I decided what to do with the doll. I’d leave it on a train.
Any train would do. I picked the last one that night; the one heading to Greensborough. It would be almost empty. I’d put the doll on a seat and get off at the first stop. Problem solved.
It was cold that night, waiting on the platform. I held the doll close. My hoody was up, pulled forward in case anyone saw me, but, as it happened, there wasn’t a soul around. My home town’s pretty small. I got a ticket from the machine, and, when the train showed, on I got.
Denby was the first stop, only ten minutes away. Been there before lots of times, usually sleepovers at Anna’s. We’d stay up late telling ghost stories. It had been fun. That was before all this problem happened with me and her stupid brother.
Anyway, I’d leave the doll on the train, get off at Denby, and walk home. I wouldn’t go near Anna’s; that was the last place I wanted to see. From Denby to my town wasn’t that far. I could walk it. It wouldn’t bother me, walking down country lanes in the dark. There’d be no one there, just me and owls going too-wit, too-woo. Maybe I’d see a fox, and it would think: “Strange! Who is this girl who walks my woods so late at night?”
I’d get home around one or two, and let myself in. Mum would be out, working the night shift at the supermarket. Dad had been wasted earlier; by now, he’d have crashed out completely.
So, I’d just go to bed.
And I told myself the doll would be fine. People would look after it. The conductor for one; he’d find it. Or when the train pulled into Greensborough, they’d check the carriages and see it.
The carriage I was on wasn’t empty. There was one guy, dozing. He looked drunk, mouth sagging. He wore a nice blue suit. His tie was undone at the collar, and he was leaning against the window, forehead pressed up against the glass. Even though he was drunk, asleep, he looked smart. Maybe he’d been for drinks with friends from work. I wondered if he worked in a big city. His office would be high up, airy, with windows that looked out over the buildings. He couldn’t drive home tonight because he’d been drinking, so he’d caught a train. He wasn’t a reckless person. That’s who this guy was.
“Tickets, please.”
I handed mine over to the conductor. I look older than my age – I’m fourteen – but I kept my hoody up. I hadn’t pulled it too far forward, though, because it would look like I’m trying not to be seen. It’s like buying cigarettes. You’ve got to look like you’re not bothered.
I didn’t want to, but I thought it best to keep the doll on my lap. That’s what you’re meant to do. Or, at least, I suppose you are.
“Up kind of late,” he said. I realized he didn’t just mean me.
Be confident.
“Tell me about it!” I said, smiling. “Been a nightmare. My boyfriend was supposed to pick us up but his car broke down. Now I’m meeting him at Denby.”
He nodded. “Not far, then.”
“Yes, he’ll be at the station.”
He smiled and moved on but didn’t ask the sleeping guy for his ticket. Maybe he’d checked it earlier.
I looked out of the window for a few minutes. After I’d got off, the doll wouldn’t be on its own for long. No way would it. The conductor would see it.
The lights out there in the darkness weren’t flicking by as quickly. This was it. I got up and went to the train door.
Then, behind me, the doll started to cry.
I stared over at it, where I’d put it on the seat. I went back, leaned over it.
“Hush now, shush…” Those things you’re supposed to say. But it kept on crying. And the train was slowing. “Hush now…”
I glanced over at the sleeping guy. He’d hear it. He’d wake up. I wanted to shout at the doll, put my hand over its mouth.
“The next stop is Denby. Can all passengers remember…”
The automated woman’s voice; there was a sort of calmness in the sound. The doll stopped crying.
I went to the train door as it hissed open. Then I was out onto the platform. Cool air. The conductor was way down to the front of the train, one foot on the platform, checking to see if it was safe to close the doors. But I had my back to him so he wouldn’t notice I wasn’t carrying anything more than an empty sling in front of me. I walked away. Any second and he’d shut the doors, and the train would be gone.
“Hey!”
I turned my head. It wasn’t the conductor. It was the drunk guy standing half in and out of the doorway I’d just left.
“What d’you think you’re doing?” he said.
Try to look cool. “What do you mean?”
“Here. In here! That’s what I mean.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. Then he shouted down to the conductor, along the platform. “Wait up!”
The conductor started walking. He was a young guy. He’d catch me easy if I ran.
“You see what she’s doing?” said the guy.
Distantly, I could hear; the crying sound again. The shouting had woken it up.
The conductor looked at the guy, and then at me.
“How old are you?” he asked.
“I’m eighteen.”
“Really.”
He got his phone out.
My legs felt weak. I sat down on a bench over by the wall. I stayed there while eventually people came and talked to me.
For months, people had been telling me I had to grow up. So, I’d tried to. When you grow up, you leave your toys behind. That’s what you do.
Richard Hulse currently lives in North-West England. His short fiction has appeared in Smokelong, 3AM Magazine, and Monkeybicycle.
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