Stationary

     Lettie said, I'm no genius never said I was, but my memory's in shape, know what I’m saying. Had said it to Mikeymike just the day before, down by the Sanitation Area, B Entrance. Had put him straight when he'd been on about the Roller, how long since he'd been seen on The Concourse.

18 months back, Mikeymike had said, when an Economy Toblerone was 41.

Thirtynine, she'd said. And not just that, but if he really focussed he'd remember it was exactly eighteen months ago give or take a week that there'd been talk of the 40 barrier being breached; and how in fact it never had been 41 

but jumped straight to 45.

Which it had, a six rise just like that, a time when she’d felt something was going to happen, and that wasn’t just Lettie, like she was weird, but there’s been a buzz all around the concourse. A six rise in one go, no one had known such a thing.

Mikeymike had shrugged his shoulders that ViViD said one time, would shrug at the drop of a hat. Then he'd taken a step towards the Sani. Then he'd taken a step back and she'd said it, about her memory, at least that was in working order.

But now, like they were playing a trick, here was the 17.05 about to leave Platform Eight. Platform 4 it left from, always had. Ahead where the enclosed travelator came out straight on to the platform behind the railings, Suits  

rushed the train with capuccino cartons held high. In their trail, Jackets, fresh periodicals under their arms. 

She looked up at Central Clock. Two faces were visible, 17.04 about to lurch into 17.05.

One time when the Roller was still on concourse and Mikeymike was a Someone, he'd bought her a carton and said it was capuccino. Not that she hadn't been grateful because people didn't exactly go around buying you a carton of anything, but, it was gray stuff and where was the froth she'd seen dancing in the sunlight that fell through the glass rooves above the platform area as the Suits clamoured for the 17.05 on Platform 4. 

The train jumped and smoothed into glide leaving behind a platform empty but for the gently swaying signs, EIGHTS, black on white, suspended above it at regular intervals. One, two, three, four...fourteen carriages pulling away. She'd heard there were 70 seats per carriage, Even so. Did it mean the Jackets stood during their journey, or did the Capuccinos simply get window seats that everyone said were the best, though she didn't give that much credence, because  how could you know, know like it was an established fact. Fact was, you couldn’t, ask anyone and they'd say they heard it from someone else.

She shook her head. OK it had been a while, a couple of days maybe, since she'd taken a stroll by the Platform area but the 17.05 Platform 4, it hadn't been some temporary affair with a special notice that said due to Works it would be Platform Four for a temporary period. No, it had been Platform Four day-in-day-out for as long as she could remember. All right she wasn’t a real vet, never said she was,  herself a vet but she'd been on Concourse enough years to say they went together, Platform 4 and the 17.05, like a horse and carriage that she'd seen one time in a book ViViD had had before she'd cashed it in for a discount Fruit and Nut back in the days when they'd been 23.

The last of the 17.05 shimmered away on the curve. Two faces of Central Clock said 17.06.

It was darker, cooler, away from the platform area. In amongst the benches under the parasols she saw Mikeymike's shock of hair. She clambered through the crowd. So many young faces these days she'd said to ViViD who'd said, Oh them, the youthfully young, like that meant something just because she was the one who'd read the odd lost book and, now and then, a fresh periodical blown on to the concourse. Or at least held one in her carrier for a while.

Mikeymike was bent over paper, a dripping Bic in his hand. From over his shoulder she saw an envelope with writing on it. No prizes for guessing. The Roller, c/o the Station, Carlisle. Last week it had been Penrith, some other place on the map that Mikeymike said started at Platform 6. She admired him for it, how he kept at it, a different one each week when a stamp was 105, and that was 105 out of his own pocket.

Hi Roller, we're all OK, he had written.

Something's up, she said. You know what I just saw?

What?

The 17.05 just left. He looked up at central clock.

Big deal, he said. 

Yes but where did it leave from? Platform 8, she said. 

He shrugged his shoulders. I'll tell the Roller you send your regards, he said.

No, tell him today it was from Platform 8, he'll understand something's up.

Mikeymike jumped up furious. Are you taking the piss, he said. 

Lettie sighed. She did admire him but really it was an obsession, a lost cause. If the Roller had somehow survived and reached another concourse he'd have got a message through. One way or another.

Her own personal space was the 34th, one row in from the wall by the Mars Bar dispensary. She touched base at 17.43. Once upon a time you had a space there and they called you The Aliens. Because Mars is another fucking 

planet like the Roller'd said. So you were one of The Aliens. Earthlings they’d called them back, them on the other side of Concourse. Now no one called you anything.

And they'd started messing about with the 17.05. Hadn't the Suits complained? Didn't seem like it. No doubt still got their window seats if you could believe anything people said about Suit preferences. She herself didn't pretend to have an opinion. Except that whether the Suits liked it, didn't like it or didn't mind either way, the 17.05 leaving from Eight, of it meant something. Course it did. Concourse prices rose now and then, but platforms didn't get changed just for the fun of it.

At 18.30 she thought of stretching her legs. The Fruit and Nut dispensary's living area looked untidy, people's spaces criss-crossing. And two of them were up fighting. She could see it with her own eyes. Two men really fighting like they meant to hurt each other. She hadn't seen it in years, not since when people called the Fruit and Nut crowd The Headbangers and some of them had thought they had to live up to the name which they didn't have to; her crowd hadn't come on all weird just because they were The Aliens. Didn’t have to prove nothing..

Bone smashing on  bone, she could hear it. And red gunge dripping over the lip of the one in the grey sweatshirt. No one trying to stop it. 

Horrible.

The queue for the Pharmacy was double-banked. Near the back was ViViD all in black bar her laces that were red. Before they'd been yellow. Lette said she liked the red and by the way, how long was it since Viv had been up around the platform area.

What?

The platforms. The 17.05., it left from Number Eight. I saw it with my own eyes. And it was 17.05., two faces of the clock.

ViViD looked like she could use a Sani coupon to do Whatever, and sluice her face good and proper.

To the platforms I do not go. Jamais. A tedious business of arrival and departure. 

Which was just Viv and the way she talked because there had been a time when she herself couldn't keep away from them. The Platform Prowler they'd called her one time till she’d done an image makeover

Viv, it's me, Lettie. The 17.05 left from Platform 8. OK.

A butterfly flaps its wings over the far side of the ocean and my mug falls over.

I’m sorry about your mug Viv, Lettie said, I really am, but what I’m saying is the 17.05 left from Platform Eight.

You know something Lettie?

What?

You're a fucking obsessive.

That night Lettie couldn't sleep. The concourse lights were dimmed, the platform area blacked out. After the 21.25 left with the final sprinkle of Jackets there was no pointto having lights on down there. If there'd even been a 

21.25. on this strange day. This horrible day.

Either side of her Mikeymike and ViViD slept peacefully. She could hear their relaxed breathing. It was hard to credit, what with the bad vibes doing the rounds, them and all.

From somewhere down by the front of the Mars Bar dispensary she could hear whispering. A voice that sounded young, a girl's voice. Suits, she was saying. Things she'd heard. The other voice sounded sleepy.

Suits are suits, end of story, it said.

No, but I mean a house and a field, they've all got one. 

Yeah, so that's suits for you, Lettie heard. 

Of course they'd had their ups and downs, had their arguments. It was inevitable, but not this, these bad vibes you could feel. So how 

was she supposed to sleep.

Jackets, they don't have a field, I’ve heard. I think it's cos they work so much. No time to look after a field.

Don't you ever talk about anything else. 

There was anger in the sleepy voice now That's what it was, bad vibes 

ViV and Mikeymike included but like Everyone was on edge. Like 

everyone knew it really, that something was up. Something was 

happening, and it wasn’t a butterfly flapping its wings. That was just ViViD. Seen one once in a book with half its pages. Striped and spotted wings just the same, like they were mirrors.

The 17.05 had left from Platform Eight, that was a fact. She hadn’t made it up. And so much quarrelling on Concourse. 

Hadn’t always been like that. Teasing OK, what the Roller called a wind-up, but not this. Like that time Roller himself had Mikeymike believing there was one flush in the Sani from entrance A that could swallow you up. Poor Mikey, after that it was always B entrance for him however long the queue. Poor Mikey, hard for him without the Roller. Still, he was at peace, sleeping well, she could hear him next to her, and Viv on the other side. Good old Viv who never complained. You never heard her moaning, not today with her cup, not ever. Jamais jamais Lettie, toujours gai. That was ViViD, her breathing steady in her sleep.

Where would you be without your friends? Awake all night is what. And maybe there was Works on the Platform Four line and that’s all it was. Get the Works sorted and it would all be back to normal. It could be, why not?

Lettie snuggled up in her sleeper and closed her eyes. A fuss over nothing it might have been, and whatever it was, they’d see it through.