The White Feather
written by: Kevin Hogan
‘Ow do lass. Is thee all reet?’
The young lass was sat on her own. It was cold and it was raining and she was getting wet. The wooden bench was on the edge of Platform Two. It had been a while since anything but a local train had stopped at the station. However, since the station upgrade, every hour an InterCity train sped through at over seventy miles an hour, shaking the still rickety roof covering most of the platform, which incidentally hadn’t been touched, either in the refurbishment or in the last one hundred years.
The young woman had looked up at the craggy faced man and gave him no credence. Her eyes returned to looking into the space between her and the bench on the other side of the tracks, which was positioned in a mirror image to where she was sat.
‘Does tha mind if ahs sits ere lass. My legs are killing me.’ The man slumps into the bench and exhales as his body comes to a standstill.
‘Ee. Tha’s better.’
The woman takes no notice of the man as he turns to look at her. Her mind is somewhere else, her eyes maybe focused, but there is no connection between them and her senses.
‘I hope you don’t mind me annoying you?’ The man is still trying to gain the woman’s attention without her realising it.
‘You know lassie, I’m waiting for me owd gal to get here. She’s at the dentist avin her fangs sharpened. I’m just ere to pick er up. If she’s not on’t train it means she’s cadged a lift.’
The woman turns her head slowly as her senses come back on line. Her eyes begin to re-focus on the craggy faced old man, and at last there is a connection between her and her senses. The eyes are focused on the man sat beside her.
‘I know,’ he said in as gentler tone as he could so as not to frighten the woman.
‘You know what?’
‘I know, but I don’t know why?’
‘Why?’ the woman tries to smile.
‘Why?’ The man asks the question.
‘Because.’ The woman embarrassingly stares once again into oblivion. Her eyes become misted as she realises that the man knows. She can’t draw herself to look at the man who is sat next to her.
A local train pulls into the station. The man looks, but the woman searches the passengers to see if she can spot the man’s wife. Only two young men get off the train. The man’s wife is not on the train.
‘I’m going for a cup of tea and a toasted teacake with butter and jam, my favourite little sin. The wife as cut me down to two a day, she’s been trying to get me to lose some of the flab and become handsome once again.’
The woman turns to look at the man. There is a half-smile on her face. She is thinking about the offer.
‘Tis alrite if tha doesn’t want a brew. Tha can just sit in the warmth o’ the caff. Actually it’s th’old biddies caff.’
‘Your wife owns the café?’ The woman has asked a question. The man knows the woman is hooked. He needs to tread gently just to ensure she goes with him for a cup of tea.
‘Aye. Its bin ers for forty plus years.’
The woman looks amazed at the thought of a woman running a café for forty years.
‘Forty years?’
‘Aye forty years, and she makes her own cakes.’ The man leans forward and levers himself to his feet. He stands tall and holds out his hand to the young woman.
‘Tis only a undred yards down’t road. Come on lass. I’m paying.’
The woman looks up at the man and then momentarily returns her stare into oblivion.
‘If tha don’t like tea, I can stand thee a coffee?’ The man still has his hand held out for the woman to take.
The woman once again looks up at the now smiling man. Her hand reaches up to the man’s hand. He wraps his hand around hers and pulls as she rises to her feet.
‘Reet lass. Weel be ther in a minute. Then we can get a bit o ‘heat on our bones.’
They walk together along the platform past several passengers who are well wrapped up against the cold wind blowing across the station. The woman suddenly grabs hold of the man’s arm.
‘How did you know?’ the woman asks.
‘I just knew.’ The man turns as they walk. ‘I just knew.’
They walk stride for stride out of the station and some fifty strides down the road and into Rita’s Café. The door is shut. Harry pushes it open. The woman is sure she saw a closed sign on the door as they entered.
The café is empty except for an elderly woman in a pink apron and wearing the widest of smiles, stood behind a low counter surrounded by cakes and sandwiches.
‘I got a lift back to the café. If you had taken your phone I could have let you know.’
‘Then I wouldn’t have met this young woman who would like a …’ The man looks at the woman.
‘Can I have a coffee and a toasted teacake?’
‘And I’m paying.’
‘You’re paying? But you haven’t got your pocket money yet.’
‘I still have some left over from last week.’
‘You have money left over? I’m obviously giving you too much.’
‘I’ll pay,’ said the woman smiling at the thought of packet money.
‘Tis okay lass, the old gal is only kiddin. She’s always pullin legs.’ The man smiles, his wife smiles.
‘I worry about him sometimes picking up all these beautiful young women and inviting them for coffee and toasted teacakes.’ His wife moves towards the kettle, ‘and less of the old gal.’
‘You mean he’s done this before?’
‘Occasionally.’
‘Rita. Anyone’d think I’m one of them playmen?’
‘You mean playboys.’
‘I’m hardly a boy.’
‘I should be so lucky.’
‘Now don’t get carried away.’
‘It’s a long time since you carried me away.’
‘It’s a long time since I got carried away.’
‘Do you two always behave like this?’
‘He does. All the time.’
‘I’m glad I’m not the only nutcase.’ The young woman smiles.
‘I’m Harry. You’ve met the wife. Rita meet Olivia.’
‘How do you know my name? I never mentioned it.’
‘I’m sure you did, how else would I have known it?’
‘I must have. Sorry about that.’ The woman scratches her head trying to remember if she mentioned her name and comes to the conclusion that she must have mentioned it as how else would Harry have known it.
‘I’ll have a tea and a toasted teacake with butter and strawberry jam.’
‘Is that with knobs on?’ Rita jokes.
‘There’s no need to get personal,’ smiles Harry.
‘Coffee with lots of hot milk please.’ The woman is smiling at last. A proper smile, not one for the benefit of others.
The man guides her to a seat by the window. He pulls the seat out for her allowing her to sit first and then sits opposite her. Seconds later Rita brings over tea, coffee and the largest of toasted teacakes with butter and a pot of strawberry jam, much to the appreciation of Harry. The woman sips at her coffee and then takes a large mouthful of teacake.
‘This is good. It seems ages since I’ve had something to eat.’
‘Tis funny lass, but if you don’t eat you get weak, and you can’t think straight, and your thoughts get warped and you begin to doubt yourself, and you can do some stupid things.’
‘Like try to kill myself?’
‘Like try to kill yourself.’
The man takes a mouthful of tea and then tucks into the teacake with butter and strawberry jam. The smile on his face speaks for itself.
‘So how did you know, and I’m sure I never told you my name?’
‘I was in the right place at the right time.’ Harry carried on eating. Olivia sat and watched and took small delicate bites until half of the teacake was finished. Harry on the other hand had finished his tea and his teacake. He took delight in licking his lips to finish off the remnants of teacake scattered about his lips.
The woman yawns and snuggles into her seat. The room is warm and the coat she is wearing is warm at last. The morning has taken its toll on her. The man understands. As he watches, the woman’s eyes begin to close and her breathing becomes light and silent. In moments she is asleep.
‘What would you like to drink?’ The woman stirs at the question. It only takes a moment before she has all her faculties under control. The woman looks around at the café. There are several customers eating and drinking.
‘I’ve just, just had a coffee and a …’ the woman looks at the table. The cup and plate have gone. Harry cannot be seen and the waitress is a lot younger than Rita.
‘You’ll have a coffee?’ asks the waitress.
‘No. I’ve just had a coffee, and a teacake.’
‘Oh.’
‘I have honestly.’
‘I’ll get you a coffee and a toasted teacake.’
‘Yes. Yes. Thank you.’ The woman is trying to make sense of her morning.
The waitress returns with the coffee and teacake. Olivia looks at the waitress as she places her order on the table.
‘You look like Rita.’
The waitress begins to return to her counter, but stops.
‘You’ve met my mother?’
‘And Harry. In fact …’
‘He picked you up from the station?’
‘How did you know?’
‘The door was locked and you were fast asleep sat in a window seat, Harry’s favourite seat.’
‘Oh!’
‘You are the third this year.’
The woman is mystified even though Rita said he was always doing it. ‘How many times has he done this?’
‘Several times since he died.’
The woman is stunned by this piece of information. ‘Dead!’ she stares at the waitress. ‘How did he die?’
‘He died trying to save a young woman from throwing herself in front of an InterCity train. As soon as my mother heard, she died from a heart attack.’
‘You mean …?’ The woman looks around the café.
‘You saw them?’
‘Harry just came and sat next to me.’ Olivia is staring at the waitress just as a white feather floats from nowhere and lands on the table. Olivia picks up the perfect white feather.
‘I think I’ve just had a visit from my Guardian Angel?’
- The White Feather - December 12, 2024
- The Take Over - January 15, 2024
