We’re finally at the place he’s been desperate to visit. His elfin face has lit up and he’s staring in awe at the gigantic Christmas tree and station decorations. He hands me a sleeping Baxter to hold as he gazes up at the gigantic tree and I survey the busy station.
Even though there is a steady flow of London Christmas tourists here at the station there is still a good trickle of suited and tired-looking commuters trying to weave through the crowds. Sadly, Christmas has not started for them yet. I can tell by their agitated expressions that they just want to reach their office or attend that meeting so the day will go quicker before Christmas Eve. Watching a group of women who are all wearing silly festive hats and talking loudly about the mammoth shopping trip ahead of them reminds me of the times I used to commute into London from Brighton. The trains from Brighton to London never ran to time, they were always crammed, to the extent where being able to breathe properly became a luxury, and it always stank of sweat. No matter what time I left Brighton I would always, at some point in my journey, find myself launching into a sweaty sprint across a station or platform. Back then I was a young marketing executive, determined to make her mark in the world and wishing she’d covered her feet in plasters before squeezing them into ill-fitting high heels.
Three friends are taking selfies with their arms around each other. The man looks a bit like Bill with his bushy beard and impressive sideburns. One of the women could be me if I squint and lose a good stone, the other woman has a sort of Lizzie look about her. Seeing them laughing and pulling faces at the camera reminds me of Bill’s Instagram feed which is full of us as a crazy trio in various pubs, clubs, and bars around Brighton. The best one is where I am drunk, dressed in a glitzy, twenties style Gatsby dress, and covered in Police tape, the stuff from a crime scene, Bill is dressed as Superman, and Lizzie is trying to do a drunken cartwheel behind us. Whenever I see it, the sight of us all and Bill’s caption (which readWarning: Danger Ahead), I always giggle.
Felix has found somewhere to sit. He seems fascinated by the hustle and bustle of the noisy station. I sit down next to him holding a yawning Baxter. ‘Are you glad you’ve come, Felix?’
He turns to me and grins. ‘Yes, thank you, Aunty Emily.’
‘What do you want to do now? There’s a lovely mall filled with nice shops if you want to go and have a look?’
I watch him stare up at the departures board. ‘No, I would just like to sit here.’
Sitting back in the plastic chair I fight the urge to pester him about going to see the shops.
‘Where’s King’s Cross from here?’ Felix is tugging on my arm.
I look around for the signs. ‘It’s practically next door. There’s a sign over there. Why do you want to know that?’
He shrugs and watches a man and woman close to us engage in an emotional reunion.
Even though Felix denied being a train spotter earlier, I think he was lying.
We sit for ages watching station life. I put Baxter down on the floor and let him waddle about while holding on to his lead. All my pressing thoughts about dressmaking have gone away. I’m enjoying sitting watching couples struggle with huge bags of last-minute toy shopping, students wrapping their arms around each other before going their separate ways and excited children dancing about to someone’s phone which is playing Slade’s, ‘This is Christmas’ song.
I spot a young woman wearing an enviable dress underneath her coat, it has a clown collar, and the pink, orange and green floral print is warm and pretty. The sight of it is making my fingers itch and my creative mind bubble with new ideas.
My phone begins to bleep. Watching Baxter below me and Felix at the side, I take it out of my handbag and see that it’s Lizzie.
‘Hello, babe,’ she says, ‘how’s London town?’
‘Busy. We’re at St Pancras,’ I say, before the train announcer above me reminds everyone about the train which is due to leave shortly on platform five.
Lizzie laughs. ‘Felix got his Christmas wish then?’
I smile and take a quick glance at Felix who is in a world of his own gazing out across the station. ‘Yes, and he’s loving being here.’
‘Ems,’ says Lizzie, ‘you’re winning today, remember this moment. I have been worried about you lately.’
‘Aww, thanks Lizzie,’ I gush, feeling grateful for having such a wonderful friend as Lizzie.
The phone is grabbed away from her and Bill’s thick Welsh accent booms down the receiver. ‘Hello, Little Miss Vintage, I hear you’ve become a train spotter now and will be spending next year loitering on train platforms.’ He snorts down the phone. ‘The second after Lizzie Lupin asked me… I moved in. My landlord at the last place had a queue of people desperate to move into Room 20, Floor Two, Passion Heights.’ (Bill’s last place was not really called Passion Heights. He renamed it that given the amount of his neighbours’ sex he had to listen to daily). I giggle at hearing Bill’s voice. ‘Have you moved into my old room yet?’
‘He also wasn’t fussed about me staying. I am skint now but happy as I’m living in Chateau De Buttock with Lizzie Lupin. How is Felix the Fox?’
Bill has pet names for all of us. It’s a rarity for him to call us just by our proper names.
I turn around to check on Felix with the phone pressed to my ear but there is no one there. Felix is gone. ‘He’s… not there.’ My heart grinds to a shuddering halt. Felix has gone. Frantically I swivel in my chair to see if I can see him. To my dismay there are just loads of people.
‘What?’ Bill is still on the phone.
‘Listen – I’ve got to go and find Felix. Will call back in a bit.’
Stuffing my phone in my handbag I experience a huge wave of nausea. Where the hell is he?
Baxter is barking at me from the floor. I scoop him into my arms and scan everyone who is milling around the departure screens. With dismay I move on to the barriers by the closest platforms. There’s no sign of Felix. Panic surges through my body. ‘FELIX,’ I shout hoping he’s wandered off to look at something and will hear me. He doesn’t magically appear. All the saliva in my mouth has disappeared and my stomach is on a fast spin.
Fuck. Fuck. Panic.
