The Train Journey

A small smile drifted across her face, I watched and wondered what thought from nowhere had brought that smile, was it the sight of the lambs in field we sped past or a happy memory triggered by the name of the station the train manager had announced we were about to pull into.

Without warning the woman whose smile I'd been dissecting was thrown forward into my lap as our ears filled with the gut-wrenching screech of breaking metal on metal. The next minute or so was awash with anarchy, screams, screeches, cries and crashes as the carriage left the rails and skidded onto its side. It was both slow-motion and fast forward, panic and calm.

When finally the train reached a stand still and relative silence fell, I could do a quick stocktake, I could feel and move my limbs and see from both eyes, I was cut and bruised but nothing serious. The same couldn't be said of my travelling companion.

Against the backdrop of murmurs and groans, I reached out and held her hand. Now I'm no doctor and my first aid training comes from watching Casualty on the BBC, but I knew she was badly hurt. How one person can come away relatively unscathed while another be so hurt was beyond me. On TV medical dramas they always talked to the victim to keep them conscious, I had no idea if this helped in real life but knew I had to give it a go. But what to say? I thought about that fleeting smile just moments before and I did what came naturally; I flirted.

'You've got a beautiful smile.' I whispered. She looked at me and squeezed my hand. I was careful not to move her, I'd seen that on Casualty too.  'What were you smiling at back there?' I smiled at her the best I could.

‘The sheep’ she croaked in a voice so tiny, so scared.

‘Billy loves sheep.’

‘Billy?’

‘My boy.’

They were the words I didn’t want to hear, knowing there was a son somewhere usually pissed me off because it would mean the woman I was chatting to was unavailable, but this time it nearly broke my heart, knowing there was a little ‘un somewhere waiting for his mam to get home.

‘How old’s Billy?’ I kept going, I had to be brave.

‘He’s 4.’ He voice seemed even more fragile and my heart breaking that little bit more. ‘He likes drawing sheep... he’s a good lad.’

‘That’s good,’ I was searching for questions, someone near us was in a lot of pain, I hoped the emergency services would be there soon. ‘What else does he like drawing?’

‘Mnermen.’ she mumbled.

‘Mister Men?’ I translated. ‘I used to like Mister Strong, all those eggs.’

She smiled but I could tell the pain was too much for her.

‘What’s his favourite?’

Before she could answer we heard the sounds of sirens and the tangled carriage was bathed in blue light.

‘Mr Bump.’ she whispered.

‘I guess you’ll look like Mister Bump when they get you out of here.’ I smiled.

They were my last words to her. For that briefest of moments our lives were thrust together. I’ll never forget those moments, the look on her face, those mumbled words, nor the sense of relief when the paramedic swept me out of the way and took over.

As I was leaving the hospital, my cuts patched up, I saw a small boy with a cute woolly sheep under his arm talking to a good looking but ashen-faced man. I stopped and pretended to do my lace up, listening in to their conversation.

‘Mummy’s very ill but she’s going to be okay, she looks a bit like Mister Bump now.’

Despite the trauma of the day, I went home with a smile on my face.