Flotsam

Two couples unite on the platform.  The men shake hands. The women smile broadly, from the mouth and not the eyes.  The one man, who had removed his right glove for the greeting, removes the left and ushers the opposite couple into the station bar.  His smile disintegrates as he turns back at the lady who accompanied him.  She nods and leaves.  The man follows the other couple inside.

A station porter pushes a trolley down the platform, taking granny steps so as not to leave his charge lagging.  She walks with a stick, bent of back yet upright of spirit.  They find a bench against a wall, out of the breeze.  He hovers as she sits, lest a guiding hand is needed.  Once sat, she smiles and begins to tell him about life in East Africa.  His family came from there in the seventies and so, when she offers him a sweet from a tube he feels enough rapport to break a habit and accept.  They laugh together, strangers who make friends easily.  He tells her his wife is expecting their first daughter.  They have decided to call her Carmen.

Three girls with shopping bags, the fancy type made of thin card with soft cord handles, giggle through the turnstile.  Boys are stupid, they all agree, and then proceed to talk about nothing else.  One of them secretly fancies girls not boys.  One of them is frightened of kissing anyone ever again.  The third, oblivious, dreams of marrying Barney from the chipshop and having three boys and three girls and moving to Liverpool to be near Aunty Pauline.

The cleaner collects litter.  She loves having a job.  In her native land she was studying for a doctorate in epidemiology.  One day she hopes to continue, maybe here.   For now, after a desperate eleven weeks of sorrow, she can lift wind-blown plastic from the platform and clean soap spills off the sinks.  Not only did they give her a uniform, they also advanced her some pay to get a bedsit.  And the canteen has hot tea, gratis, from 6am to midnight.

A man leaves the station bar then realises he has forgotten his gloves.  He marches back in then returns, triumphantly pulling-on the gauntlets.  He gives the elderly lady on the bench a licentious wink and then strides towards the exit.  Opening a fresh packet of cigarettes, he casually discards the cellophane topper at his feet.  As he goes, a stale smell accompanies him.

The cleaner grabs the cellophane on the third attempt and deposits it from her grabber to her wheeled dustcart.  And just in time, the announcement comes as the intercity express arrives, blasting the platform in diesel and wind.

A couple exit the bar, arms around each other.  He has been crying.

The porter takes the lady’s bags on and places them securely.  He then offers her his arm as if they were going to dinner.  He gets her safely to her seat near the door, smiles and shakes her hand affectionately.

The couple stumble to their carriage and board it morosely, lost to memory.

The whistle blows.

The cleaner is happy to not be leaving.