Tracks

It seemed as though it was just another typical day when his disruptive buzzer forced his eyes open. There was the faint repetition of rain drops tapping at his window, and that strangely comforting chill that England so often offered gratefully stroked his face. The carpet felt tauntingly soft between his toes which made the transfer to the chilling tiles of the bathroom even more brutal. Early morning cheeriness was never his strong point. The warm embrace of an awakening shower always perked up his senses and prepared him for the day ahead. The tingling of his Colgate mouthwash helped clear his hoarse throat and gargled over his lips like a low budget Vesuvius. Button by button the morning rush dissolved like a Berroca, and the sound of his front door locking behind him had finally came. The latching of the lock beneath the plastic of his door frame always sounded so definitive.

Despite the light drizzle, the day was actually quite pleasant in comparison to the usual. Here could hear the echoes of children fighting their school-day preparations omitting from behind the walls of every other house. The even louder sound of older siblings squabbling over who got the last morsel of Coco-Pops from the bottom of the box was taking centre-stage today though. His umbrella was up and his navy mack was buttoned from top to bottom in an effort to protect his favourite plum coloured tie from a serious drenching. From the corner of his eye he spotted a slight glimmer. He looked down to discover a new-born looking pound coin at his feet gazing up at him attractively; It was almost like Elizabeth was flirting with him. He thought of that little coin moving from pocket to pocket throughout its lifetime on a journey that nobody would ever know. He also thought of the Kinder Bueno he could now buy on his lunch break.

His usual fifteen minute walk to the local train station had taken less time than usual. This was good news as it meant he had time to stop and withdraw some cash from the ATM for whatever post-work activities his colleagues might have planned. Friday "staffies" always tended to ensure the day ended slightly dizzier than the other weekdays, as if the prospect of a coming weekend wasn't intoxicating enough. He turned away from the panting cash machine and ambled contently through to Platform 3. The electronic turnstile swallowed his ticket greedily and he forced his way through the flailing metal arms. An angelic voice filled the air and informed him his train was slightly delayed and there would be a fifteen minute wait. He did not care though. He was enjoying the calmness before the storm of his nine to five.

His watch politely bleeped to inform him that it was half past eight (the time his train usually greeted him.) He took that and the shiny new pound coin in his pocket as proof that it wasn't just a typical day after all. As he turned the corner he saw a flash of red and white from across the tracks. It happened so quietly to the masses that had congregated around him but may as well have instantly deafened him where he stood. It was almost as though clocks had stopped and the murmuring conversations surrounding him paused as everything sank in. Realisation shuddered through his body. It was significantly more aggressive and prominent than the shudder that tickled his eyelids open earlier that morning. The first thing he saw was the direct Manchester Oxford Street train hurtling through the station with no intention of stopping. The second thing he saw was the red raincoat of the little blonde girl that had accidentally tumbled from the edge of the platform into its wake.

There was faint rustling as his hand crafted fabric ruck sack hit the floor. He blinked rapidly. Everything around him had fallen silent, including the despairing screams of a brunette woman placed directly above the stiffened and terrified little girl sat motionless on the tracks. Before he knew it he was mid-air, jumping from the concrete. The soles of his shoes hit the iron railway with so much force that it felt as though his spine was belly dancing. He had never moved so quickly and instinctively. He flung his arms around the little red raincoat and forcefully threw her tiny frame back onto Platform 2 into the arms of the shrieking brunette. She felt so light that he may as well have been throwing a doll. The entire station was filled with a high pitched screeching which cleared his temporary deafness. Shouting, moaning, crying and hollering flooded his ears like a Tsunami. The metallic frame of the Oxford Street Train was practically kissing his cheek, and the quaking ground beneath him was effectively rocking him to sleep. It had all happened so quickly yet he afforded himself one second to look to his left. It was then that he saw a small hand outstretched in his direction.

Her shaking hand fell back to her side and she sank, shocked, into the chest of her grateful mother. Her tiny face was suddenly covered by chocolate coloured silk and the sweet smell of perfume filled her nostrils. She had to look down at the floor as the terrifying blur and noise of her surroundings was too intimidating for her to cope with. At her feet sat her mother's favourite leapord print handbag, the contents scattered across the floor. The only thing she could focus on though was the shiny surface of a single pound coin that had rolled out and nestled itself next to a cigarette butt near the edge of the platform. It was almost as though it was awaiting a train just like most had planned to that day.