The Last Call

Last call for the 3:15 to London, blasts over the tannoy, ringing in my ears, unwanted, like an alarm clock, waking me up from my daze. I quickly down my coffee, wincing as I burn my tongue in the process, I tie my hair in a tight bun that is sure to give me a headache, grab my brown leather holdall and dash for my carriage. I arrive at the silver, behemoth of a train and slowly make my way onto the overcrowded carriage, screaming kids, stressed parents and kindly looking old people seem to be the demographic as I take my seat, anxiously praying that no one sits down next to me as I slyly place my bag on the seat to my left - just in case. The chaos starts to settle as people take their relevant seats. I take a deep relieved sigh, thinking I may be lucky, as no one has claimed my neighbouring seat.

I gaze out of the window, watching the hustle of the platform, I catch my reflection, the expression on my face jolting me to remember the reason for my lonely and exceptionally sad pilgrimage to London. The sudden and unexpected phone call is still ringing in my ears. Dutifully informing me of the tragic loss of a father that I never knew; due to the fact, my mother had never told him of my existence. My breath catches in my chest at the thought of all the missed memories and the fact that we will never have a chance to make them.
A few recent emails are all I will ever have of him.
I quickly catch the small tear that escapes the corner of my eye, I watch the now detached tear as it runs down my finger.
Emotions aren't usually my thing. I take a steadying breath and quickly straighten myself, pushing the unwanted emotions down. I glance to my left, a soft voice catching my attention.

"Sorry to bother you my dear, but are you ok?"

A man that I don't recognise is smiling warmly down at me.
My eyes take in his attire. He is wearing a black suit that looks like it belongs in the '50s, but he looks about my age, mid-'40s - he has clean sweeping black hair with a little bit too much product but his smile is friendly and his eyes are kind and oddly familiar..... Not wanting to get into a conversation, my tone is short.

"I'm fine."

Not deterred, the voice invades my personal space again. His tone is strangely calming.

"Ok, well good afternoon, I'm George Robert McKenna and it looks like I'm going to be in your company for the next couple of hours. I hope this isn't an inconvenience for you."
I resist the urge to roll my eyes and bite back the retort- yes, it is very inconvenient. I just want to be alone.
His eyes drift to my bag on the only available seat. For goodness sake!

"I don't want to be a nuisance." His tone is crestfallen and plays on my conscience.
I sigh, reaching for my bag, pulling it on to my knee.

"Hey, I'm Kate," I offer to be polite, "and no it's not an inconvenience." I lie smoothly, a slight smirk tugging at my lips.

He takes the seat, sitting down next to me.
"I'm sorry, did I say something to amuse you?"
My cheeks flush with a rush of embarrassment.

"No sorry," I reply, rubbing my hand over my face to hide my shame at myself for almost mocking the kind stranger.

"As I said, my name is George Robert Mckenna." His dark eyes bore into mine as if he is expecting recognition. I have no idea why he wants me to know his name so desperately. I am pretty sure I don't know him. I take in his features, maybe he's famous.

"Would you mind me asking why you look so sad?'' He enquires, in his strange old fashioned accent that also sounds like it belongs in the 1950s. I am tense. His intrusive questions put me on edge. I find myself feeling defensive, backing into my seat.
"Actually yes I do mind' I snap, a little too harshly.
His expression shifts, his eyes pulling down at the corners, sadness filling the dark brown.
He glances down at the slightly stained table in front of us rubbing his face in a gesture similar to mine. His brow creasing slightly, he lifts his head to look me directly in the eyes. His tone contrite.
"Please accept my apologies for being so intrusive, I will let you be." He pulls out a newspaper from his jacket, straightens it out and immerses himself in the front page.