Sidings 4

Part Four

Geoff was woken by the side-to-side rocking of the train and the metallic clunk of wheels on the interchange of track below. Instinctively, he felt that they were approaching his stop. He’d been dreaming. It wasn’t a nightmare about being chased and attacked by the reivers that had unsettled him; he’d dreamt of his wife. He felt emptiness in his stomach. Not of hunger, although he’d eaten nothing for hours. He missed her desperately. And knowing that while he had slept his subconscious had thought to create a scene where he had chastised his wife, only made the feeling worse. He stood up and made his way down the carriage as it continued to buffet around. He reached the door and pressed his nose against the glass. He could see shapes passing in the darkness, blocks and angles he assumed must be buildings. If there were streets and houses, they were all unlit.

He was startled by a voice on the carriage PA system. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, we are now approaching our destination. Please remember to take all your luggage with you. Take care when alighting from the train and please mind the gap between the train and the platform edge.’

‘Is he for real?’ mumbled Geoff, making his way to the luggage compartment. It was empty.

I’m sure this is the carriage I was in originally, he thought. He made his way to the next carriage. Empty again. And the next. He reached the head of the train, the air in the carriage chilled from the broken window. He turned about immediately, cursing as he started back down the train.

‘Oh, for Christ’s sake, tell me I’m wrong!’ he shouted as he travelled along the aisle.

He’d almost made it all the way to the door of the conductor’s cabin when the door opened, and Clive appeared.

‘Sorry,’ said Clive. ‘I can’t resist doing the announcements. No harm in keeping the mood light, I reckon.’

He recoiled from a lunge by Geoff, Clive’s back now pressed against the cabin door. Geoff stood inches from him and began poking Clive’s chest as he asked,

‘Where’s my luggage?’

‘What?’ replied Clive.

‘My luggage. What have you done with my suitcase?’

Clive thought for a moment, his eyes widening. He raised his hands as if he was being held up by a gunman. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t have time to think. I had to get the reiver off you. I just grabbed the closest thing to hand. I’m sorry, mate.’

‘I’m sorry, mate?’

Clive nodded.

‘You’re telling me my luggage is strewn across the Badlands, and you’re sorry?’

Geoff stood back from Clive. He rested his head on a forearm as he leaned against the carriage wall. ‘Fucking marvellous,’ he whispered.

Clive edged up beside him. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said, placing his hand gently on Geoff’s shoulder. ‘They’ll sort you out when you get there.’

Geoff stepped onto the platform. It looked no different from any train station he would have expected to see. Well illuminated with modern lighting, its walls were a combination of brickwork and smooth, cream-coloured facias. The bright lights appeared to intensify what lay beyond the station’s perimeter. Although a neon glow sat low above the station, the stifling darkness Geoff had experienced in the Borders sat only metres away. It looked no more habitable here than it had in the wilds. And the electronic signs on the platform offered no indication of his location, their orange dots all collaborating with the same message, “This train terminates here.”

He felt completely alone. The whine of the engine of the train that had just deposited him added to his feeling of abandonment. He watched as it picked up speed. Lights on, still empty, he saw Clive waving from the open window of the conductor’s compartment.

‘Wait!’ shouted Geoff, getting as close to the edge of the platform as he dared.

‘Good luck,’ replied Clive as the train passed.

‘But wait,’ pleaded Geoff, his voice falling away. ‘Where the hell am I?’

He continued to watch the train till it’s rear light faded. He felt sick.

He was startled by a voice on the platform. ‘Hello. You’ve just arrived.’

Geoff turned and saw someone sitting on a bench, their face hidden behind a broadsheet newspaper. He was dressed in dark trousers and black shoes, legs crossed at the ankles. He spoke again. ‘You’ve just arrived.’

Geoff was confused. The man seemed to be making a statement rather than asking him a question, and he believed he’d detected a Scottish accent. Don’t tell me I’ve been brough here just to be torn apart by one of those wild men, he thought.

The newspaper started to lower slowly. Geoff readied himself.

He was relieved to see a man of relatively normal appearance. He wore a bowler hat, a long moustache over a short beard. His shirt collar was upright, folded at the tips above a long, black tie.

The man spoke again. ‘You’ve just arrived. Have you brought a newspaper?’

‘No, I haven’t,’ replied Geoff, surprised by the man’s question.

‘What, not even a magazine?’

‘No, not even a magazine.’

‘Oh, for the love of God, don’t you people read anything anymore? On paper, I mean.’

‘Excuse me?’ Geoff replied, his feelings of despondency erased by a growing sense of irritation.

Someone approaching from behind broke into the conversation. ‘Oh, don’t you take any notice of old Hugh, now. He gets a bit cranky when he hasn’t had anything new to read for a while. He always gets his hopes up when a train arrives.’

Hugh nodded, his moustache flexing upwards on a curled lip. He lifted his newspaper and disappeared back behind a worn copy of The Times.

The other man walked up to Geoff, extended his hand as he stopped in front of him. ‘Please to meet you. I’m Terry,’ said the man, patiently waiting for Geoff to shake his hand. He withdrew it, and quickly thrust it back out again. His insistence triggered a reaction from Geoff, and he begrudgingly complied.

‘Are you in charge?’ asked Geoff.

Terry laughed. ‘Oh, God no,’ he said, walking over to the bench and sitting next to Hugh. ‘I’m just a traveller. A passenger like you.’

With the two men sat side by side, Geoff was struck by how different they looked. ‘Are you two travelling together?’ he asked.

‘No. What makes you think that?’ replied Terry.

‘I thought you might be coming from the same party.’

‘Party?’ asked Terry.

Hugh lowered his newspaper and turned his head to look at Terry, his brow lined in thought. ‘Party? What bloody party would this be?’

The two men stared up from the bench.

‘You know… You dressed as an undertaker and you dressed as, er, I don’t know… David Sussex.’

‘An undertaker? You would do well to take a good, long look at yourself,’ replied Hugh, shifting forward on the bench. ‘It appears they’ve had you digging your own grave. Or lying in it!’

Terry put his arm across Hugh as if to prevent him leaping up at Geoff. ‘Come on guys. Let’s not fall out.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean,’ asked Geoff, ‘digging my own grave?’

Hugh looked down at Geoff’s legs. ‘Look at the state of you, man. You look like you’ve been playing along the Clyde.’

‘You do look a bit shitty,’ added Terry, laughing as Geoff stood looking down at his muddy trousers and shoes.

‘Oh, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you,’ Geoff replied, losing interest. He started to look around the platform.

‘Oh, we’d believe you,’ said Terry. ‘Don’t tell us… the reivers?’

Geoff turned sharply to look at Terry. The two men laughed, pitching around the bench with exaggerated motion.

‘What? You think you’re the first passenger to freak out on the journey here and piss his trousers at the sight of a reiver?’ Hugh mocked.

Terry was hysterical. He tried to speak, his voice several octaves higher than usual. ‘You don’t think… I would wear bell-bottoms… as wide as these, do you?’

Geoff started walking up the platform.

Terry called after him. ‘Hey, don’t go too far. We don’t want to lose you. It’s dangerous out there!’

‘Don’t worry,’ added Hugh. ‘We won’t lose him. We can smell him a mile away!’

Geoff passed a waiting room and looked in through the glass. An elderly couple sat opposite one another with two large suitcases placed between them. The lady, her gaze now fixed on him, didn’t move when Geoff nodded in acknowledgement. The old man turned to see what his wife was looking at and joined her in examining Geoff with an indomitable stare. The old man turned away, but the lady continued to watch as Geoff walked on. He glimpsed someone sleeping on the seating – their head hidden under a coat – just below the window. Their trousered legs lay exposed above high-heeled shoes. Almost certainly a woman, Geoff didn’t dare gawp under the watch of the old lady.

He came to a hoarding of timetables, displayed like pages in a vast, Perspex book. He’d seen similar at other train stations, but never so many sheets. There must have been hundreds of frames fanning along the entire length of the platform. He started to read the information closest to him.

ARRAN 2035 PLATFORM 2
ARTHUR 2033 PLATFORM 2
ASH 2158 PLATFORM 3

And then some more.

BELLINGHAM 2032 PLATFORM 1
BENNETT 2036 PLATFORM 3
BENSON 2216 PLATFORM 3

‘Where on Earth are these places supposed to be?’ he muttered. ‘Where the hell is Bellingham for God’s sake? Never heard of it.’

Geoff shouted down the platform, ‘What’s this all about, then?’

‘That didn’t take long,’ said Terry as he stood up from the bench. ‘I’ll go.’

‘Be my guest,’ Hugh replied, continuing to read his newspaper.

Terry arrived alongside Geoff as he frantically shuffled through the timetables. ‘Absolute garbage,’ he complained. ‘Absolute garbage. What are they supposed to be? These aren’t places. They’re just names.’

‘Precisely,’ said Terry. ‘They’re names, not places.’

‘Right,’ agreed Geoff, ‘but what does it mean?’

‘The thing is, those are the train times, but we all have individual departure times. So, if you look…’

Geoff interrupted, ‘Right, OK. Cawley, Cawley, Cawley…’ He started shuffling further down the sheets. He stopped, running his finger over the names under one of the plastic panes. ‘There! Cawley, 2162.’ He frowned. ‘What? 2162? They’ve made a mistake.’ He looked back at Terry. ‘Don’t they mean 2202?’

George appeared hesitant, then slowly made his way up alongside Geoff. ‘That’s no mistake. The thing is… that’s not the time… it’s the year.’

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