A siren blares out somewhere close by
as a high speed train
zips through the station.
God,
I wish we were on it,
wish we were heading for Stansted, then Spain,
somewhere so different
we’d hardly recognise ourselves
when we got there.
‘Shit, there isn’t another Cambridge train for forty minutes,’
I tell Nicu,
looking at the timetable,
my hood covering my face to hide it from
station staff.
‘We should go somewhere quiet to wait.’
And we do.
We go outside
and find a bench by a burger van,
where we sit with our heads down,
thighs pressed against each other’s,
sweating hands
holding on tight.
Everything disappears.
The cars and people,
the planes above and
the trains along the track.
It’s just him and me.
All quiet.
And I think
for a second
how lucky I am
to have found him.
How lucky I am
that he came into my life.
‘You not so worrying now, Jess,’ he whispers.
‘No,’ I say.
‘I’m not so worrying at all.’