7/27/2019 SOME DAY WE MIGHT.

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ONE DAY WE MIGHT.

Lydia sits on the railway station. She likes it here, likes the smell of the steam trains, the sound, the powerfulness of theengines. Her father works for the railway, and sometimes, when he sober and in a good mood, he takes her for rides to thecoast, or to the countryside where there are cows and sheep to be seen from the windows. But this is a London station, a fiveminute walk from the flat, away from her teasing brother and her older sister and her Spiv boyfriend. She dreams of taking ajourney to Scotland as she has seen on the big advertisement boards. Edinburgh or Glasgow or one of those other large townsdown on the coast with blue seas and yellow beaches. She breathes in the air, smells the trains, also what her father calls theLondon air. She has 6d in her cardigan pocket. Her big sister's Spiv boyfriend gave it to her to go out while he and the bigsister smooch and such. She fingers it in her pocket, the smoothness of the coin. Benedict stands on the platform edge. He

came with her from the flats. He lives upstairs and she lives down. Her father works on the railways, his father is an engineer.Her father is a drunk, his father isn't. Don't get too near the edge, she says. Benedict looks back at her. Nothing coming, hesays, safe as houses. What if you fall on the live rail? She looks anxious. Don't be such an old nanny, he says. She wishes hewould come away from the edge. He walks back from the edge. We could go to Waterloo, he says, bigger and more trains,more steam and noise. She muses on it. By train? She asks. If you like, he says. Only got 6d, she says. We could walk, he sayssmiling. Too far, she says. She looks along the track; the rails seem to go on forever. Get a bus, then, he says. I'll pay. Shelooks at him standing there in his faded blue jeans and cowboy shirt, his hair short cut, light brown, hazel eyes, peering at her.OK, she says. They walk out of the station and wait by the bus stop along the road. Benedict looks up the road for their bus. Notcoming yet. She stands beside him. He notes her stained cardigan, the short silvery grey skirt, the grey-white socks and blackplimsolls. Her light brown hair is straight and shoulder length, she has a metal hair-clip either side, her mouth is small, her lipsa thin reddish line. Borrowed her mother's lipstick again or from her big sister. The bus is coming. He fingers the coins in hisjean's pocket. She becomes anxious. Stands closer to him. They board the bus, and Benedict and she, sit by the side near theback. Benedict pays the bus conductor the fares. The bus is crowded; a fat woman sits next to Benedict, squashes him againstLydia, her big arms shut out light. She smells of sweat. Lydia looks ahead, her hands tucked between her knees, her plimsolls

touching at the toes. The bus goes on its journey. There is a sway as a it turns corners and the fat woman leans more againstBenedict and he, in turn, leans on Lydia. She smells of Lifebuoy soap and toothpaste. He smells it more as he leans in close.After a number of stops and starts, they arrive at Waterloo railway station. They get off the bus, leaving the fat woman the extraspace. The bus pulls away and off up the road. He walks up the steps of the station and Lydia follows close behind. She isnervous; she is always anxious of places; large areas, too many people. Once at the top of the steps, he walks along the vastarea, with large boards, telling which trains leave what platform and whatever time. People are everywhere. Groups, singles,couples, porters pushing trolleys or luggage or standing waiting. They find a seat on a platform and sit down. He sniffs the air.Acrid, steam, old bricks, people, bodies. Lydia's Lifebuoy soap. She watches the train. The engine and its powerfulness. Blackand red and gold. Hiss sounds. The Spiv boyfriend of her big sister made hiss sounds. Hiss, hiss, hoy, Girly, he whispered toher as she lay in bed that morning, move out, I want to snuggle up to your skin and blister. She frowned. Her big sister lookedat her. Be a sweety and go get me a cuppa, she said. Lydia sighed and got out of bed in her nightdress and the Spiv smiled.She went through the living room and into the kitchen, where her mother was pulling washing out of the copper and putting itthrough the ringer. Her mother had a cigarette in her mouth and a scarf around her head. Where's Gloria? Her mother asked.In bed, Lydia said. Where's the Spiv? her mother said. In the bedroom, Lydia replied. She wants a cuppa. Her mother

shrugged her shoulders and wound handle of the ringer. Once she'd made the cup of tea, she took it back to the bedroom. TheSpiv was in bed beside Gloria. Put it down there, he said, pointing to the bedside cabinet, and go get washed and dressed.Lydia stared at him, his naked shoulder showing above the blanket, his black hair greased back onto her pillow. Gloria lookedover his shoulder at Lydia. Off you go then, Sweety, leave us be. Lydia pouted her l ips, then went out the door and walked offto the kitchen and turned on the tap into the sink. She removed her night dress, and taking the red soap, began to wash herface and body. The water was cold. She couldn't be bothered to go behind her mother and put the kettle on for hot water. Thesoap had a strong smell. She lathered under arms and around her face and neck. Then she rinsed it all off and dried on the bigwhite towel behind the door. Her mother said nothing, just inhaled on the cigarette and wound the handle of the ringer. Shedressed in the bedroom. The Spiv and Gloria were smooching under the blankets, giggling and making noises. Sometimes theSpiv hid her clothes and she had to search high and low for them. Today he hadn't bothered. One day, said Benedict, wakingher from her thoughts, we can go down to Brighton. I'll cadge money from my old man, say it's for history research at school,and we can have a day out. Lydia looked at him anxiously, played with her thin fingers. She thought of the seaside, the yellowbeaches on the big advertisement boards, the blue sea, seagulls in the air by the cliffs. And have ice creams and fish andchips, he went on. Or run away forever, he said, smiling, seeing her eyes grow large, her fingers going round each other as ifknitting an invisible scarf. Just joking, he said, a day out though, that at least. She nodded uncertainly, laying her head on hissmall shoulder, watching steam from the engine hiss loudly, and rise to the high glass roof and fill the area above to a sea ofgrey and white. Ok, she said, maybe we shall, one day, one day, we might.