Waiting For a Train That Never Comes

by J A Henderson Henderson

  “You want to play the hero and lose your share of the money, be my guest.” The Captain nodded in the direction of the ship’s only lifeboat. “Feel free to lower it and head for the bridge.”

  “And then what?”

  “Then shout for the kid to damn well jump.”

  -46-

  Dundee: 5th of January 1979

  As the express clacked onto the bridge Gordon and Dodd raced back towards the workmen’s platform. There was a northbound track running parallel to the one they were on, but the gap between the two sets of rails led straight down to the water and it was too wide to jump.

  “We’re not going to make it!” the smaller boy shouted, his voice clogged with terror.

  “I know! Get onto the barrier!” Dodd swerved and launched himself at the iron wall bordering the side of the bridge. Gordon ran a few yards further, then did the same, clambering up the side and onto the narrow rim.

  The moment he climbed up he knew it would do no good. The top of the barrier was already beginning to shake with the vibrations of the approaching express. When the train thundered past he would either be dragged under the wheels by the slipstream or catapulted off the barrier and down into the black water.

  “We’re going to be killed!”

  “Hang over the side until the train goes past!”

  “Are you nuts?”

  “We don’t have a choice!”

  Weeping, the terrified boy lowered his legs over the river’s side of the rail where they dangled in empty air. There weren’t any footholds on the smooth metal, not even exposed bolts or rivets. His entire weight rested on his elbows and forearms.

  The express reached him. First the engine and then the carriages swept past, illuminated mayhem accompanied by a jackhammer din. The barrier was now vibrating violently and Gordon felt himself slipping. He wriggled his body frantically as he tried to keep his arms on top of the rail, digging his nails into the metal until they splintered and broke.

  First his elbows then his forearms were jolted from their precarious hold and the boy sank a foot, hands instinctively grabbing the jutting lip of the barrier.

  Then he was hanging in mid-air. The last carriage of the express roared by, red tail lights fading away, along with the pneumatic sound of wheels on tracks. Gordon tried to pull himself up, until his arms burned with the effort, but he simply didn’t have the strength.

  “Dodd!” he screamed. “I can’t hold on!”

  Silence.

  “Dodd! Where are you!”

  A pair of hands appeared above him on the edge of the parapet, then his friend hauled himself up and peered over the side.

  “You had to pick the only bit of bloody barrier that hasn’t got struts to stand on,” he shouted. “You absolute wally!”

  “Oh, God. I’m going to fall!” Gordon felt as if he would pass out. “Please don’t let me fall!”

  Dodd put his hands round his friend’s wrists and heaved. Gordon shot up a few inches and then slid back again.

  “You’re too heavy!”

  “Don’t let me die!”

  “Hold on, you pain in the arse. I’m coming.” Dodd swivelled himself round on top of the barrier. Then he too lowered himself onto his elbows so that he dangled next to Gordon.

  “Grab my belt.”

  Gordon grasped hold of the boy’s jacket and pulled himself up a few inches. It gave him enough extra height to get a leg round his friend’s waist. He shifted his hand quickly from Dodd’s jacket to his shoulder and pushed. The other arm slipped over the top of the barrier. He planted a foot on Dodd’s back and thrust down.

  “Ow!” his friend yelped. “Go on a bloody diet, will you?”

  With a monumental effort Gordon hauled himself onto the barrier, rolling over and down the other side, landing heavily on the track. The impact knocked the breath from his body and he cried out in pain.

  “Gordon.” Dodd’s forlorn voice came from the other side of the metal wall. “I think I’m stuck.”

  The boy got to his feet and climbed the parapet again, his stomach churning.

  Gordon’s final push had dislodged Dodd Pollen’s elbows and his friend was hanging from the barrier by his hands, exactly as he had been. Dodd’s jaw went rigid with effort as he tried to pull himself up, but he no longer had the power to do it. Gordon seized the boy’s wrists and hauled. The positions were reversed, but the result was the same. Dodd was too heavy to drag to safety.

  “I can’t manage!”

  “I’m slipping.” Dodd’s voice, at last, betrayed his fear. “You have to lower yourself a bit, like I did.”

  “It won’t work,” Gordon sobbed. “I’m not strong enough. We’ll both fall.”

  “You got to try! You can do this pal. You don’t have to lower yourself right down, just a bit so I can get hold of you properly.”

  “I can’t. I hurt my arm when I fell!”

  “That’s not true!”

  “I haven’t got the strength, I tell you!”

  “You can’t let me die Gordy-boy.” Dodd’s voice sounded helpless and small. “I’ve got plans.”

  Gordon grabbed his friend’s wrists again, put his feet on the barrier and pulled until every muscle in his body was straining. He threw his head back and roared with pain and fear and self-loathing, staring wildly at the heavens, at the stars, at the struts of the bridge crisscrossing the moon. Anywhere but at his friend’s face.

  He pulled until Dodd Pollen’s wrists slipped through his fingers.

  There was a scream from the other side of the barrier. Gordon leapt forward, throwing his upper body onto the ledge, trying to grab Dodd’s hands one last time.

  Pain and abject horror were plainly visible on Dodd Pollen’s face as he plunged downwards, heading for the black water. Then there was a small splash, a pitiful sound in the darkness.

  Gordon sprinted back across the bridge and dashed down the embankment into Magdalene Green, looking for a telephone box to call the police. It was five minutes before he found one.

  The handset was missing and the coin slot smashed and covered in graffiti.

  The teenager slumped down beside it and wept.

  He knew his best friend couldn’t swim. He knew how cold the Tay must be in mid-winter.

  He knew that Dodd Pollen was gone.

  Eventually Gordon’s tears subsided. He got to his feet and glowered at the bridge, shoulders heaving with dry sobs. Then he walked home. His body stopped shaking. He stuck out his chin and set his mouth in a grim line.

  His mother and father were in the living room, watching Coronation Street. Ignoring their warm hello, Gordon went to his bedroom and got out his photograph album. Shaking with shame, he sat with a red crayon and violently scored out every image of himself that had ever been taken.

  Dodd Pollen’s body floated out to sea, face down, on the estuary tide. Under the rail bridge it bobbed, past the oil rigs where he so badly wanted to work. Finally it sank beneath the waves, pulled down by the weight of sodden clothes.

  It was never recovered.

  -47-

  Bobby pounded his father’s chest. The train was rounding the corner from the shoreline and moving onto the bridge.

  “C’mon dad! Please, please wake up!” He got to his feet and waved frantically at the troop train. But the bridge was almost pitch black, the engine was travelling at breakneck speed and he knew, instinctively, that the driver wouldn’t see them until it was too late. The rails were beginning to rattle as the locomotive bore down on them.

  “Bobby?”

  The teenager spun round. His father was sitting up.

  “Dad!”

  “How the hell did I get here?”

  Bobby pointed, his throat too dry to speak. His father looked round and saw the train. He gave a sharp intake of breath and scrambled to his feet.

  “Get onto the barrier. Climb up and hang over the side.”

  “What?”

  “Just do it!”

  He hurried his son to
the edge of the bridge and they clambered onto the top of the parapet.

  “Don’t use your elbows to support yourself. The train’s vibrations will just dislodge them.” Gordon lowered himself until he hung by his hands. “Do what I do. If you feel yourself slipping, put your arms and legs around me and hold on.”

  The last troop train from Dundee roared past. The barrier shook and rattled and Bobby felt his fingers being dislodged.

  “Dad, I’m going to fall!”

  “The whole damned bridge to choose from and I pick exactly the same spot as last time,” Gordon murmured in disgust.

  He let go with one hand and grabbed his son round the waist with the other.

  “You can’t hold on with one arm dad!”

  “I am NOT letting you go!” The muscles on Gordon’s neck bulged and he clenched his jaw in determination. “Not this time.”

  One of Bobby’s hands slipped from the rim and he gave a squeal of terror

  “Climb up my body,” his father commanded. “Get back on the bridge!”

  “I can’t!”

  “You can!”

  “Dad.” Bobby choked back a sob. “I hurt my shoulder when I bust open that shop door. I can’t use my arm properly.”

  His father’s mouth trembled and he screwed his eyes shut.

  “But you can climb back and pull me up, can’t you?” his son pleaded.

  “I can’t Bobby. I got no more energy.” Gordon looked into his son’s eyes, his own glistening.

  “Then let me drop. You can pull yourself up if you’re not hanging on to me.”

  Gordon Berlin kissed his son on the forehead.

  “That I will not do. But, believe me, I am an excellent swimmer. Now, point your toes and keep your body upright.”

  And he let go.

  With a double yell, Bobby and his father dropped down into the darkness and hit the freezing waters of the Tay.

  The next minutes were a blur for Bobby Berlin. The impact of the fall almost knocked him out. His mouth filled with water and he sank into darkness until he thought his lungs were going to explode. Then he felt arms around his waist and a soaring sensation as he lost consciousness.

  The next thing he knew he was lying on the hard wooden bench of what seemed to be a lifeboat. Mary and Gordon were bending over him, wet hair and huge grins plastered across their faces.

  “Welcome aboard Bobby.” Mary threw her arms round his neck and gave him a hug.

  “I don’t know what you’re all so damned cheerful about!” A sandy haired man with a large moustache popped up behind Gordon. “I bet the tidal wave is only minutes away. We got to try and row for shore. Get onto the roof of a building.”

  “What are you talking about? What tidal wave?”

  “Where have you been the last two days?” the sailor cried. “Down an effing mineshaft?”

  Bobby and Mary glanced at each other.

  “That’s why the place is abandoned!” the boy spluttered.

  “It’s due to hit any minute.” Eddie Hall dug frantically under the seats and began pulling out a set of oars. Bobby’s father grabbed him.

  “Is this something to do with the Storegga region?”

  “The whole sodding shelf has collapsed.” Eddie shook off Gordon’s grip. “How could you not know?”

  Bobby’s father threw himself towards the rail of the lifeboat and leaned over.

  “The water’s going down. That means the wave is just offshore. It’s sucking the whole estuary out to sea. Then it’s going to come pile driving back as a giant wall of water.”

  “I thought you didn’t know about the tidal wave?” Eddie returned to hauling out the oars.

  “I didn’t, but I know what it will do.” Gordon began looking under the seats. “Forget about the oars, we’ll never make it to shore and it wouldn’t save us if we did. We need tarpaulin.”

  He looked up. The children were staring at him in shock.

  “Look for tarpaulin, dammit! We need to cover the top of the lifeboat and fasten it down.”

  “You don’t think you’re Dodd Pollen anymore, do you?” Bobby held his breath.

  “How do you know about Dodd?” his father looked shocked. “I’ve never told anyone about him.”

  “Oh God. I’ve picked up a bunch of lunatics!” Eddie moaned. “I should have left you all in the water.”

  “We lunatics are about to save your life.” Gordon dropped to his knees and looked under the seats again. “If we can cover the top of the boat and make it as watertight as possible, we might just ride out the wave. Lifeboats are made to withstand all sorts of conditions and they float like corks.”

  “The tarp’s under the bow.” Eddie gripped Bobby’s father by the collar and pulled him in the right direction. “Here.”

  The two dragged out a bright yellow waterproof sheet, fringed with short pieces of rope.

  “Spread it out over the stern and start fastening the ropes to those little hooks on the side,” Eddie instructed. “Tie them tight as possible.”

  “Work your way from stern to prow,” Gordon added. “Then we’ll get below the tarp and fasten the last few ties from underneath.” He gave Eddie a puzzled look. “What in God’s name are you doing in the middle of the Tay in a lifeboat?”

  “Came from that trawler.” Eddie pointed to the Lillian Gish, steaming west half a mile further down the river. “My Captain’s still on it.”

  “Too bad.” Gordon began fastening the ropes quickly and efficiently.

  “He’s a dead man.”

  By the time the makeshift crew had fastened most of the tarpaulin, the level of the Tay had sunk to a few feet and the lifeboat had been sucked several hundred yards seaward. Vast expanses of the Fife and Tayside shoreline were exposed that hadn’t felt a breath of wind for thousands of years.

  “Bobby and Mary. Get under one of the benches and wedge yourself in as tight as possible. Hold onto each other. We’re going to get thrown around a lot.”

  “There’s rope under the starboard bench,” Eddie broke in. “C’mon. I’ll try and tie you so you’re more secure.”

  Bobby, Mary and the sailor vanished under the tarpaulin. Gordon stood up and took one last look at the rail bridge. He turned in time to see a massive curtain of water rising, dwarfing the oil rigs in the Tay estuary.

  “Goodbye Dodd,” he whispered.

  Then he too ducked below the tarpaulin.

  -48-

  The lifeboat was small but that was to the occupants’ advantage. Mary and Bobby were able to cram themselves under the side bench so tightly that they couldn’t have been prised loose with a crowbar. Even so, Eddie did his best to lash them in place while Gordon frantically tied the last corners of the tarpaulin from underneath.

  The sailor pulled the flute from his back pocket and thrust it into Mary’s shaking hand.

  “You take this. With my luck the impact will probably shove it right up my…”

  “It’s on top of us, Eddie,” Gordon shouted. “Wedge yourself somewhere!”

  Mary turned her head into Bobby’s chest. Eddie skidded under the gunwale and Bobby’s father scurried over and slid in beside him.

  “My apologies,” he said, throwing his arms around the sailor’s chest and pulling him close. “I’m sure it isn’t how you intended to spend your last moments.”

  The occupants felt a sickening, churning sensation as the lifeboat soared upwards. Higher and higher it rose, like an elevator ascending at impossible speed.

  Then all hell broke loose.

  Ashley Gosh sat in a gaily striped deckchair, on the roof of his house - a bottle of wine open beside him. At last they both had time to breathe.

  Beside him, propped against the railing, was a surfboard.

  The roof was flat, dotted with potted plants and surrounded by an iron railing. Someone once told him that retired captains liked to have the same feature built onto their homes, so they could pretend they were still on the prow of their ship.

  Ashley coul
dn’t see the sea, just the Forth estuary and, of course the Ethylene Plant.

  When he was younger Ashley had loved to surf. He and his mates had travelled all over the country in search of the perfect wave. In the days when he still had mates. He’d actually fired a couple of them from the plant, he recalled miserably.

  Ashley had turned off the radio. He didn’t want to hear the news. Instead, he sipped his wine and watched the horizon hoping, against all reason, that Gordon Berlin had been wrong.

  Then came the rumbling sound.

  He put down his glass on the tarmac roof. The liquid inside began to ripple as the noise grew louder.

  He stood up and took hold of his surfboard, flexing his muscles and shaking his hands, like he used to do before he went out on the tides. A silver line appeared on the horizon, growing thicker with every second, like interference on a television screen, obliterating the landscape.

  Ashley watched the wall of water eating up the land, his head tilting farther and farther back as the giant foaming curtain raced towards him. He flopped back down in his deckchair, the surfboard clattering to the ground.

  “Twenty years ago I’d have ridden that thing, not caused it.” He closed his eyes tightly and gripped the sides of the chair.

  Then, once again, he no longer had time to breathe.

  Captain Morrison stared in disbelief as the city of Dundee crumpled like paper under a gigantic torrent of water. Behind him, a solid green wall, the height of a tower block, surged up the Tay estuary, engulfing the rail bridge. He saw the ship’s lifeboat vanish, sucked into the onrushing monster.

  The wave reached the Lillian Gish and pulled the boat into its maw. He felt the ship fall apart around him and an enormous weight crushed the life from his body.

  The tsunami made no sound, but the lifeboat creaked and groaned as it was spun over and over, flung from side to side. The occupants were swirled around on a nightmarish fairground ride. Mary began to scream and Bobby dug his fingers into her back, whimpering in terror. He could hear his father swearing at the top of his lungs. Eddie Hall was silent, mouthing the Lord’s prayer over and over. Water shot in thin spurts through gaps where the tarpaulin’s ties anchored it to the rim of the lifeboat.