The cold metal bench sent shivers through her body as she sat down, takeout coffee cup in hand. She was lost in a daze, questioning her decision to come here. Why had she thought it was a good idea? But then again, her main character had left her in a state of confusion about where to go with the story. She loved this character, but lately, murder seemed to be the only thing her fingers could type on the keyboard. Yet, murder was not part of the plan for her MC. It was MC who was meant to commit the crime. How could she move forward from this point? What should happen next? Her creative writing professor’s words echoed in her mind, urging her to be more of a planner, but that just wasn’t her style of writing. She sighed and glanced at her watch, realising that only four minutes had passed since she arrived here on this bench.
At that moment, a man entered the platform. The kind that was so familiar to her, and yet so distant in her comprehension of their life. A commuter. Burberry style rain Mac, or a flasher Mac as she had called them when she had been in high school, when she and her best friend had pointed and laughed at such specimens, without a care in the world. Now ten years later, she wondered more about the commuting life. They come from the posh suburbs like Crofton, where their wives attended mother’s brunches and their precious offspring were despatched to nearby private schools and they went to grandmama’s down in Surrey at the weekend. They didn’t mix with her type at all, she was from the wrong side of the railway tracks – no pun intended – and their lives were just so far apart.
Orpington was a funny town like that. It had grown up around the railway, its proximity to London characterising its place as a commuter town. All the real estate brochures hung onto this point with their “Just ten minutes to London.” Which actually, was more like 15-20 minutes as you would suddenly stop on the sidings at Lewisham or New Cross waiting for goodness knows what. But finally it would see you flying into London Bridge and the commuters, in their flasher Macs with their briefcases and umbrellas would disembark, like ants, to catch the tube or walk to their shiny office blocks. The commuting man barely glanced her way as he walked to the coffee hatch and ordered a long black with a splash of milk. Kate turned away and looked back down the platform, her eyes fixing on the information sign above, telling the world that it was 07.12 currently, and that the 07.15 Orpington to London Bridge was running late, it being 15 minutes away.
A flurry of people descended upon the platform, their hurried steps and anxious expressions betraying their belief that they were late for the train. But in reality, the train was running behind schedule and these individuals were not actually late for anything. Among them were a few typical commuters, clutching briefcases and checking their watches nervously. Two schoolgirls also stood out, their youthful giggles and carefree attitudes in stark contrast to the other passengers. They wore short skirts with rolled-up hems, adorned with long scarves bearing the emblem of a nearby public school. And then there was the middle-aged woman, dressed somewhere between work attire and casual wear. She donned a cozy, knitted beanie atop her impeccably styled bobbed hair and a poncho-like garment with armholes, revealing a smart striped sweater and corduroy trousers underneath. Her entire ensemble could have been plucked straight from a Marks and Spencer catalog. Even her handbag matched perfectly with the beige hue of her poncho. Kate couldn’t help but observe her more closely, as she stood out as an anomaly on the platform at this early hour. It was as if she had just stepped out of a salon, with every hair in place and a look of effortless elegance about her. Kate’s eyebrows furrowed in frustration as she observed the put-together middle-aged woman on the train platform. She couldn’t pinpoint why this woman’s appearance bothered her, but the perfectly styled hair and coordinated outfit seemed to mock her own disheveled appearance.
The woman moved towards the coffee hatch, as the commuting man had done before her. Kate tried to second guess her order, a skinny late with anything but dairy milk. Kate knew that she was being bitchy but quite frankly, after two weeks of writers block and a publishing deadline looming, she felt entitled to feel frustrated and cranky. She had always come to this bench as a troubled teenager, thinking that watching the world move on would bring her to her senses, when all it did was tell her to escape this town at the first chance she got. Skinny soy latte! Kate smiled to herself, those words pulling her away from her teenage reminiscing and scoring a small victory, which was – let’s face it – not a victory at all, but Kate was mentally chalking it up nevertheless. She watched the woman move away from the coffee shack and head towards a bench. Her bench. Oh hell no, thought Kate, and quickly gathered up her bag and moved herself away from the bench before Ms Marks and Spencer could sit her corduroy clad bottom down next to her.
With her back pressed against the 19th century station wall, Kate felt trapped by her own decision to come here. She couldn’t help but observe the woman in front of her as she sipped her coffee, taking note of her perfectly manicured nails and stylish footwear that clearly did not come from a local shop. She couldn’t shake off her curiosity about this stranger’s purpose for being here, or where she was headed. Suddenly, another person who gave off similar vibes appeared on the platform. This one was dressed in dark academia fashion – a plaid midi skirt paired with thick tights and brogues, and topped off with a black blouse and tweed blazer. Kate couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at this anomaly, although she could easily be just another commuter with a unique sense of style. Yet, when Ms. Dark Academia greeted Ms. Marks and Spencer with fake kisses on either side of their faces before sitting down together and chatting animatedly, Kate became even more curious. She edged closer, trying to eavesdrop on their conversation without drawing too much attention to herself.
“I am so glad that you could make it today, Cecily,” Jennifer exclaimed, admiring her friend’s dark academia aesthetic on full display. “I didn’t think you were going to.”
“Me neither, but I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Cecily replied, a proud smile spreading across her face. “You have worked so hard for this. I am so happy that you were accepted.” She held out a glossy brochure to her friend, showcasing Jennifer’s name in bold letters under the title of the exhibition – ‘The Artistic Mind of Jennifer Glynn.’
Kate managed to catch a glimpse of the Tate Modern logo on the brochure. Curiosity piqued, she quickly pulled out her phone and began searching for “Jennifer” and “Tate Modern.” After a few taps, Google informed her that today marked the opening day of the highly anticipated artwork exhibition by Ms. Jennifer Glynn.
That explains it, Kate thought, recognising that as an artist, Jennifer was not bound by the typical dress code of commuters on the platform that morning.
Before Kate could have another thought, the announcement came over the tannoy that the 07.15 would be finally pulling into Orpington, with the usual apology for its tardiness. This announcement caused a flurry of activity, books being closed and stowed into bags, people moving towards the yellow line that marked the proximity between the safe platform and the gap. The train came into view and Kate watched everyone making slight adjustments to their positioning, jostling for the best place to stand which would afford them first entry to the train. And before she knew it, Kate was alone on the platform once more, as she watched the train departing up the track towards the big smoke. She thought about the commuting man, and the schoolgirls who would get off at Bickley. She thought about Jennifer and Cecily, talking their way to London Bridge, and then their stroll along the Southbank of the Thames towards the Tate Modern.
As she stood there, lost in thought, she couldn’t help but think about Maddalyn, the main character of her novel. The more she thought about it, the more she realized that something was missing. She didn’t know Maddalyn as well as she thought she did. Her character lacked depth and a true back story. As she watched the bustling commuters around her, imagining their lives, she started to panic. How could she expect readers to connect with a character who didn’t even have a proper backstory? She knew what needed to be done, but the thought of completely reworking Maddalyn’s character filled her with conflict and uncertainty. But at least now she knew what she had to do. Go back and fill in the gaps of her MC’s story, she had spent more time in the assumed back stories of these train commuters and had not extended the same treatment to her own writing. Problem solved, well not perhaps solved, given that she still needed to write it. She did however now know what was wrong and so she had a pathway forward.
Kate eagerly made her way to the small kiosk on the station platform, the scent of freshly brewed coffee tickling her nose. With a warm smile, she ordered another decadent cappuccino and watched as the barista expertly crafted her drink with swirls of creamy foam on top. As she left the platform, the once busy space now deserted, she took a sip of her perfectly balanced beverage. The rich aroma and comforting warmth radiating through her body, making her feel ready for whatever lay ahead.