Waiting For You

Oxford Station, mid August

All afternoon she sits, wedged between the wooden fence and the concrete platform of Oxford station. Her thin, cream wool cardigan is pulled tight over her knees. She occasionally glances up at the transient orange pixels that scroll across the display to show arrival times.

She rises only for certain trains, craning her neck to interrogate every single passenger that alights. She is taller than she first appears, which gives her a good sightline. She is waiting for a train from Manchester, but he might have changed at Birmingham.

Nobody talks to her, but she is far from invisible. Although she does nothing to invite conversation, she hopes someone will engage with her. She wants to give her enigmatic reply, 'he's my flat mate and so much more'. What does that mean? She smiles to herself; she controls her own destiny.

The light is fading and there are few people left on the station, a coolness creeping into the dusky air. She has pulled her cardigan tight to her torso, looking straight across the tracks towards the sunset. A goods train runs through, carrying trucks full of coal. The yellowing light spills across her face and she blinks.

Her eyes are bright. She knows it is fate.