| The
Spirit of Friendship
by Elaine Miles
I’m drifting about on the platform at St Albans station when
I spot them - the usual gang. They’d stand out in any crowd.
There’s Laura, pretty and lively with confidence to match;
Heather, chatty and sociable (she’s got a wicked sense of
humour); Isabel, academic and ambitious, with long, ice-blonde hair;
and Pippa – giggly, very sweet, more than a bit dizzy - and
probably the most popular of them all because of it.
And now they are four. I was the fifth – and I was, in every
sense, the fifth – but no longer.
I wonder whether they miss me, or whether the gap I left behind
has simply closed over, as if I was never there at all.
We were friends all through primary school and into secondary school.
Laura was my best friend, but I always knew in my heart I wasn’t
hers. It was understandable – she’s outgoing and popular,
whereas I was shy and a bit unsure of myself. I had tried to be
more like the others, but it was hard work trying to be more interesting
than I felt. Sometimes I used to think that ducking out of the group
and making friends with the smelly girl in Biology with the lazy
eye would have been simpler. They seemed to find life so effortless,
as if they had the world at their feet. I was still trying to find
mine.
It’s not that I blame them for what happened, and I don’t
want to frighten them (I make sure they never get even a glimpse
of me), so why am I hanging around them, even now? I watch them
in the station café every day, buying their breakfast of
smoothies and snacks (fruit for Laura – she’s a health
nut), and of course deep down I know why I’m there.
I need to understand why they left me behind on that day.
‘The train arriving on Platform Two is the 08.16 to Elstree.’
There they go – spilling into the train – making a dash
for any available seats ahead of the smart, taut-faced commuters.
They sit in a ‘four’, and today I glide in right behind
them, ticketless and chuckling at the freedom of it. I always used
to end up sitting on the other side of the gangway, before, craning
my neck to hear their conversation – shouting ‘What?’
at regular intervals and pretending not to mind if I didn’t
get an answer. But today I can sit wherever I like. No one will
notice. I plonk myself down on a rather po-faced businessman’s
lap to start with, just for a laugh. Then I go and park myself slap
bang between Laura and Heather.
They seem pretty cheerful, considering. Not that it makes me feel
sad or anything. I just notice it, that’s all. They don’t
talk about me. It’s as if I never existed.
The train enters a tunnel and the carriage lights flash on. Laura,
seated at the window, gazes thoughtfully at her reflection; hypnotised
by her own stare. Out of habit, I search for my own reflection –
and of course there’s nothing to see. That’s how it
felt being friends with Laura, come to think of it – as if
there were two of her, and none of me.
The train pulls in at Elstree and they head off to school, leaving
me to waft around the station till they return to take the train
home. My favourite game is to wander onto the tracks into the path
of the oncoming trains. The drivers can’t see me anyway, because
they never knew me, and it’s quite funny to see them roll
right over me, oblivious. It’s a bit scary the first time
you do it, mind you, because you can’t quite believe it won’t
hurt, but once you get over that, it’s brilliant. And it’s
such a thrill to be so daring – I was scared of most things,
before.
But then I guess I’ve a lot less to lose now, haven’t
I?
We used to meet at the school gates at four o’clock each afternoon
to make the journey home, under strict instructions from our parents
never to travel alone – especially in winter. No one wanted
to anyway – there were some funny people about, as my Mum
used to say. ‘There’s more out than in,’ my Dad
would add, ominously.
On that particular day, I had needed to see my tutor after school.
I had told Laura about it, I know I had, and she promised they’d
wait for me. I rushed to the school gates as soon as the tutor let
me go - only to find they’d gone without me.
I panicked a bit, because it was almost dark by now, and legged
it to the station, racing onto the platform just in time to see
them disappearing onto the train. The doors snapped shut, and they
were gone. I couldn’t believe it - they didn’t even
look around for me – not once.
So they didn’t see me standing alone, in that quiet, slightly
spooky pause between one train and the next, the platform deserted
and strangely silent, after the waiting passengers have been swept
away, and before the platform has begun to fill up again. They didn’t
see the tall, bearded, scruffy-looking man with the creepy, staring
eyes, hanging back in the shadows; didn’t see him bundle me
off towards the dark, deserted end of the platform. Didn’t
see him push me into the bushes.
You can guess the rest, I expect. It was in all the papers, anyway.
I watch them each day, and I still can’t understand why they
went without me. We were supposed to be friends, to watch out for
each other … and I know I’ll be on the train with them
every day, until I have the answer …
It’s the last day of term today and they’re chatting
and giggling as they wait for the train home - Heather’s got
them all in stitches as usual. They’re pretending to be oblivious
to the attention they attract, but a casual swish of the hair from
Isabel, the briefest of sidelong glances from Laura, a slightly
stagey, over-tinkly laugh from Pippa, and you know they’re
acutely aware of their power to captivate, to entertain. I would
never have noticed that before, but it’s crystal clear to
me now.
There’s a new girl with them today. She looks nice –
quiet, not very confident, not especially pretty either, but she’s
got a nice smile. You can see she’s trying hard to keep up,
but she’s up against it, because they’re all on form
today.
And as I watch her, it suddenly dawns on me that the new girl is
another version of me; the girl who’s punching slightly above
her social weight, bound eventually to float right out of their
field of vision.
And that, I see now, is what happened to me that day. They didn’t
leave me behind on purpose. I simply fell off their radar for a
moment, and that was all it took.
It’s in that flash of realisation that I spot him. Hanging
back from the crowd, paying dangerously close attention to the girls
with his murderous, feverish stare.
They never caught him, then.
Tensed in sinister readiness, it’s clear my friends are the
new object of this sad pervert. All he needs now is an opportunity.
The idea of any of my friends suffering my miserable fate is chilling;
he’s got to be stopped.
At that moment the train screeches in, and the girls make a dash
for the doors, jamming themselves onto the packed train. The new
girl is trying to keep up with them, but she’s smaller than
they are, and is being pushed back by the crowd … I’m
suddenly so afraid she’s going to be left behind, and to my
horror I realise it’s like watching myself all over again…
why, oh why don’t they watch out for her?
What happens next stops me in my tracks. Laura turns, looks around
for the new girl, catches sight of her, grabs her hand, and pulls
her onto the train.
The doors close – and the train whisks them to safety. Overwhelmed
with relief, I knew I had seen what I needed to; my friends would
watch out for each other from now on, I was sure of it.
And so I turn, triumphant now, to savour my attacker’s disappointment,
only to find him staring directly at me in sheer disbelief, his
face grey and hollow with terror and shock. Quick as a flash, he
turns on his heels and heads for the exit, knocking the poor ticket
collector flying, fleeing down the station steps with surprising
speed. As he disappears. rat-like, into the underground walkway,
he glances back just once, appalled, only to find me grinning cheerfully
at him from the top of the staircase. It’s an ironic, rather
amusing reversal of events, I feel, but then some people have absolutely
no sense of humour, do they.
Honestly. Anyone would think he’d seen a ghost.
|
