Platform 3 - Part 3 by Andrew Shephard

Sandra pulled the eiderdown up to her chin and rubbed the silky fabric on her cheek. This bed was warm and comfortable, the first proper mattress she had slept on for a whole week. She’d asked the pink lady to leave the light on but drowsiness was sweeping over her like a tide. She bit her lip to stay awake and focused her eyes on the photograph of the boy in a silver frame on the dressing table, a slim boy about her age with light hair and shy smile. She liked him. He looked friendly.

Sandra had never wanted to say the word Winwood again, but it had worked. The train man had shaken his head and the pink lady had gone quite pale. They gave her a dog-eared Beano Annual and told her to sit on the sofa. She couldn’t hear what they said in the kitchen even though their voices were quite loud, but when the man went out of the house again, the pink lady came to sit on the sofa beside her. She put her arm around Sandra’s shoulder.

“Well, this is muddle,” the lady said. “In fact, it’s a right pickle. I think we should all have a good night’s sleep and perhaps it’ll look better in the morning. You can sleep in Stephen’s room. The bed’s made up.”

“But where will Stephen sleep?” Sandra asked, eyes wide with concern. The lady’s eyes filled with tears.

“He’s… I’m sorry.” She pulled a patterned handkerchief out from her sleeve and wiped her eyes. “How old are you?”

“Eleven almost, Miss.”

“You don’t look… Stephen was ten. But he’s… in Heaven now. Let’s talk about you instead. Where were you going on the train? Were you trying to get somewhere particular? An aunt, an uncle?”

Sandra shook her head and yawned several times. The pink lady found her a blue toothbrush and some pyjamas with cricket bats and balls on them, and by the time the train man clattered back into the house Sandra was under the covers in the box bedroom. She squeezed the shell she still held in her left hand under the covers.

“I’ll look after it for you, Stephen. I promise.”

She was woken up by the loud, repeating song of a blackbird which must have been on the roof just above the bedroom. Sun was shining brightly through the gap in the curtains and the smell of breakfast wafted up the stairs. She looked at the picture of Stephen and said Hello to him. She wondered what Heaven was like. Did it smell of bacon and toast in the morning? Did you still need to eat?

She crept downstairs and peered round the part-open kitchen door. The train man had his boots on and was putting a large white mug in the sink. The lady was wearing a pink dressing gown which had fluffy ridges and dragged on the lino floor. The man took a peaked cap from a hook on the back door and put it firmly on his head.

“I must go or I’ll be late. I’m not sorry I didn’t call the Bobbies. They would have just taken her back. Do what you think’s best. It’s your department, not mine. She’s not lost property.” He unbolted the door and shut it noisily behind him.

Sandra waited a minute then pushed the kitchen door open. The pink lady’s face changed from a frown to a smile.

“Good morning, dear. Have you had a good sleep? Would you like some breakfast? I always say never make a decision on an empty stomach.” The lady put bacon, eggs, and toast on two plates on the drainer and made the kitchen table bigger by lifting the side up and swinging a gate-leg underneath. She pointed to a stool with a flower-patterned top for Sandra to sit on.

Sandra knew what manners were, she’d been told enough times, but hunger took over the moment the lady placed the plate in front of her. She devoured everything without saying please or thank you, and without using the knife at all. She licked the butter from her fingers. But the funny lady didn’t shout at her. She asked if she would like some more.

“Does that feel better? Now, I’ve been thinking. I expect you don’t want to go back to Winwood.” Sandra nodded vigorously, her mouth full of more toast. “But I will have to tell them you are here… the authorities… it’s more than my job’s worth… they’ll find a different home for you while things are sorted out.”

Sandra choked on the toast and coughed crumbs over the table. The contentment on her face turned to terror like a dark cloud passing across the sun.

“They will. They’ll make me go back again,” she sobbed. “I’m very sorry I coughed at the table. Please let me stay here. I know I’m not a boy but I promise to keep Stephen’s room tidy.”