Off the Rails

1998 Charing Cross station, London 7.15am Sunday

Graham was slumped wearily against the wall next to the still closed W.H Smiths, his outstretched legs clad in faded black combat trousers, trainers and a big thick, cable knit pure wool sweater stretched almost down to his knees. His army surplus bush jacket bulged with the night's accumulated bits of paper, pens, glue sticks and the miscellaneous crap he needed to survive the journey home. He rifled periodically through the battered rucksack by his side, pulling out Sunday magazine supplements and various newspaper sections. He was tired, bored and just wanted to get home.

This was his regular spot, and the CCTV cameras that monitored the concourse probably watched him a lot less suspiciously than they had when he first started camping out here at weekends. A couple of times in the past he'd been approached by transport police and been required to show he had a ticket. Other times kindly souls had left handfuls of coins on his rucksack, assuming he was homeless. That was usually when he'd fallen asleep. Today however, it was too cold to sleep.

Graham scanned the departure board and noting with a sigh the usual long list of cancelled, delayed and rerouted trains, returned to his desultory reading.

He'd finished work just before six, grabbed a quick MacDonald's breakfast at London Bridge and had then jumped on the first passing train to Charing Cross. Bitter experience had taught him that although he could catch his train home from London Bridge, Charing Cross, being his route's terminus, would give him more options, more information and hopefully a better chance of grabbing an empty compartment.

If he kept a sharp eye on the destination board indicator, he could be on the right platform as the Hastings train came in and emptied of passengers. Then he could bag a compartment to himself and stretch out and sleep for its nearly two hours return journey to the coast. The platform to his right was usually the right platform.

He still had well over an hour to wait though, and all the signs pointed to it being one of those all too frequent nightmare weekend journeys that would take half the day.

It was February, bitterly cold and the stone floor of the station had already numbed his buttocks and prevented him from catching up on any sleep. There would probably be snow along the lower lying areas of the route, frozen points, broken heaters and a myriad of related problems adding to the already over-running maintenance work, lack of staff and general incompetence that plagued the British rail network.

He looked around at the handful of other would-be passengers standing aimlessly, milling around or staring disconsolately at the constantly clacking departure board. A few just shrugged dejectedly and wandered off, some shouted into mobile phones and a small group remonstrated with a member of staff who had foolishly allowed himself to be caught out alone on the open concourse. Graham had toyed recently with the idea of getting a mobile phone, but considered them hideously expensive, with patchy coverage anywhere outside of London, and in any case, he just wasn't really a phone person.

A lone girl caught his attention, partly because she was incredibly pretty, partly because she looked completely lost, partly because she was totally underdressed for the temperature but mainly because her big Panda-like eyes indicated she had been crying.

She was, he guessed, in her early twenties, probably only a few years younger than himself. Small, with shortish black hair, she had that waifish look he had always found attractive. Not too thin and with nice pert breasts and lightly tanned skin, she had an alert but vulnerable look about her. She was wearing a short white skirt, no tights, small cheap trainers with little white socks and a thin cropped top and tiny white leather jacket. The jacket appeared to have no practical function whatsoever, either in keeping her warm or in providing pockets to put anything useful in. She slowly wandered in his direction and as she spotted him, he sat up, pulled his legs in, caught her eye and smiled.

Graham was not completely surprised when people approached him on the station concourse. Maybe it was because he was a regular there, and he looked like he knew what was going on, or maybe because the station was so quiet at this time on a Sunday morning, and he just looked friendly and unthreatening. Graham was, he'd been led to believe, good looking and had a friendly and helpful manner. He also always had a good supply of reading matter and was happy to share. Given that hardly anything opened here until at least nine, that was indeed a bonus.

The lone girl approached him, looking around the station at the confusing and in some cases contradictory array of information on display.

"Excuse me, is this the platform for the Hastings train?" She asked nervously, looking at the platform nearest to where he was sitting.

"Yes, but it's going to be a while yet. Bad night?" Graham asked, looking at her smudged and streaked makeup.

She attempted a smile. "Totally shit! Do I look a mess?" She asked almost apologetically.

Without answering he reached into his rucksack and pulled out a small packet of tissues and handed it to her.

"Your makeup does need a bit of essential maintenance!" he said hoping the rail network's cliched excuse would cheer her up.

Without acknowledging the reference, she looked at her reflection in the windows of the still dark newsagents, spat on the tissue and started removing the streaked makeup.

"Better?" She turned to him and asked.

"Yes, I thought I could see a pretty girl under there." He smiled.

"I'm Graham," he introduced himself.

"I'm Angie." she replied.

"What happened?" He tentatively asked.

"Came up to town in Steve, my boyfriend's car last night to go to a party, had a blazing row and when I turned around, he'd gone. I spent a couple of hours waiting for him to come back and when he didn't, I just walked down here."

"So... He just abandoned you?" Graham was quite shocked.

"Its... A long story..." Angie was suddenly reticent, and Graham noticed she was shivering.

"Bloody hell! You must be freezing." Graham stood and took off his jacket and sweater, handing the sweater to her.

"Put this on, it's not exactly squeaky clean but it'll keep you a bit warm at least until the train comes. You're going to Hastings then?" He had absolutely no idea why he had made the gesture, what had kicked off some inner Walter Raleigh in him, but it had just seemed the right thing to do.

"Couple of stops before; Robertsbridge. Are you sure about the sweater? Won't you be cold?"

"Nah, I've got the jacket and sweatshirt and can always stuff them with newspaper if it gets bad! I'm going to Hastings, but I do this every weekend so I'm sort of used to it." He realised he was probably sounding a bit cavalier, but he had embarrassed himself by his impromptu act of chivalry and wanted now to make light of it.

"It'll be a lot warmer on the train." He promised, not completely convinced that would be true.

She took the pointless little jacket off and pulled the sweater over her head. It came to just below her knees. She pulled up the sleeves and with the jacket in her lap, sat down next to him, ruffling up her hair.

"Thanks, that's cosy." She said giving him an appreciative smile and pulling her legs in under the sweater.

They chatted for a while leafing through his pile of magazines and finally curiosity got the better of her and she asked.

"So how come you've got all these mags, newspapers and stuff?"

"Worked last night reading the papers, for a Press cuttings agency. I only do weekends, The papers have lots of extra sections, and they need more people to go through them all. I used to do it full time but after I moved down to Hastings the commute got too much." He explained.

"Sounds interesting!" She said politely.

"No! It isn't really, and I have this horrible journey up and down every weekend. I usually try to sleep on the train if I can." He smiled and then with a sudden realisation he asked.

"How are you fixed for a ticket?"

She looked embarrassed and ruefully confessed.

"I'm not, I left my handbag in Steve's car, he usually pays when we go out and he said I'd only get it stolen or lose it if I took it in the club."

She admitted that she hadn't travelled by train for years and had thought she could just give her address to the guard on the train and pay later. Graham explained that had sometimes been the case in the past, but the ticket inspectors were a lot more unsympathetic now. He wasn't too impressed with what he was learning about Steve.

"Steve sounds like a bit of a control freak." Graham said, immediately regretting making such a judgemental statement and hoping he hadn't offended her.

"Oh no. he's right. I have lost my bag before, and he's been very patient with me in the past. I am a bit of an idiot at times." She seemed very quick to jump to Steve's defence.

Graham decided not to press it, although he was shocked that anyone could abandon their girlfriend late at night in London unprotected and with no means of getting home.

"Look, we've still got just under an hour before this bloody train is due. Why don't we go and get some breakfast and sort you out a ticket?" Graham had noticed a couple of kiosks had opened, and she looked like she needed something to warm herself up.

"I don't want to impose on you, you've already been so kind with the sweater." She protested.

"It's no problem, it's only a couple of quid." It was actually a bit more than that, but he reckoned he could wrangle some deal with his travelcard and at least get her a discount.

They picked up everything and stuffed it in Graham's rucksack, including her little leather jacket, which turned out to be made of flimsy lightweight vinyl and was much too small to have fitted over the thick sweater. Graham thought how cute she looked in his sweater but didn't want to alarm her by saying as much.

They got coffee and croissants which they drank and ate as they stood in the queue at the ticket office. He bought her a ticket, and paid for it with his credit card, and they returned to their spot by the gates to the Hastings platform.

Eventually the display above the gates announced the train's imminent arrival and they wandered through the unmanned barrier to the empty platform. Graham was pleased to see very few people following them. It was going to be a virtually empty train. Graham stopped at the point where he knew a first-class carriage would pull up and they scanned the line to where it disappeared into the early pre-dawn light over the Thames.

He explained at length about the individual compartments.

"There's usually one at the end of the first-class carriages, next to the toilet. It's downgraded to second-class because of that. They call it decommissioned first-class and if you get in there first, just sit facing back towards the platform entrance and smile at anyone who looks like they're going to try and open your door; They think you must be some sort of a nutter and won't risk sharing a compartment with you! It's a very British thing, we hate having to talk to strangers, particularly over-friendly ones! Once the train starts moving, I usually stretch out and can kip for most of the journey."

"That's sneaky! You are clever." Angie looked surprisingly impressed.

The train snaked into the platform, and as he had predicted they were standing in just the right spot for the compartment he had described. It was a surprisingly long train, a couple of dozen people got off and the platform echoed with the sound of heavy compartment doors being slammed shut. As he opened the door and shepherded Angie aboard, he noted with satisfaction that at the front end of the train a cyclist was loading his bike through two side doors.

"Guard's van." He pointed out and then explained.

"That cyclist won't want to sit too far from his bike and the guard probably won't bother leaving his compartment. On a quiet train most people will want to sit close to the guard's van, and at some of the smaller stations the platforms are too short to let people off from these rear carriages."

"So, we'll probably have the back of the train to ourselves." He announced triumphantly, suddenly painfully aware that she might not want to spend a long train journey with a boring stranger on an almost empty train!

Graham realised that for some reason he'd assumed that's what she wanted but he couldn't work out why. She didn't seem particularly bothered by his rather pedantic manner and seemed to enjoy his company. He was pleasantly surprised to find he hadn't apparently bored her yet! A few other passengers walked past and seeing where the guard's van was, hurried towards it. He was pleased his prediction of an almost empty train was proving correct.

He sat down opposite Angie facing the direction of travel, whilst she took his advice and smiled maniacally at anyone who walked past. She seemed to enjoy seeing their reactions. A few people walked past but none tried their door. He explained how he could now stretch out and sleep facing the front of the train better than on the side where she was sitting.

"If the train brakes or slows down quickly I don't roll off the seat." He explained

"And if it accelerates?" She'd thought it out.

"You've got to be kidding, Its Southern Rail, not a bloody Ferrari!" He laughed.

Graham realised that by now people had usually started to go glassy eyed at his train journey analytics, but Angie seemed genuinely impressed.

"You're like the Michael Caine of Southern Rail!" She laughed.

He looked at her curiously, not sure if she was mocking him, but quite flattered anyway.

A whistle blew and with a series of clunks the train started to move and they looked out the window as it clattered over the Thames, the waters of the river grey in the winter morning light.

London Bridge was quiet, a few people boarded, and a few people got off and as they pulled out, Graham laid his rucksack down by the window, took off his jacket, folded it over the rucksack and stretched out on the seat.

"Sorry, my back's killing me! Just need to stretch it for a minute, it's been a long night." He said apologetically.

He was surprised, but not a little thrilled, when she came over to him.

"Budge up, I'm cold!" She demanded, and he turned on his side and pressed his back into the seat as she lay down and pushed her back into him. Without a word she reached back and pulled his arm over her to stop herself from rolling off. She snuggled up to him and without another word being said, they were soon both asleep.

They woke to the sounds of doors slamming, footsteps, voices and whistles blowing and realised the train was slowly pulling out of Tonbridge. To Graham's acute embarrassment he realised he had an erection pressing into Angie's bottom and his arm over her breasts. His head had been nuzzling against the back of hers, and with fine black hairs slowly peeling off his face he lifted it. She smelled wonderful, even his old sweater smelled wonderful. She half turned and he could just see the edge of a smile. Her hand squeezed his and she wriggled back gently into him.

They stayed in that position, half awake and not speaking until the train had left Tunbridge Wells and was trundling through the open East Sussex Countryside.

The temperature had dropped significantly, even the closeness of their bodies couldn't disguise that and reluctantly they disengaged and sat up to look out the windows. Now all they could see were snow covered fields and feel the wheels of the train struggling at times to make contact. What little heat had been warming the carriage through the antiquated heating system was soon overwhelmed by the draft coming in through the rattling windows.

Imperceptibly the train started to slow down and after a series of stops and starts, it juddered to a complete standstill. Suddenly the dim, but vaguely comforting carriage lights flickered and went out. What little heating there had been ebbed away. Silence and the grey chill of the weak morning light, descended on the stationary rain.

"Oh Shit!" Graham had a good idea as to why they had lost power; Either the live rail had iced over or there had been some electrical malfunction.

Angie looked worried and Graham draped his jacket over her shoulders and put his arm around her. Half an hour passed, and they wrapped themselves around each other even closer. She was getting colder, and Graham realised she was starting to panic.

"We're not that far from Tunbridge Wells, maybe closer to Wadhurst. The roads are probably ok. We'll be ok. They'll come and get us." Graham tried to reassure her.

"Come to get us? How?"

"Probably send a diesel and a couple of carriages to ferry us to the nearest station. Or just push us forward a bit. Those old diesels can get through a foot of snow, and I doubt it's actually that thick. Its only early so it will probably all thaw out as the sun gets higher." He didn't have much confidence in any of this happening too quickly.

They busied themselves, plugging the draughty windows with newspaper and then sat back down hugging each other tightly for warmth.

A knock on the passage door made them turn and they saw the guard standing outside.

He was holding a thick bundle of miscellaneous blankets and told them what they had already worked out.

"The live rail's iced over so we can't draw any power from it. It's just a localised problem, we're in a dip in the line where the temperature's lower than the surrounding countryside; The cold gets trapped in the hollows. According to the radio the line is clear from Wadhurst to the coast, warmer and sunny as well, apparently. They're sending up a Diesel to shunt us forward. It's going to take a couple of hours and in the meantime, I've got some blankets to help you keep warm. They're none to clean I'm afraid, they've been used to cushion bikes and stuff in the guard's van." The guard was apologetic and was trying his best to help.

"How many still on the train?" Graham asked, selecting a couple of the bigger and seemingly cleaner blankets.

"Only a handful. Still got two more carriages at the back to check, but I think you're probably the last. Best stay here and I'll make an announcement when power is restored."

He moved on and they wrapped themselves in the blankets.

A few minutes later he came back and offering them the rest of the blankets, explained,

"It's empty back there. The Driver is trying to clear snow from the front and I'm going to give him a hand by putting some salt down to try and thaw the live rail and give the wheels some traction. We'll be out of here as soon as we can get a push! I'll leave you the rest of the blankets in the meantime."

The guard had only been gone a few minutes when Angie grabbed a blanket, wrapped it around herself and said decisively.

"I've got to go to the loo!"

Graham pointed to the left as she stood at the passage door to the compartment.

"Should be next door!" He told her. She smiled and disappeared.

A few minutes later she returned, still wrapped in the blanket, but carrying his sweater and jacket draped over her arm.

"Thanks for that, I'm feeling warmer now!" She said and handed them to him.

Mentally Graham cursed the guard for supplying the blankets, he'd really been looking forward to cuddling up under the blankets with Angie and the sweater had looked so damn sexy on her. He folded the sweater and bush jacket over the rucksack and wrapped his blanket around himself disappointedly.

Graham cursed his ineptitude with girls. So many times, in the past, he'd got to this stage but never seemed to be able to make the decisive move, He had tried in the beginning but after a series of humiliating rejections he'd just given up. 'Let's just be friends!' had been the fucking story of his life and he silently groaned as it appeared to be happening yet again. He'd been silly to expect their earlier closeness to lead to anything, he told himself.