Platform one (not explicit)

[Cherie]

John sat in the cafe as he had done all week. He cupped his hands around the coffee mug and looked out over the platform, across the tracks, and towards platform one near the stairs. He glanced at his watch. 7:03am, his heart raced as he watched the figure descend the old Victorian footbridge and step onto the platform. As always her hair was immaculate. Her lips were rosey red. Her black shoes shone. And always the milky white plastic raincoat, buttoned up, stylish belt and collar up around her alabaster white neck as if protecting from a cold chill that wasn’t there. John watched transfixed but terrified. He knew what she was. Every morning at the exact same time she appeared, stood on the platform with a blank expression and her hands dug deep into the pockets of her lovely mackintosh. She looked every bit the Hollywood movie star of the 1950’s. Nobody seemed to see her except him. Then after a few minutes her face turned to hope, a thin smile, her eyes darting as if watching the arrival of a non-existent express service. Then the tears came, as always she took a white handkerchief from her pocket and wiped a tear from her eye, turned, and hurried back up the stairs.

This was the final day of John’s week long course. His last visit to this station early in the morning, and the last time he would see his ghost. He was no believer in the supernatural and to be honest, she scared him, which is why he stayed firmly on platform two. On the Tuesday morning, before he had realised what she was, he had ventured to the edge of the grey tarmac, across the white line, and called to her. Back then he had hopes of meeting, a date maybe, even fantasising about marrying her and coming home to see her superb plastic raincoat hanging in their hallway after a hard day at the office. But she seemed not to see him. He thought she was rude. But now on Friday morning he had come to know her exact schedule, repeated every morning, exactly the same, a beautiful girl trapped forever waiting for someone who never arrives. He had memorised how her bare hands looked caressed by the shiny PVC of her pockets. Remembered every detail of how she looked, how the corner of her raincoat flapped in the breeze, and that very slight stumble as her high heel touched the first step up as she was leaving.

This was it, his last chance to see her up close, he knew he needed to be quick as he jumped up from the table and scooted out onto the platform and headed for the footbridge. His heart was pounding and he stepped down, slightly out of breath, onto platform one. Her short black hair sat pristine in the see through vinyl collar. He arrived just before the ghostly express was due to arrive, the moment that hope grew in her expression. John stood behind her paralysed with fear of being so close to a real spirit, but he could smell her perfume. Her raincoat gave off no sound as she moved side to side watching in anticipation of a lover who John knew now was never coming. In that moment his eyes welled up, the vision of her blurred as tears filled his eyes and he felt such sorrow for this poor girl, trapped in a never ending loop waiting for the man who never came.

By Wednesday he had figured out what was happening. His mind was a blur that day, unable to concentrate on the slides about fiscal drag and monetary policy, his brain was committed to thinking about her and what life she had led, and why the person she was waiting for never came. Was he her lover, husband, friend or maybe mother or father. By Thursday morning he had deduced that the look on her face was one reserved only for a true love, both the expressions of anticipation and loss had the hallmark signs that it was an affair of the heart.

John thought he could feel the air change. That pressure that occurs at the station as a train pulls in, but of course there was nothing there. He watched her closely from behind, wanting to put out a hand to touch the smooth plastic raincoat - to comfort her of course, but he knew she was not real. He felt her pain as if were his own at the moment that the train left. Her eyes scanned the platform in both directions in case her man had alighted further down, but now her tears came again, and she turned to leave. John knew he was directly in her path and was fully expecting her to pass right through him on her way to the stairs. But she didn’t. She stopped an looked up at him, her face turned to a broad smile. “John, you came home to me”, and she threw herself around him. In that moment she was as real as he was. He paused a moment before allowing his arms to hold her, the feel of vintage plastic under his bare hands was exquisite. The material was cool and rubbery, made in a different time. He allowed his head to drop so that his chin nestled onto her shoulder, the shiny collar caressed the side of his face. The aroma was of perfume and plastic, he wanted to hold her forever.

After a few seconds she loosened her hug and stepped back, allowing her hands to find his standing back, but still connected, “I thought I had lost you forever, are you ready to come home now?”
John was taken aback by the question but didn’t hesitate in his reply, “yes, of course”.
She turned towards the stairs.
John had seen enough films to know what came next. Somehow he looked like her man, love found the power so that she had crossed over to his world for a few moments. Long enough to meet briefly so that she could move on, this was where she turned, smiled, blew a kiss and walked away as she vanished never to be seen again. He would feel good that he was able to help her soul complete its journey, but the cost was great, as he now had a huge hole in his own heart. For a moment he wondered if he had been cursed to keep returning to this spot each day in the hopes of seeing her, just as she had done.

John walked up the cobbled pathway to his house. The fresh mint green paint on his front door was all the rage, proud that he had done some DIY having never been the handy type. But tradesmen were impossible to find since so many had not come back, and those that did were busy rebuilding housing in the bombed out areas. He stood in his hallway, looked across at the coat stand where her plastic raincoat hung, as it always did. Through the hallway he could see her in the kitchen, she turned and smiled as she undid her apron, smoothed her yellow dress, and ran to greet her husband.

John recalled the moment he stood on the platform, expecting her to fade away, but what actually happened was that she led him up the stairs. The weight of his rucksack containing the laptop across his shoulder had vanished, and he instinctively knew to bend down and pick up the large brown canvas bag that he must have been travelling with. They had walked up the metal stairs together as he watched his jeans and shirt turn into a pin-stripe double-breasted suit, his black trainers changed to patent leather shoes. He had slipped his arm around her waist and she retuned the gesture, “do you like my new raincoat darling? They are the latest thing and all the girls are wearing them about town”.

The End

[HeatherlovesPVC]

Brilliant story, well written and a nice ending.

Heather

[Cherie]

Brilliant story, well written and a nice ending.

Heather

Thanks Heather.

Cherie x