My Little Runaway - A Short Story Part 2
READ PART 1 “The Little Red Suitcase - A Short Story” HERE
Prudence swept up the wide stone steps and stopped dead at the summit in the entrance of Liverpool’s vast Lime Street Station. The building had a cavernous Victorian glass-domed ceiling, illuminated with a light unique to English Victorian railway stations, always crystal clear, even on cloudy days.
For how long she lingered, on the threshold of the bygone and the beyond, to what in her mind was The Temple of Potential, she couldn’t measure. Sixteen years and no days old, her birthday today, with nothing but a suitcase and instructions to go to the central ticket booth on the left. The adrenaline-fuelled excitement of escape now filled her shoes with stones and an unexpected bolt of exhaled breath contracted the back of her tongue to the roof of her mouth.
She tightened her fingers around the handle of her suitcase for fear of losing all she owned, but couldn’t feel the plastic in her grasp. Neither could she feel the concrete beneath her feet, despite the hold it had on her. I am invisible. She could not see herself. She could not feel anything. She could not see anything.
Through the blur of the glaring light a small child caught her attention as it’s grandmother dragged it by the hand out of the station, crying. For a moment Prudence and the little girl locked eyes, she found her focus and the girl stopped crying. The creature was around three years old, dressed in a red knitted hat which went up to a point at the back and was securely tied under the chin and in their nano-moment together Prudence knew she hated it. She clawed her tongue off the back of her throat in an instinctive attempt to make the little girl feel better and snap herself out of her paralysis: “I like your hat!”
The little girl’s gaze and tear-stained swollen cheeks disappeared as she was hoisted down the steps into the street and out of the temple of dreams. Everything being right and normal, Prudence would have made the decision to follow the Nana and child down the steps and make her way home, keeping the attempted runaway a secret.
She could just walk back down the steps, head to Bold Street and spend some of her clandestinely earned life savings on some new clothes, drag out a cherry float for too long then go home and dream about Billy Fury, as planned, but with that Prudence turned and took a step forward towards the ticket booths.
The Scouse woman in the left-hand booth with a tinder-dry bleached-blond beehive and turquoise green eyeshadow up to her black pencilled eyebrows frantically waved Prudence towards her with a forearm like a short ham shank:
Booth Lady: “What time duyu call this, and what yu wearing, yu da’s kewt?”
Pruence: “Wha? Sorry, what? It’s what Sophia Loren wore in...”
Booth Lady: “Sophia Loren? Yu look more like Stan Laurel.”
Prudence: “Late for what?”
Booth Lady: “For a weddin’, what du’yu think ya late for…. THE TRAIIIIIIN. George is bringing them over now, you’re taking them to London, platform four, GEORRRRRRGE… THE DOGS IS HEEEEEERE!!!”
Prudence looked left to see a barrel-bellied shiny-buttoned station guard in an immaculate British Rail uniform careering towards her with five schnauzers on separate leads, including a puppy.
Prudence: “You must be joking!”
George didn’t slow down, he swept up Prudence and dragged her behind the twenty-legged pack, their eighty tiny toe nails pelting across the polished concrete concourse sounded like torrential rain on a tin roof. The train was waiting, engine revving, George shouted out a signal to the desperate driver and bundled her and hounds onto the first compartment as the train was already pulling away.
Prudence pointed and shouted “There’s one!” George grabbed the stray schnauzer pup stranded on the platform and bundled it through the open carriage window into Pru’s arms: “Don't get off till Kings Cross!” He yelled as the train accelerated away from Liverpool and into the future.
‘Chaos Comes To First Class In Puppy Panic!’ would be the byline in The Railway Times. The pups jumped from seat to seat and barked louder than the bullish old business men shouting abuse at Pru. She had never felt like a child, she’d always housed the soul of a forty year old woman with nothing to lose, but she was acutely aware that she looked, in the eyes of old men, a target.
“SHUT UP AND SIT DOWN!” fired out of her mouth like a badly prepared geography teacher on entering a classroom, and to her surprise everybody did, dogs and men. This never worked in school, but in the stunned silence she collected the ends of five red leads and gathered the handles, and her decorum, together.
The First Class carriage door slide open, there stood a six foot conductor in what looked like a one-size-fits-all British Rail uniform issued from the ‘five foot and wider’ department. He had one of the lenses of his spectacles covered over with masking tape and lifted up the glasses to read a despatch note from his inside jacket pocket:
“FIVE SCHNAUZERS FOR EXPORT WITH ENVOY. You got the quarantine papers love?
Prudence looked at her right hand, it was clutching a white envelope, she had no idea nor recollection how it got there, but held it up like a trophy.
Conductor: “Grand, come with me love, we’re putting you all in The Dog House, it’s nicer than it sounds. This your bag love?” The conductor picked up the little red suitcase and led the way. Prudence picked up the small puppy under her arm and they both snapped a snarl at the bastard who shouted at them as they walked past him, the gang of four formed an orderly single file as they led the guard down the centre aisle of the train to the cargo hold.
They slithered and bobbed like a seven segmented serpent down the entire length of the train, dogs, guard, girl with puppy, finally coming to a rest in the very last compartment, first booth by the door on the left. The doors didn’t slide in cargo class, they flung open and slammed shut.
Conductor: “Here we go sweetheart, you sit in here and keep them all with you in the booth. Don’t let them loose love, keep them in the booth now. If they do a doo, there’s some bags in that caddy on the wall and you put the offending article in that container in the corner. You’ll probably be busy with five of them. Now settle yourself down love and I’ll bring you some crisps and pop in a bit. Z’at alright lovie?”
Prudence: “Caddy… container… got it. Ok thank you, but I’m not hungry, thank you!”. It was her default response to say no thank you when offered kindness, but the gentle gangly conductor in the slightly skew-whiff suit was already gone.
She settled herself down, as much as she could with a row of ten round black eyes staring in confusion in front of her. She stared back.
“Wha?”
Four heads tipped to the right and one little head tipped left.
The carriage door swung open and back came the lanky conductor with paper bags in his long hands at the end of his gangly wrists made to look worse by the prematurely shortness of his sleeves.
“Oh good, you’re all comfortable. Here you go love, there’s a cheese butty in there for you and here’s some crisps and pop, then there’s some dog biscuits in this one for your companions. Don’t geddem mixed up now. Not unless you want a shiny coat!” and with that he was off again.
Prudence could hear him laughing at his own joke as he disappeared down the train and it did make her feel a little more at ease.
“Who wants a biscuit?” Everyone wanted a biscuit. They all ate their snacks and settled down for the journey.
There’s a comfort in motion. For some the journey is better than the destination and as long as the train was moving Prudence felt safe. She had no clue where she was going and had had no time to ask, but going she was and accepted for the first time in her life she was in too deep to turn back. Even if she did go home she knew she could never go ‘back back’. How could she disappoint Mrs Epstein and Mrs Rossi, they had done so much for her without her even asking. Her parents, well, she’d left a note.
The train began to slow down and Prudence prickled with anxiety that this was her stop. She had George’s words: “Don’t get off till Kings Cross” on repeat in her head, but how long it would take and how far it was she had no idea. Right on cue gangly conductor burst through the doors announcing “NEXT STOP BIRMINGHAM. ALL CHANGE FOR MIDLANDS SERVICES. You stay on love, you stay on till the end”.
As the train pulled into Birmingham New Street, the smooth tones of a radio DJ could be heard introducing one of last year’s smash hits on transistor radio floating out on the airwaves through the open door of the tea room next to the platform. The sounds of Del Shannon’s “Runaway” drifted into earshot. She loved this one.
Prudence hung on every word of the song as she gazed out of the carriage window and as if timed to theatrical perfection, on the first note of the Hammond organ solo, a spectacularly glamorous woman, dressed in a Dior pencil skirt and box jacket suit, square-toed court shoes, black-out cats eye sunglasses and an immaculately swept up coiffure appeared from within the doorway of the station cafe. She’d never seen a woman so stylish in real life before and assumed Birmingham must be one of the most sophisticated cities on earth.
Carrying a bright red Delsey vanity case in one hand and the long patent leather lead to a giant black poodle with long flowing hair tied in a top knot with a diamante clip in the other. The poodle lady waited, poised like a picture, then to Pru’s surprise did not walk left toward first class, but the pair entered her carriage. What could she and the schnauzers do but stare?
The most beautiful woman and magnificent dog in the world, settled themselves silently in to the booth across and in front, offering a courteous nod of the head in greeting, to which Pru replied with an instantly regrettable wave and the schnauzer puppy stood up for more attention. There was no more.
Around an hour out of Birmingham the train had reached a comfortable top speed and was cruising at full throttle though the verdant green countryside. Thick scent waves of sweet green grass, aromatic hedgerows and cut crops filled the carriage, interrupted occasionally by a whiff of dog or Givenchy perfume.
Poodle lady opened her Delsey vanity case on the table and took out a compact mirror, she had sat with her back to Prudence, which gave a clear view of the contents of the treasure chest. Gold and diamante brooches were pinned to the quilted roof and the case was loaded with jewellery; earrings, hat pins, scent bottles, gloves, silk scarves and miscellaneous treasures too deep to see.
Slamming the case shut the must-be-a-movie star lady promptly stood up and still wearing her sunglasses spoke:
“Would you mind watching my dog?”
Prudence had never heard anyone from Birmingham speak, but this did not sound how a Brummie accent should sound:
“Oh yes, of course, he’s lovel….”
“She. Merci beaucoup”
Prudence had never met anyone from France neither and with that the French Poodle Lady disappeared into the next carriage, slamming the door behind her.
Consumed with an obligated sense of duty, Pru stared at the huge poodle and the huge poodle stared back. There they sat staring at each other while a blast of fast cold air momentarily blew their hair back. The muffled sound of far doors slamming was the only sound in their carriage, within two minutes French Poodle Lady was back. She swept her hands across her hair then across her dogs ears:
“Did she give you any trouble?”
“No, not a bit, she just sa…”
“Very good, thank you very much. I think you make a very good chaperon de chien”.
Pru had no clue what “chaperon de chien” meant, but was thrilled with the high praise. She embarrassingly muttered a shy “merci beaucoup” back. That was that.
At Bristol Temple Meads Elvis Presley’s “His Latest Flame” echoed through the station and into the carriage. The very thought of Elvis compelled Pru to scream, but she managed to keep it contained to a jump in her seat. Neither herself nor the French Poodle Lady left the compartment while the Train rested in the station for ten minutes, the schnauzers had half filled the container already and the huge poodle had considered the meaning of life.
Two other young women, boarded the carriage with Border Terriers. They were not together, but had met at the dog collection point and kept themselves to themselves for the final leg of the journey.
Realising the end of the line was approaching adrenaline started to burn behind the back of Pru’s knees and she wobbled to her feet, gathered the fab five together and stood in the doorway between the carriages. Heat started to prickle on her neck down her left arm and she couldn’t keep her hands still. Panic forced the breath out of her mouth but stopped her breathing into her lungs. She pulled the window down and sucked in the London oxygen. It tasted different, it was thick and sweet and smelt like burning diesel and donuts.
The late September sun was on the turn down and she never felt so small and alone. At home she loved it when the evening would arrive and she could cross off another day of loneliness and look forward to the promise of what tomorrow would bring, but here, now, the dusk was creeping up on her like a masked murderer.
The train screeched into King Cross and gushed it’s last breath onto the track. Wives and husbands were met, children collected, dog chaperons disappeared and French movie stars with huge poodles sashayed into the distance.
Everyone was gone. The angry man in First Class, the driver, the kindly gangly conductor, except Pru and the five pups. They all stood on the platform exactly where they had stepped off the train. The six of them waiting for instruction or command or acknowledgement. There they stood, legs quivering, for over an hour, on the platform, as throngs of confident people rushed by in all directions, going home, going out, going somewhere with somebody. The train they had called home from Liverpool had long emptied, it’s heart had stopped beating and now it was lying behind her, dark and lifeless like a her lioness mother who had been shot and now she was orphaned in the wild, but couldn’t leave her dead mother’s side.
It was only the tension and defence in her body that stopped her from crying, that and the terror.
From far down the platform beyond the ticket barriers that lead into the concourse and mortal danger, she heard a high and whiny voice with the weirdest accent. A very large woman in a white bubble hat and bubble gum pink coat was waving frantically to her:
”Whoo hoo! Whoo hoo! HOWAY PET!”
PLEASE READ PART 3 “Two Litre Rita & Tequila Sue” HERE
Thank you so much for reading, I hoped you enjoyed it. If you did and you would like to read the next instalment, I’d be extremely grateful if you could leave a ‘kind’ message in the comments, share it with your friends and follow me on any social platform you prefer. THANK YOU VERY MUCH.
DISCLAIMER: This story is entirely fictional and bares no resemblance to any person or thing living or dead. Any similarity to anyone or thing is entirely coincidental. It is a work of fantasy , none of it is real, and I made it all up.
