buggers. It didn’t matter. I’d freed myself enough to shrug my way out of the straitjacket.
Still holding the shape of my arms and body, it crumpled like the rough grey case of a new-minted butterfly, as I sprinted off down the track past Lucca’s broken bag, holding up the skirts of my good blue dress for fear of tripping over them. If I could just get enough speed up to hurl myself over the platform edge, I stood a chance.
The engine was less than six foot behind when I jumped. I could feel its lick on the back of my neck as I cleared the brick-lined edge and rolled aside.
‘ Mon Dieu, c’est une fille! ’ A gentleman with a fine pair of mutton chop whiskers living around his ears stared down at me in alarm. He didn’t even try to help me up, just rolled his eyes as he took in the grease stains on my skirt and the hair falling loose from the roll on my head.
The train juddered to a halt. Immediately, shiny black carriage doors clattered open along the side like toppling dominoes. The gent was blocked from view by a woman in a vast hooped skirt thirty years past its prime, like its owner. I caught the sour breath of old moth and fresh piss as she stepped down over me and billowed between us.
I struggled, unaided, to my feet. The platform was almost solid now with the heaving mass of passengers alighting from the train that nearly killed me. What time was it? I pushed against the flow and
There wasn’t a train waiting over on this side and there were no people clogging up the view neither. I hugged the bag close to my chest – Lucca had travelled light – and swayed from left to right, craning my neck to see if anyone came through the steam. There was a rumbling noise, and then a bulky shadow in the smoke ahead gathered itself into a porter’s trolley stacked so high I couldn’t see the man behind pushing it. It was coming towards me and coming fast.
I stepped aside to let it pass, only it didn’t. It swerved and came straight at me, the metal rollers gnawing at the platform as it gathered speed. I dodged to the right, but the trolley swung towards me again. The teetering packing cases strapped together in a pyramid taller than a man juddered and slipped to one side at the sharp change of direction.
I still couldn’t see the porter, but I called out to warn him I was there. The words became a yelp of pain as the metal-bound corner of one of the trunks stacked aboard clipped the edge of my left leg, sending me and Lucca’s bag toppling over the platform edge and down onto the track below. I lay there, stunned I think, for a second. The bag had fallen into the middle of the track just ahead of me. It had broken open and was lying on its side. Bits and pieces had spilled out and something white, a shirt perhaps, was flapping about almost indecently over the cinders. Lucca wouldn’t be happy.
I blinked hard as I lay there and thought I should go and pick it all up. My ears were ringing from the fall, but then I realised that the noise was coming from somewhere outside my head.
The metal rail below my cheek was singing. Something was coming.
I snatched myself up onto all fours in the cinders and twisted my neck to look back down the track. Two golden eyes blinked in the steam and a whistle fit to wake the dead ripped through the air. I tried to stand, but the coarse hem of my coat was caught up in the bolts holding the rail. I yanked hard but it wouldn’t come free.
I could feel my heart going off like a steam hammer. The rail beneath my left boot was shuddering now as the approaching engine grumbled into the platform. I screamed for help but my voice was lost in the rumble and metal of the oncoming train.
Where was old dander and buttons when I needed him, I thought?
Buttons?
I ripped at the horn buttons on my travel coat, there wasn’t time to undo them – I just tore like a wild cat. Mostly they popped off, but two at the bottom were stubborn buggers. It didn’t matter. I’d freed myself enough to shrug my way out of the straitjacket.
Still holding the shape of my arms and body, it crumpled like the rough grey case of a new-minted butterfly, as I sprinted off down the track past Lucca’s broken bag, holding up the skirts of my good blue dress for fear of tripping over them. If I could just get enough speed up to hurl myself over the platform edge, I stood a chance.
The engine was less than six foot behind when I jumped. I could feel its lick on the back of my neck as I cleared the brick-lined edge and rolled aside.
‘ Mon Dieu, c’est une fille! ’ A gentleman with a fine pair of mutton chop whiskers living around his ears stared down at me in alarm. He didn’t even try to help me up, just rolled his eyes as he took in the grease stains on my skirt and the hair falling loose from the roll on my head.
The train juddered to a halt. Immediately, shiny black carriage doors clattered open along the side like toppling dominoes. The gent was blocked from view by a woman in a vast hooped skirt thirty years past its prime, like its owner. I caught the sour breath of old moth and fresh piss as she stepped down over me and billowed between us.
I struggled, unaided, to my feet. The platform was almost solid now with the heaving mass of passengers alighting from the train that nearly killed me. What time was it? I pushed against the flow and
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