I got the tram from Rochdale to Manchester Victoria. I was going on an adventure to Liverpool. I got my ticket – they give you a third off with the Senior Pass – and made the platform just as the train glided into the distance.
I went back to the ticket office to inquire about the time of the next train. The chap told me it had been cancelled. The one after that would be an hour. He advised me a train left Manchester Piccadilly before that. There’s a free bus; I should get that.
The bus took ages to come. It was packed and I had to stand. Mostly it was kids, they had hats like they were from the same college. They come to Manchester to learn the language. All over Europe people talk English with a Northern accent.
The bus got to Piccadilly and it feels like a mile from the stop to the platform and as I hurry through the enormous concourse – it’s like Arndale shopping centre but with trains – I see the destination board. It says my train goes from Platform 2B and then it changes and says another platform and then changes again and says 2B again. ‘Is it 2B or not 2B?’ that was a question from a frustrated woman standing beside me.
I felt like I was in an Alan Bennett play.
A voice in my head complained, ‘This story isn’t going anywhere.’
‘Yes it is,’ I insisted. ‘It’s going from Rochdale to Liverpool.’
Words: Richard Rooney
Illustration: A.I.
Flash Fiction 250
Flash Fiction 250 