Taking the rear staircase and smiling her way down the eight flights of stairs Ellen slid out of the side lobby doorway, before making her way towards the nearby station. Although she had only ducked out of her office a mere four minutes before her official quitting time, to her at least, it still felt like a momentary victory. After passing the square her path was blocked so she stopped and stood behind the small crowd that had developed near the roadside where around forty people or so were all sheepishly looking up. Ellen thought they looked like a bemused flash mob. Ellen tilted her own head up to see what all the fuss was about. The crowd was gawping at three men on ropes hanging from the side of a dusty building. The men were proceeding to carefully remove a large, discoloured bank logo from the side of a skyscraper. This was to be the first of many planned removals over the coming years. One of the men was in a cradle and appeared to be the foreman as he was offering instructions via walkie-talkie to another man suspended by a bright pink safety rope. Ellen could see the man's feet occasionally grazing the glass windows of the building, leaving streak marks on the now dishevelled glass exterior of this giant steel monolith. Much like its neighbours, it too had seen better days and fallen into disrepair. They had already removed the first two words and were in the process of removing the large letter 'A' from the third and final word. This bank had long since vacated the building and all its staff had been scooped up by a new outlet in Holland. A man to Ellen's right jokingly muttered in the crown that they should reassemble the letters in the square for kids to play on. Nobody responded to his suggestion. Like the banks and financial institutions that once filled the area the signage was large and brash, and after the considerable protest the local residents had complained long and hard enough for their removal as it impeded views from the top floors. It had been years since the highest paying tenants of the building were there and the banks had now been converted to residential blocks, mainly hastily retrofitted into micro apartments. These were tiny, single occupancy units, mostly without regular-sized windows or with mezzanines but for the crème-de-la-crème, some living arrangements were capsule hostels that dominated entire floors. However, for a premium, though mainly wealthy Malaysian students top floors were converted penthouses snapped up a few years after the banks had left. Conference rooms with interactive whiteboards were now living rooms chock-full of flat-pack furniture with people looking out, soaking in the admirable views where multinational corporations once called their headquarters, and where financial big-hitters brokered million-dollar deals over brunch. But all that was over. Instead of suited and booted city types scurrying between meetings at the base of these buildings were empty eateries and coffee franchises dominated, though a handful remained they were vastly outnumbered by the converted into indoor mini-marts and discount stores with mobile phones maintenance stalls or places to buy plastic tat, at grossly inflated prices.
Having seen enough Ellen decided to carry on her journey. She had to get home to her other job, working the late shift for Amazon Prime. Her app was already filling-up with deliveries and the clock was ticking. Threading her way through the crowd, she passed a Big Issue seller trying his best to get people's attention by flipping, spinning and tossing an old, laminated copy of the magazine up in the air. He looked like a juggler with a bad case of butter fingers. Passing another crowd Ellen reached the corner near the station entrance. She stood to look at the whiteboard. In an attempt to make light of the situation train staff wrote the following: Due to power shortages, only two single carriage trains an hour will be running. Shocking, I know! Ellen half smiled and wished she'd fixed her bike the previous night. Grudgingly she turned around and continued along the road.
Crossing the footbridge she could see three cyclists fly past along the railway sidings overhead, rainwater flicked up from their tires, catching the grey afternoon light. She admired the way the water arched like sparks without fire. Passing a disused electric car charge outlet she could see some teenage girls huddled around the output, they were not going a good job of concealment as Ellen could clearly see one of the younger-looking girls stripping down the casing to remove the transformer within - no doubt to sell online. One of the teenagers looked over so Ellen pretended to look for something in her bag, keeping her head down as she continued on her way to the next station. Passing Herron Quays she marvelled at the unfinished buildings, all steel and dusty glass, with some now weathered but with enough shine to reflect the uncollected bins nearby. Allen looked at those unfinished buildings and thought about her friend Linus and how he summarized the state of the place. He wrote about it being full of architectural ambition but now still covered with scaffolding, they resembled ancient ships with tattered sails flapping gently in the wind, as if they'd been permanently moored in a ship graveyard.
Climbing the stairs at West India Quay Ellen walked toward the end of the platform. This was always the quietest station, and though it didn't have any seats, it still provided a temporary respite from the commuter crush. She prepared to sit for a long wait. For a train that might not even show today. As she sat there she looked out along the quay and smiled when she noticed the old docklands museum had been converted into a huge all-you-can-eat Thai restaurant. It had large hand-painted signs outside offering a variety of Oriental dishes. Near the very bottom of the menu were the words Fish and Chip. Putting her book away Ellen looked at her watch, she'd only had to wait twenty-two minutes as a train pulled up and approached the station very slowly and then stopped halfway along the platform. She ran back along the platform and pressed the open button. The doors remained closed - so she slid her fingers in between the door rubber seal and prized it open before stepping inside. An elderly lady wearing tattered headphones approached from behind and sat down opposite her. Without warning the train pulled away as slow as it had arrived though intermittently increasing and decreasing in pace. Ellen looked over and noticed the door was still ajar and a damp breeze was leaking through the single carriage. Gingerly, she walked over to pull it shut. The elderly lady looked at her, tilted her head and smiled in an ah-well sort of way. Getting back to her seat Ellen looked out the window and watched as more half-finished new buildings went past her window. She looked up to see a man collecting his washing carefully from a tenth-floor balcony where two large panes of safety glass were seemingly missing. The man had some rope around his waist and seemed to move with confidence back and forth as if he was practised in this dangerous pursuit as if it were normal. The train began to pick up the pace and passed a number of stations. Passengers got on and got off. As they approached Pontoon Dock Ellen always liked to look out for any new graffiti or tags there. She particularly liked the one where someone had created a quite authentic-looking station sign. It read: Pyongyang Dock. Beyond the occasional tagging, the place was generally grey and dreary - with few adverts and the ones that remained were outdated and bleached by years of sunlight.
As they left this station Ellen looked to the right and could see the abandoned Emirates cable cars dangling in the distance, she thought about these tiny empty spaces a hundred feet in the air above the river. The service had stopped running years ago as it was seen as too expensive to scrap and nobody had wanted to buy them. Most of the carriages had been brought down safely but three stubborn ones remained there stuck in place on rusted cable and seized brakes. It was only a matter of time before a storm, strong wind or the laws of gravity forced the cables to snap, a fitting testament of the times.
Approaching King George V Station the DLR jerked a little then went silent before grinding to a halt three meters from the end of the platform. A scratchy and quiet PA system started up. It stated that to regulate the service the train service would be held there until an engineer arrived. This of course was code for the train being unserviceable, later to join the others eventually towed to the large depot near West Ham. Quietly everyone disembarked. Some passengers made their way towards the exit and the nearby bus stop whereas others grudgingly continued on foot along the railway sidings.
Looking ahead of her Ellen noticed the elderly lady that had travelled with her since East India Dock now walking briskly beyond the platform. She was now on the train tracks. Others were following too. Ellen picked up her pace and was soon near the front of the crowd. It was only fifteen meters or so to the tunnel. She looked at the elderly lady not dropping her walking pace. Almost with glee, she could see the lady reach into her pocket and pull out an old iPhone, switch on the light and continue her way through the tunnel, all without breaking stride. Beyond the sound of pebbles beneath her feet, Ellen could hear the elderly lady in front, leading the pack whistling in a slow and haunting way that only old ladies can do, the song seemed familiar but she couldn't quite make out what it was. All she knew was a faint whiff of pride entered her thoughts. It felt like nostalgia though it tasted like a rusty coin.
The end.
