She shuddered as the freight train tore past the little stations windows. The bare waiting room with its cold metal seats that were painted a beat up black, they looked more like something you'd find in a prison waiting room than a train station but then again in port talbot what more would you expect? "Hardly the land of dreams is it" she thought to herself.
The wind howled through the open doors as the station staff scurried about undertaking their day to day duties, "do you ever hear me calling?" Bruno mars sang in her headphones as she surveyed all that befell her. Yeah right. She was sat in a cold and miserable train station, that's banisters we're painted different colours, no heating, the uncomfortable metal chairs and a hideous brick floor that had some sort of retro design that again she didn't care for.
As she craned her neck to see the tv screen, the announcer reminded her for the 4th time not to leave luggage on the station. She got the hint. Manchester Piccadilly. 9.13. On Time. "for once" she thought.
The door gently clicked as 3 women joined her in the waiting room. A mother and two daughters she presumed although if they were simply friends or sisters even one had had a very hard life. They laughed and giggled, telling stories of their week, I didn't care much for any of them. All sat arms crossed, legs crossed, dressed in their day out finary, and they oozed a snobbiness that was unpalletable.
The door gently clicked again and a man joined them. He was of average height, overweight dressed in cheap jeans, and a green fleece that he'd zipped to the top. Not surprising with the delightful welsh weather though. His glasses were round and perched on the edge of his nose, he reminded her of an unshaven penfold from danger mouse. It made her smile to herself but then things like that always amused Her.
As she sat people watching, making her own little stories in her head about the people's lives she heard a familiar sound. Another freight train was approaching, as she turned to look for it out the window she caught a glimpse of herself. She wondered what people might think her story was? She bet they couldn't guess.
I was 27. My father was an RAF Sargent who's first detachment was when I was 2 weeks old and I don't remember him being a regular person in my daily life until I was at least 15, my mother had abandoned her maternal duties when I was 5. Palming me off on whoever would take me so she could have her life back (not surprisingly I was a daddy's girl) . Life later fell apart when my mothers infidelity was discovered. Needless to say I came home from school one day to find out my dad had thrown her out. I couldn't even look her in the face. It took me nearly a year to talk to her again after I was left at 15 to pick up the pieces, run a household and look after my younger sister Abigail. In later years Abby would suffer the likes of drug addiction, domestic abuse from her partner and spent her milestone birthdays in the local police station but for the time I had her she was in line, doing well and getting top marks in school despite the circus at home with bickering parents, bickering grandparents and a horrid divorce battle that we were merely pawns in.
Was it any wonder I lost myself in a world of fantasy? Day dreaming was my past time with whichever beau at the time took my fancy, dreaming of various lives from superstardom as a multi million selling popstar with a hunky celebrity boyfriend, to dreams of the simple life as a little country wife and a handsome cowboy husband. The one thing that helped me escape was always music. From country, to classical, to pop, to rock, to emo, to rap.....music in all it's ways comforted me because there was always a song to ease me
After that first year, I found out my mum was in financial difficulties, her housemate - a lesbian called Angie who ironically had helped hide the affair - had run off with their friends wife leaving my Mum to pay everything so she'd been living off biscuits at friends houses. Despite my hate of her for all the pain she'd made my dad suffer, she was still my mother. And that's how I saw it. She'd given me life despite her lack of interest. In high and sight this was probably a mistake but one i will never regret. This view of my mother however, was later to haunt me.
She bet noone could of guessed that.
As she boarded the train, she found a seat and made herself comfortable.
Backwards. Always backwards.
It seemed everyone else was destined to go forwards but no she was a backwards kinda girl. Seeing where I'd come from made me feel I'd seen the whole journey and not really put things behind me so much as they'd faded into the distance.
The short ride to bridgend went by in a blur and she was met with a slight pang of relief to see the little coffee stand open.
A cappuccino and a flake. What more could a girl need.
She took a seat in the little waiting room, scoured the board for the 1A and tucked into her flake. It's odd taste was the first give away, her second hint that somethig wasn't quite right was the Best Before Date 11-01-12. January 2012. We were in June 2012. Yum! but she ate it anyway. It was chocolate after all and she had never been a best before watcher, unless it smelt funny, then that was a no go. A rancid chicken had forever made its mark on her some years before.
The announcer called and off she bimbled (bimbled is slightly faster than a bomble, but not as fast as a wander - in layman's terms she walked!) she scurried through the carriages to find a seat, she eventually found one in a lonely little corner, she sat down and quietly sipped her coffee.
Backwards. Always backwards.
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