There was a lad, probably in his late teens, seeing off his girlfriend on the platform at Birmingham New Street. I’d hazard a guess that they hadn’t been seeing each other for very long otherwise he’d have just gone when she got onboard. As it was, he must have been trying to make sure that she left with a good impression of him because he was determined to stay until the train pulled away.
Only it didn’t. The train was very busy. It emptied and refilled with passengers and it took a while for everyone to find their seats, take magazines or iPods out of their bags and stow their luggage away. I could only see him, I couldn’t see his girlfriend; she was obscured by rows of seating and the backs of heads. She must have been near the window though, as he could see her from where he stood. He gestured to her through the window – about how busy the station was, to call him when she’d arrived, how cold it was – the usual sorts of things. It was all fine while there were plenty of people milling around and there were a few topics that could be easily mimed.
But the train didn’t move.
The people in the carriage settled down and the platform emptied. There were no views to distract the passengers and it was too early in the journey to start reading or listening to music, so everyone watched him absentmindedly. It must have been like being on stage – but he was all alone and he didn’t have a script.
The train still didn’t move.
I could tell the lad was starting to feel a little embarrassed. There was a pressure to entertain. He coped well though, making a big show of checking his watch, smiling a lot, pulling a few faces. He even took something out of his bag to fool around with – I couldn’t see what. I presume the girl was responding to all this but it was a lot easier for her. She wasn’t so completely exposed; not as many people could see her, squashed up against the window.
The train still didn’t move.
He was struggling. There’s only so much you can say to someone through a reinforced perspex window. He gamely pointed at a few things and laughed at something she did but that laugh looked more forced now, the smile painted on. His cheeks were redder. He was losing his cool, starting to feel silly. He couldn’t leave the platform now, not after waiting so long.
The train still didn’t move.
It was horrible. I didn’t want to see him lose face like that in front of his girlfriend and I turned red and squirmed on his behalf. I was desperate for that train to leave and I think the whole carriage breathed a sigh of relief when we eventually pulled away. We all recognised that feeling – it’s the same feeling you get when the camera stays too long on someone after a television interview and they’re left looking foolish because they don’t know how to react. Everything that needs to be said has been said and a proper ending has been delivered at a natural point. When things go on longer than they should, they become unbearably awkward.
I bet however much that lad cared for the girl on the train, in his head he was screaming, ‘Go now, just go. Please, please fuck off.’
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