Platform 3 - Part 2 by Owen Townend

Tony brought Sandra home. Switching the car engine off, he turned to the girl in the backseat. She glanced up at him but wouldn't say a word. She was much too still and may have been in shock.

  He gave a gap-tooth smile. "Do you live near here, Sandra?"

  She stared into her hand at a black and white sea shell. On the off chance it might sooth her, Tony had plucked it from his dashboard.

  "Stephen - my boy - found that last time we went to the seaside. He called it his zebra shell." He paused. "You live by the sea?"

  Still nothing. Tony sighed.

  The curtains twitched in the living room window. They had been seen.

  "I'll be right back," Tony said.

  He walked in the door, loosening his tie. Monica's shadow preceded her from her place at the end of the hallway.

  She had her arms folded over her pink fuzzy jumper. She fixed him with a stare through horn-rimmed spectacles. "What is going on?"

  "Lost girl at the station."

  "Have you rung the police?"

   Tony wrapped up his tie and placed it on a nearby table. "Not yet. She needs to get in the warm first."

  "The car isn't exactly warm, Tony."

  "I just wanted to check with you. Do you want me to bring the girl into the house?"

  Monica sighed. "Of course! I'm not going to refuse a child just because I've clocked out of work, am I?"

  Tony didn't say anything to this. "She'll need coaxing out of the car."

  "I wouldn't wonder."

  He led Monica outside. It really was a bitter night. Sandra would have frozen had he not found her.

  Tony opened the rear passenger door but Sandra didn't move out. She was  preoccupied with the zebra shell. Monica glanced at Tony and he shrugged. She climbed into the back and sat beside Sandra.

  "That’s a pretty thing, isn't it?" she said. "I love the way the spiral seems to go on and on. How about you?"

  The girl was unresponsive, turning the shell over in her hands. Tony cleared his throat. "Her name is Sandra."

  "Hello, Sandra," Monica said, "I'm Monica."

  The girl glanced at her through tangled locks of black hair. Her eyes were glassy but even Tony could see there was something within them. Something struggling.

  Monica turned back to him.

  "I'll use the phone box round the corner," he said.

When Tony returned to the house, he found Sandra in the living room playing with the zebra shell, trotting it across the coffee table. Monica was in the kitchen, leaning on the Formica counter. She drummed her fingers and frowned.

  "Sandra got out of the car then," Tony said, announcing his presence.

  Monica looked up and straight at him. She didn't blink. "Did she seem hurt? When you found her?"

  "Not physically." Tony scratched the underside of his beard. "Not on the face at least. Why?"

  "Did the police tell you how long they'll be?"

  Tony looked down at his shoes. "Sometime before midnight. Probably."

  Still Monica did not scoff. She was breathing in short sharp bursts.

  "I should ring my new boss," she muttered.

  Tony frowned at this. "What happened to your old one?"

  "Mr Bronson retired." Monica glowered at him. "You were at his leaving party, remember?"

  "Right you are." Tony nodded. "What's this new boss called then?"

  "Eddie Langford."

  He didn't like the way she said this name: she put too much emphasis on it.

  "And is Eddie in the habit of making such late house calls?"

  "You would be surprised."

  Tony folded his arms. Monica sighed. "Will you please just trust me on this, Tony? It's my job."

  "What happened though?"

  Monica switched on the kettle. "What?"

  "If you've called your boss then something new must have happened while I was away. Something serious." He tilted his head. "Did Sandra speak?"

  Monica wouldn't look him in the eye.

  "She did then." Tony did his best to hold back on his frustration. Still this was a child in trouble. "What exactly did she say to you?"

  "Winwood."

  They both flinched at the sound of the girl's voice. Two syllables but these were spoken frantically.

  Sandra was right behind them, looking up at them both. She had such a pale, heart-shaped face.

  "What was that, Sandra?" Tony asked.

  The little girl reached for their hands, Stephen's zebra shell dropping to the herringbone rug. 

  "Winwood," she repeated sharply. "Winwood."