Traintertainment

Train to London Victoria

Oh shit, that’s my train! I realise as I hear the unnecessarily perky voice of the conductor announce; ‘the train standing at platform 6 is the 7:07 Southern service to London Victoria.’ Dammit, not again, I think to myself racing down the ramp, dodging in and out of a multitude of people, really it's a wonder how they all pile into these dingy little carriages.
‘No need to push!’ A young girl shouts into my ear as I'm making my way onto the train. Shes the short and stubby kind with accusing eyes set far back into a face that looked as though it had been sprayed with a fine thick coat of Cheetos dust.
‘Sorry, my bad!’ I call after her, she may be ugly but Mama always said that’s no reason to pick a fight – even though I barely touched her, I mean let's be honest, if I had but skimmed her bare arm half her skin would've shed itself onto me. Clearly somebody only just got the self-tanning memo, damn. Having boarded the train, I head straight to the doors opposite and assume my usual position, back to the doors, bag tucked securely between my legs and eyes darting left and right, occasionally alighting on some specimens worth noticing. The gaggle of young schoolgirls for example, trying in vain to seek the attention of that one curly haired, blue-eyed hunk of a guy sat sheepishly opposite them. - poor guy, I can taste the awkward.
‘Hold the fucking doors bruv!’
A coarse voice breaks me out of my trance and my eyes dart forward to see the large grey wheel of a worn-down buggy lodged between the doors. My body flies into action before I even have time to command it, repeatedly pushing the button to release the doors whilst attempting to heave them open with my shoulder. It really seems like I'm doing all the work here considering the size of this guy, but never mind, success. The doors fly open. At the head of the buggy is a burly, middle-aged man dressed in a black woolen jumper, grey jeans far too skinny for a man of his stature, black Horaches and a dull grey green beanie pushed just far enough back on his head to allow one to wonder at his choice in diamante studs. He is evidently more focused on not spiling his freshly opened corona bottle, balanced awkwardly between his fingers, than not barging into that old lady trying to get off – poor lass, at that age you know you're traumatising them for life.
Trailing behind him like a lost puppy and another babe in her arms is a much younger, rather pale looking woman. Similarly, she is dressed in the dullest of colours. Thin black leggings and a long, black coat, the sleeves of which are trying in vain to cover the purpley blue marks going up her arm. We make eye contact. Shit, I turn my music right up and look quickly away. Let's look out of the window, shall we? I allow my eyes to rest on the fleeting scene before me, but at 7am it's still dark and there's not much to see other than my own demons manifesting themselves in the abyss of this darkness. Unsurprisingly, my brain begins to yearn to continue its surveyance of these strange people, that couple in particular, so there's nothing to it but to succumb. With attempted subtlety, I casually turn back to the couple who had made themselves quite at home, entirely blocking the path to the toilet and the doors to the adjoining carriage. We always love the considerate ones, don’t we? The woman has positioned herself in the farthest corner of her seat, likely emulating her usual position in their relationship- and has taken to uttering loose terms of endearment to the sprawling babe cradled in her skinny arms. The haggard look in her eyes, which are padded with dark circles, shows she has not had much luck with this in the past. As she is patting the child's back, I notice the fingers of her left hand shaking awkwardly, and no ring to claim her I see. She tries to hide her shakes but that only makes them worse. That, coupled with the bloodshot eyes through which she's staring blankly at the baby in her lap allows us to easily piece together her two primary reasons for maintaining this evidently toxic relationship. Her man was a supplier – of babes and the substances to keep you sane in the presence of one!
The lack of passion in their relationship is only further supported by the scornful look on his face as he talks at her. As his face becomes visibly more perturbed I battle to find the volume down button on my phone so I can indulge. Seems teatime has come early today. It's at this point I realise he is not actually talking to her at all but instead shouting into the little white airpods lodged into his ears.
‘I have your firm on hold as well yh, so don’t mess me about bruv, get yo facts straight n then come to man,. Man has to work as well you get me cuz you lot are always messing me about issa pisstake im on my way now cuz are you gonna be there to represent man or not cuz this aint no joke ting!’ he spits at what is most probably his fed-up solicitor on the line. I have always wondered at the man's natural proclivity to refer to themselves as man; man's not hot, man's got work, and so many times in the space one sentence too, as though the constant repetition of the word gives it and them greater power, or maybe they're just convincing themselves of their emasculated worth – natural insecurities I suppose, Ill allow it. As his voice becomes ever more aggravated, I notice the woman signal to his bottle, encouraging him to take a swig. Hmm, interesting. He does as she suggests but as any sane soul would have predicted this merely fuels his anger further.
‘Listen bruv all I is saying is I'm running 30 minutes late innit, don’t give me all this crap about wasting court time n dat yh. What about my time bruv. Listen yh, you don’t know man. Man will pull up with all the mandem are you mad!’ he continues. Yes, because threatening the one person working to keep you a free man is always the choicest course of action.
‘I can get you fired fo dis negligence bruv,’- as he fumbled with the enunciation of the last word, he knew he had made a mistake in trying to use it and quickly reverted back to his former manner of threatening-
‘Excuse me please,’I'm startled by a meek voice beside me, the same schoolgirls from earlier. Gosh this chap has provided so much entertainment I simply forgot about the rest of my friends on the carriage! As I make a quick mental note of the station we are at; Streatham Common, I wonder whether the girls did manage to squeeze anything out of that poor young man. They were decent looking, he could've made it work with one of them at least. But who am I to preside over affairs of the heart?
Gathering my thoughts, I refocus on what should really be the focus on Jeremy Kyles' next big episode, though, to my dismay, things seemed to have quietened down. The man’s voice is far more agreeable, as though he has finally been granted his way. I gather now that he has moved his discussion back to the firm, what with the mollycoddling.
‘Yeah ok ok my Gs yh. I got you, you got me a likkl quid pro quo n dat I like it haha’ he chuckles into the receiver as he ends the call. Quite frankly I'm surprised at the emergence of this new level of intellect. Latin, really? Probably just a glitch in the matrix, I convince myself.
He speaks now to his female counterpart, taking significantly less care to hide the slur in his speech now.
‘I'm not even on drugs anymore bruv I don’t do that shit no more’ he claims voraciously as he downs another quarter of his beer and pats the baby on its head. A little of the liquid escapes his gaping hole of a mouth and drips lightly onto the child's nose. The woman notices but chooses to do nothing.
‘I know baby,’ comes the feeble voice of his woman companion ‘They're jus tryna catch you out baby.’
‘Exactly, ya feel me,’ he grunts in response.
‘I know you're going to stop soon honey,’ she ventures further.
‘What do you mean soon, bitch I told you I'm done with that shit what, am I a liar then?!’
‘Clean the fucking baby's face bruv’ he growls as he spills yet more of his drink into the child's lap. The woman dutifully does as she is told whilst her partner glares out of the windows, suddenly taken by the awkward amalgamation of trees and buildings speeding past. A few minutes pass and the muscles on his face begin to loosen and relax, he slowly looks over at the woman and reaches over to grab her free hand. She lets her arm be dragged across the little table between them, watching him stroke her bony knuckles. In an instant the air has become romantic and sickly as she looks deep into his eyes and caresses his leg with her foot. Her lips part in the most seductive manner and it seems she is about to relay to him his wildest passions. Instead, these words come piling out of her mouth -
‘Go on babes, let's do one more line afore we go in, they aint gonna know babes,’ she pleads with every inch of her body.
‘Oi its coz of you, you know bruv always wanting another one, encouraging me n shit. Pff.’ He sighs and looks back at her helpless face.
‘Fuck it come let's do this,’ he grabs her by her wrist and throws her into the toilet beside them already getting his 20 pound note at the ready and carelessly locking the door behind him. All this time, the two babes sat gaping at each other, with the one thrown on to seat of the train held back only by a Tesco carrier bag, and the other just woken up in its buggy. Both look dazzled and disoriented. I'm shocked. The woman clambers out of the stall just in time to catch her baby from falling off its seat and smiles wryly at her partner.
‘This train is now approaching Clapham Junction..’
Please mind the gap between the train and the platform, I finish the announcement in my head. That’s me. Swinging my bag deftly onto my back I ready myself to get off, reflecting on the mini drama series I had just had the pleasure of bearing witness to. If anything is to be learnt from that folks, it’s that you don’t need to love each other to be made for each other – you just need to find the right substance to bind you.