Train Times
I sat on her bed watching her pack.
“Kerry there’s nowt to stop you coming with me.” She was folding a fluffy jumper into a neat square.
“What about Eddie?”
“Oh, Kez please, Eddie’s a dickhead.” She started rummaging through some drawers. “We all know it. We’re just waiting for you to catch up.”
“He’s not. Not really... Anyway, there’s my job.”
“Pilkington’s Submersible Pumps Ltd?” She made a noise like the dog when it’s choking. “Minimum wage and Jed Powell groping your arse every time he walks past?” She put some shoes on the bed and sat next to me. Dried mud flaked onto the duvet. “Kerry, it’s only London, not bleedin’ Mars.” She took my hand, all soft, like she was a nurse or summat. “I can keep us until you find a job. This place, it’s…”
“There’s loads of overtime.” My head was starting to fizz. I pulled my hand away. “Anyway, It’s OK for you.”
“Why’s it ok for me?” She stood up and started packing again, like she didn’t want an answer.
“Cos it is. You...and your hair, and...
“Eh?” She stopped and looked at me.
“And your make up and everything, look at you.” I pointed to the dressing table so she’d look somewhere else.
“Jenny what the hell are you ranting about?”
“You know what I’m on about. You’ve no idea what it’s like for normal lasses. You swan around the place, thinkin’ you’re all that...”
“No, I don’t.”
“Yes, you fuckin’ do. You’re all, ‘ooo look at me in me new dress from Harvey Nicks’, while the rest of us are scabbin’ it in fuckin’ Primark.”
“Is that right?”
I wanted her to shout back but she closed her case lid, all careful-like, like she was making a point. Then she walked out without sayin’ owt.
I could hear her fancy sandals, flip-flopping down the stairs, getting further away, until she slammed front door. I ran to the bedroom window and yanked it open and shouted down street, “that’s right, fuck off to London.” She didn’t turn round. Mrs Cotterill from across was gawping. I leaned further out. “Oy you, I know you heard me. Don’t fucking come back.”
Then I cried, until it was time for my shift to start.
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Author’s note - I was inspired to write this after reading ‘Everline’ by James Joyce, from The Dubliners. I was intrigued by Eveline’s reasons for staying, in a less that salubrious situation, rather than take a chance on a new life. I wanted to capture this in a piece of flash fiction.