Waiting For a Train That Never Comes

by J A Henderson Henderson

  Rana wiped angrily at her tear streaked face.

  “My granddaughter is Romany and she doesn’t even know it. That’s why my brother has come back. He wants me to remember. Wants Mary to know who she really is.”

  “I don’t want to sound insensitive but you just said your brother is dead.” WPC Arnold rubbed Baba Rana’s arms to restore some circulation. She took off her hat and placed it on the old woman’s uncovered head, tucking wisps of white hair under the peak. It wasn’t much protection against the biting cold but it was the best she could do.

  “Now we have to get you out of here before we join him.” Putting her arm round the old woman she helped Rana to her feet. “Let’s go to the car and take you somewhere safe.”

  Baba Rana was staring across the river.

  “Listen,” she said, a slow smile spreading across her face.

  “The place is as quiet as a grave, Ma’am.” Wincing at her choice of words, WPC Arnold cocked her head to humour the old lady. She noticed there were no seagulls crying.

  “Listen,” The woman repeated. “I can hear my father’s flute.”

  And there it was. The faint echo of a beautiful melody floating across the silvery expanse. WPC Arnold took a step back, shaking her head. Rana looked up and patted her companion’s arm.

  “Do you know what we Gypsies believe? We believe it’s unlucky to die at home. That’s why Romanies must travel somewhere else when their time has come.”

  Baba Rana got slowly to her feet. Her eyes were unfocussed and glassy.

  “I’m ready to go now.”

  The Constable nodded, casting a last surreptitious look over the area. The sun had almost set. It was already too dark to see the rail bridge properly and even the road bridge was beginning to blend into the shadows. She helped Rana into the back seat of the car, got behind the wheel and sped towards higher ground.

  Gordon, Mary and Bobby were nearing the north side of the Rail Bridge when Bobby’s father stopped dead.

  “Dad.” Bobby poked him in the arm. “Could we speed it up a bit? We’re on a railway line with nowhere to run if a train comes. Remember?”

  Gordon pointed to where the estuary widened and joined the sea

  “What are those?”

  Bobby followed his gaze. It was hard to see properly for the sky was rapidly turning to ink.

  “Oil Derricks,” he said. “I suppose they towed them down here for repairs. Why?”

  His father looked around.

  “It happened here,” he said. “Not in Dundee.”

  “What. What happened here?”

  “Everything.”

  “Are you ok, dad?”

  Gordon didn’t move.

  “Dad?”

  Gordon Berlin swallowed hard. Then his eyes rolled up into his head and he slumped onto the track.

  WPC Arnold glanced at the speedometer. She was doing 90 miles an hour but there was no traffic on the road and no chance of meeting any, so she pressed down harder on the accelerator.

  “There’s a range of hills just next to Cupar,” she shouted. “We can be there in ten minutes. Just have to hope they’re high enough. The tidal wave is going to hit the coast any minute.”

  There was silence from the rear of the car. A thought struck the Constable.

  “You do know about the tidal wave?”

  She glanced in the rear view mirror and almost lost control of the car.

  Baba Rana’s head had fallen back and she was staring sightlessly at the roof.

  “You ok, Ma’am? Please say something!”

  The old woman’s head lolled to one side and a lock of white hair slipped from under the police hat.

  The policewoman swore loudly and screeched the car to a halt. Lurching over the seat she gripped the old woman’s wrist and felt for a pulse. There was none.

  Baba Rana was dead.

  “Goddammit!” WPC Arnold jerked away and thumped the seat. Rana slid sideways, head lolling over her bony shoulders.

  With the unruly hair drifting down from the hat and the police jacket fastened round her thin body, Baba Rana looked like an ancient version of WPC Arnold. The Constable closed her eyes and crossed herself.

  Wasn’t much of a way for a person to go. Alone in the back of a stranger’s car

  “I’ll find your granddaughter, Madam. I’ll tell her what you told me. I promise.”

  She let go of Rana’s hand, wormed her way back into the driver’s seat and grasped the wheel.

  “If I actually live through this.”

  Then she floored the accelerator.

  -44-

  Dundee: 5th of January 1979

  It was Sunday night. The sky was a deepening bruise, turning the shadows below the rail bridge into tar. Gordon Berlin huddled against one of the huge concrete supports breathing as quietly as possible. Behind him he could just make out a line of jagged iron stumps protruding from the moonlit waters of the Tay. They were all that remained of the original bridge, swept away in a storm a century ago, taking the train that had been crossing with it. There had been no survivors.

  The boy shivered at the thought of all the angry spirits that might be hanging around this structure.

  “Stop acting so soft,” he said to himself. “You’re fifteen, not a ten year old girl.”

  “Yeah. Stop acting so soft.” A figure appeared round the other side of the support and the boy almost fell over.

  “Is that you, Dodd?”

  “Nah, it’s the Yorkshire Ripper.” Dodd Pollen waved slender fingers in front of his friend’s face. “Made you jump, though.”

  Gordon ‘Dodd’ Pollen was almost the same age and had the same first name as his frightened companion, but there the similarity ended. Gordon Berlin was a small boy, introverted and painfully shy. Deep down he believed he was clever and funny, but was too timid to open his mouth long enough for anyone else to find that out. Dodd Pollen, on the other hand, was an outspoken, self-confessed troublemaker. While Gordon wore a sensibly warm Parka and shapeless brown cords, Dodd had on a black leather jacket, black jeans and engineer boots. Gordon was a boy who lost himself in a world of books and was too awkward to talk to girls. Dodd Pollen liked punk rock and whistled at every passing skirt.

  “What took you so long?” Gordon snapped. “I’ve been here half an hour.”

  “Had a bit of a barny with my dad.”

  “Again?”

  Dodd’s father was a Church of Scotland minister. He didn’t like his son’s clothes or his taste in music or, it seemed, anything else about his rebellious offspring.

  “Yeah, but I got the God bothering bastard back good this time.”

  “What did you do, Dodd?”

  “I broke into his church.” The teenager pulled a wad of pound notes from his pocket. “He keeps all the collection money in his office.”

  “Are you totally mental?”

  “I did get a wee bit carried away.” The teenager clenched his jaw. “Might have spray painted some graffiti on the walls while I was at it.”

  “Holy mother of God!” Gordon gasped, acutely aware this might not be the most appropriate phrase to use. “Do you know how much trouble you’re going to be in?”

  “Tell me about it.” Dodd shook his head dejectedly. “I don’t know what to do. The police will be all over that place tomorrow and my dad’s bound to point the finger at me.”

  “Jeez. I keep hanging out with you and I’ll end up in Borstal.”

  “Not you, pal. You couldn’t be squarer if you were made of Lego.”

  Gordon accepted the jibe. The two were the most unlikely friends. They had met a few months ago, on Magdalene Green. Gordon had been sitting on the swings reading and Dodd was perched on the roundabout, hands in his pockets, slowly revolving. Finally he had sauntered over.

  “What you reading pal?”

  Gordon looked up. He didn’t want to talk, but the boy standing in front of him had been too intimidating to ignore.

  “It’s called The Grea
t Gatsby.”

  He had expected a smack in the teeth right there for being such a weed but the stranger just laughed.

  “Is it?”

  “Is it what?”

  “Great.”

  Gordon smiled timidly. “It’s all right.”

  “I only read comic books myself. The Green Lantern is my favourite. Hey. You like music? I used to like the Rolling Stones but then I heard a band called the Sex Pistols. They’re ace.”

  And suddenly Gordon knew they had something in common.

  They were both lonely.

  The boy never told his parents about his new friend. They were protective to the point of paranoia and would never have let him hang out with such a rough type. And Dodd didn’t tell his parents about Gordon. Dodd didn’t tell his parents anything.

  “Smoke?” Dodd held out a cigarette.

  “I’m trying to quit by not ever starting.”

  “You’re such a nancy.” The boy lit a cigarette, tossed the match over his shoulder and patted his rucksack. “I’m telling you, a fag would go just right with the bottle of wine I nicked from my dad’s office.”

  “What are we doing here anyway?” Gordon looked disdainfully around the dingy underbelly of the bridge. Broken bottles and crumpled cans glittered in the moonlight.

  Dodd glanced upwards and winked. “I got something to show you.”

  “Are you crazy?” Gordon stopped in horror. The boys had climbed up a batch of scaffolding until they reached the barrier that flanked the rail lines. “You want to go onto the tracks?”

  It had taken all Dodd’s powers of persuasion to get his friend this far. Gordon certainly wasn’t about to go waltzing out onto the bridge itself.

  “It’s too dark for anyone on shore to see us,” Dodd coaxed. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”

  “It’s hiding behind my sense of not wanting to get killed.” Gordon hung miserably onto the scaffolding. “Where exactly do you think you’re going?”

  “There’s a gap in the barrier about a third of the way across and a platform sticking out over the water. I think workmen use it to get a clear view of the underside.”

  “What happens if a train comes along when we’re half way there?”

  Dodd pulled a tattered pamphlet from his pocket. “This is the Dundee station timetable. There isn’t a train due for another half an hour. We can easy make it.”

  “I am not going out on the bridge,” Gordon said vehemently.

  His friend’s face darkened.

  “Are you going to spend your whole bloody life playing it safe?”

  “If it means I have a life to play safe with, yes.” Gordon retorted. “Have you ever heard of a train in Scotland that ran on time?”

  “I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise.”

  “I’m not going on the bridge.”

  Dodd sat down on the scaffolding with his arms crossed. He stuck out his chin, mouth set in a grim line, as he always did when he was determined to have his own way.

  “What was it you wanted to show me anyway?” Gordon tried to get his friend talking.

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  “Are you just being crazy or was it something important?”

  “Might have been.” The boy wouldn’t look round. When Dodd Pollen got into a mood it could last for hours unless he was cajoled out of it right away. Gordon gave a loud groan.

  “Come on. Let’s find the damned platform. But then we’re coming straight back.”

  Five minutes later they crawled through a gap in the barrier and crouched on the little workman’s platform that jutted out from the bridge. There was just enough room for the two of them, but Dodd was right. Any train crossing would whiz past a few inches away and never know they were there. The teenager opened the bottle of wine and took a large swig.

  “Look at that.” He pointed east, where the Tay estuary widened out to the North Sea.

  “It’s the road bridge,” Gordon grunted. “We could see it a lot better if we were on the shore.”

  “Don’t be smart, you tube.” Dodd pointed again. “Look further out.”

  Gordon squatted to get a better view. Through the supports of the road bridge he could just make out three structures hovering on the water like giant angular toads, each bedecked with a myriad of little lights.

  “What are they?”

  “Those are oil rigs.” Dodd pulled the cigarette packet from his pocket. “They tow them south for repairs.” He lit a cigarette, his dark eyes reflecting the glow of the burning tip. “That’s what I’m going to do, pal.”

  “Repair oil rigs?”

  “Work on them.” The boy leaned back against the barrier and exhaled a stream of smoke. “I’m sixteen in a few months, old enough to leave school. I’m going to go work on the rigs out on the North Sea.”

  “You can’t even swim.”

  “I’ll learn.” Dodd leaned his head on one fist. “My whole life has been a struggle, like I’m drowning and I can’t get to the surface. My dad is down on me all the time. Every time something bad happens the police come looking for me and I get the blame whether I done it or not.” His voice dripped with loathing. “And this time I’m gonna get stitched up for sure.”

  He gave a heartfelt sigh. Despite Dodd’s bravado, Gordon could tell he was terrified of what was going to happen to him tomorrow.

  “I want out of here Gordo. Want to get far away from my stupid parents and the police. I’m going to go and work in the middle of nowhere, where I don’t get any grief. It’s good money too.” He gave his friend a punch on the knee. “There’s a boom on, pal. Oil companies are crying out for workers.”

  “Don’t hit me! You’ll have me in the water!”

  His friend just grinned, teeth white and even in the darkness.

  “You could come too. We’d be a team.”

  “I was intending to go to university and become a journalist or something. No offence.”

  “Aye. Settle down. Get married and have a kid.” Dodd chuckled. “You’ll soon get sick of that Gordy-boy.”

  “Yeah. If I was you.”

  “Someday you’ll wish you were.” Dodd looked at his watch. “We better get back. Got ten minutes before the next train.”

  The boys squeezed back onto the track and began walking towards the north end.

  Half way there they heard a whistle and saw a string of lights moving parallel to the shore in their direction. Gordon stopped.

  “Where did you say you got that timetable?”

  “Out of my house.” Dodd was staring doubtfully at the flickering lights. “It’s been lying around for ages.”

  “The schedule changes every few weeks you moron!” Gordon shouted.

  “There’s a train coming.”

  -45-

  Gordon Berlin lay on the tracks, curled into a ball, Bobby crouching over him, shaking his shoulders. The man’s eyelids flickered and he gave a low moan.

  “I think he’s coming round!” Bobby yanked harder and Gordon groaned again. “Come on dad! Help me Mary! Mary? What are you doing?”

  The girl was standing up, looking over the barrier in the direction of Dundee. A long, brightly lit shape was moving along the shore towards them.

  “Bobby,” she said quietly, nudging the boy with her foot. “I can see a train.”

  Bobby leapt up and looked where his friend was pointing.

  “Oh, dear Lord.”

  “We’ve got to get your dad off the bridge!”

  The children knelt beside Gordon. Bobby slid his arms round his father’s chest and Mary grabbed his feet. They managed to carry him a few yards before the girl dropped him again.

  “He’s too heavy!” she yelped. “We’ll never make it.”

  “Can we flag the train down? Will it see us?”

  “It’s too dark. The torches were in the rucksack I threw away!”

  “I saw a little platform a few hundred yards back. It’s big enough to climb out on.”

  “That�
�s too far to drag your dad!”

  “I know.” Bobby grabbed Mary and pushed her away. “You go and get on it. I’m going to stay here.”

  “That’s insane!”

  “Every second you argue, I have less time!” Bobby shoved his friend harder. “Please!”

  “What if you can’t wake him up?”

  “I’ll think of something! Just go!”

  “I’m not leaving you!”

  “Mary,” Bobby said quietly. “Don’t make me choose between saving you and saving my dad. Because I’ll choose you and then I’ll never be able to live with what I’ve done.” He clasped his hands together. “Please have faith in me.”

  Mary started to argue, but the look in Bobby’s eyes stopped her.

  Instead she leaned forward and kissed him on the lips.

  “You better not die,” she whispered. “Because I love you.”

  And uttering that statement, more than anything else, made her turn and run.

  Eddie Hall was seated on the prow of the Lillian Gish, the tin whistle stuck in his back pocket. Captain Morrison was peering through the wheelhouse window, using the crewman’s hand signals to steer the ship up the river. They had already passed under the road bridge and were approaching the rail bridge. Eddie’s heart was thundering. It seemed they might reach their destination after all.

  He glanced up at the approaching iron structure and his face went white.

  “Skipper! There’s a kid on the bridge!”

  He could just make her out. A girl standing on a tiny platform jutting out from the main body of the construction. She was waving frantically at them.

  “Did you hear me? There’s a girl on the bridge!”

  “What the hell do you want me to do?” Captain Morrison stuck his head out of the wheelhouse.

  “We have to rescue her!”

  “The tidal wave must be right behind us. We’ll be lucky to make it ourselves, never mind stopping to pick up a passenger.”

  Eddie thought of his own daughter, safe in the hills of Aviemore.

  “We can’t just leave her!”