Yesterday

I feel compelled to blog about yesterday; partly because a tweet doesn’t cover everything I need to say and partly because I think the act of writing might help me to process the mixture of emotions I am feeling right now.

Monday mornings follow the same routine every week. I get up at 7 am, shower and change into my nicely ironed shirt. I always iron my shirts on a Sunday for the rest of the week. Its easier to do a load together and I don’t like feeling rushed in the mornings. I carefully go downstairs and, if Naomi wakes, I take her and get her started on breakfast with me. Yesterday she had decided that her special bowls and spoons with various Disney princesses plastered all over the outside were not going to be used. Oh no – today she had decided she wanted to have daddy’s bowl, daddy’s spoon and daddy’s milk. She poured her own cereals (Rice Krispies covered with Cheerios) into the ‘grown up’ bowl and carefully poured the milk without spilling any. We ate our breakfast with Radio Four on in the background talking about the riots and global credit crisis.
I called up to Kathy that I was leaving and she came down to kiss me goodbye. She picked up Naomi and they both waved goodbye from the front path as I walked to the station. It’s not always like this – sometimes they are both asleep when I leave or sometimes Naomi is kicking off so much I leave with Kathy telling her off ringing in my ears.
I left at 07.44. This is 4 minutes late but I have built contingency into my walking time and if I walk pretty fast I can get to the station as my train is pulling up. Running to catch a train is a pet hate as I get all sweaty before I’ve started work. As predicted I get into the station about a minute before my train arrives, grab a paper and stand in the normal spot. This is exactly where the train doors open and gets me on the carriage first – this is important to get the desired seat. When you travel everyday these little things become important. There are 3 potential seats as I embark; making sure its not on the side of the train that gets the sun, I pick a vacant window seat in a set of four facing each other. The person opposite is an Indian guy, probably IT worker, nicely turned out, with a Blackberry. This is a good fellow passenger to sit near. They represent low risk of possessing some of the more annoying habits that people have:
Drinking/eating
Putting bags that limit the leg room (instead of putting them overhead)
Talking loudly on the phone in the quiet carriage
Playing shit music (so loud I am sometimes tempted to sing along in protest)

I sit in the quiet carriage so if anyone plays music or talks too loudly on the phone I feel I can politely point it out without too much bother. Usually people are pretty good about turning it down or end their calls. The quiet carriage is right at the front of the train. This has the added benefit of being closest to the exit at Waterloo so shaves a full ten second walk off my journey time. I’m not sure why I’ve developed this pedantic efficiency in my journey but I get easily bored so its something to do. (I also award myself medals when I return home; first person over the footbridge gets the gold, followed by silver and bronze. I know I’m not the only one who thinks like this and there’s nothing funnier to me than two grown men in suits pretending that they aren’t racing up the stairs when secretly they are…)

The train pulled out the station and I began to read the Metro I picked up on my way in. Front page – riot picture and some updates about what had gone on the previous night. I make the Metro last all journey sometimes; other times I resort to playing a game on my ipod or napping if I finish it too early.

Suddenly the train braked very hard.

My first thoughts were that we were about to hit another train. Being in the front carriage I tensed up and just stared ahead. A metallic clang rang through from the underside of the carriage; an object rattled its way underneath train as we slowed to a halt.

I looked around the carriage; everyone was looking around and slowly a conversation started.

“Do you think we hit someone?” a girl asked.

“I don’t think so” I replied, “it sounded metallic – might of been something on the line or some vandal throwing something.

She persisted “What if that was a body?”

“It’s best not to think about it”. I was trying to reassure myself as much as her.

Time passed. The train didn’t move.

Eventually the guard came through. He went straight through past us to see the driver without saying anything. He emerged a little time later to update us. We had hit someone apparently. We had to wait for the emergency services. It would be a while. People gasped. Some held their hands to their faces, obviously horrified. Everyone looked around at each other without speaking.

“Is the driver ok?” I asked.

“He’s fine” said the guard and walked back down the train to tell the other passengers.

No-one said much for a while; there wasn’t much to say.

The girl got up and knocked on the drivers cab and checked he was ok. “He seems ok, probably in shock” she said

Eventually the boredom of waiting prompted some more snippets of conversation. How long would it take? Do you think we’ll be evacuated? They turn the power off before they let anyone on the line. Do you reckon they’ll terminate the train?

We waited for about 2 hours. We were regularly updated by tannoy in this time. The emergency services had arrived. We would be going fairly soon. A young man walked with the guard and went into the drivers cab – we assumed he was a doctor.

Eventually we were told that we would be moving soon. Conversations between people who usually just sat in silence had begun and people were in good spirits despite the delay. The train was in shade and it was early enough so that it wasn’t overly hot despite the sunny day.

Another driver arrived and announced he was the man to drive us to Bracknell, in the next few minutes. The train hummed into life; the power had been restored. We lurched forward and moved a few yards up the line. We stopped.

A few minutes passed – the tannoy came on, the guard spoke in a West Indies accent:

“Ladies and gentlemen, I sorry to say that we have…er…a situation that means we will be delayed until we can -”

The train started forward again and began to accelerate.

“..er…the situation has now been resolved.”

People laughed. It was pretty funny.

We went about a hundred yards and stopped again.

Another wait, another hour. Engineers were called, the power was turned off. They fixed a fault with a leaking something or other. I wasn’t paying attention. By this stage a young man had put Friends on his laptop and a group of us were watching it to pass the time. I hate Friends. I was pretty bored.

We got to Bracknell about 11.15. It was really sunny. I had already decided to not carry on to Waterloo despite ‘refreshments’ being provided by the train company when we got to Ascot. I got off the train and walked down the station and got on a bus to Wokingham – they were laying on rail replacement. I was lucky. I got the last seat and the women behind me rather ungraciously branded it all ‘a bloody joke’. Our moody bus driver then complained loudly to no-one in particular about what was involved in putting on these coaches.

Shut up, I thought as I sat in silence staring out the window.

Turns out the train was sat outside Gypsy Lane in Wokingham, about 1/2 mile from my house. The bus replacement service then drove back down through Wokingham, past my house and to the station. It all seemed a bit surreal, to be trapped so close to home.

I walked up from the station and took a chance that Kathy would still be at the Salvation Army run playgroup. She was. I got a cup of tea and offer of some cake and chatted to Kathy and Sarah about my experience. They both looked horrified as I told them.

I left Naomi and Kathy singing songs at playgroup and walked the five minutes home and setup to start work. I took a couple of calls, confirmed a graduate training presentation I was asked to give for the next day and joined an internal change call. I emailed the Wokingham Times and gave them some details of the delay and what had happened to us – I always think about Richard’s time there and how any information is useful. They didn’t reply. I buried myself in more work until about 4 where I received a call from Jon, my next door neighbour and good friend. I had texted him earlier about the delay as he was around on paternity leave and I thought we could meet up at some point and get a beer.

He told me to sit down – he had some bad news. The man that was killed earlier was actually our neighbour. I was outside in the garden; I sat down on my haunches. I was poleaxed. I couldn’t quite believe it. Our neighbour? He was moving house on Tuesday. He was married – his wife must be devastated.

I knew the guy in passing. He helped me foot a ladder when we first arrived on the street 6 years ago. Since then I knew him to talk to and occasionally went to the pub. He was a nice chap, nothing indicated he was unhappy or in trouble. We all went out for a couple of pints on Friday to see them off. He seemed in good spirits and was excited by the move.

The rest of yesterday passed in a blur – I gave up work after that and helped look after Naomi. I met Jon for a pint and we talked about what had happened. It all seemed so surreal. It didn’t make any sense – he wasn’t the type. Jon seemed to think the story behind it all would come out eventually. There must have been money troubles or some other situation that we didn’t know about.

I met another neighbour; she was close to them both and was obviously distraught. She was helping the wife deal with the moving firm while at the same time trying to console her. The wife’s brother arrived and helped. I felt useless as I offered to help in any way I could. Kathy went around later to see the wife and offered to take some left over rubbish to the tip. The wife took a taxi to Essex to be with her parents that evening leaving a half packed house and the sold sign outside. I can only imagine how she felt.

I talked it through with Kathy’s Dad who was down to help us with the packing for our own move next week. I tried to rationalise my mixed feelings.

I had been forced to alter my view of an incident after the fact; what was an anonymous suicide that delayed my commute earlier in the day turned into a real tragedy with real people and real tears. Every time I close my eyes I see his face and the piece of track where it happened. My imagination fills in the gaps. I’m not dealing with it very well – I’m emotional at the best of times. I didn’t want to upset Kathy or Naomi so I forced back tears when I told Kathy and made sure Naomi wasn’t aware too much – she wouldn’t understand and I didn’t want to explain why Mummy (or Daddy) was upset.

I feel shocked more than anything. I don’t feel sad or angry; I didn’t know him well enough to miss him. I feel confused and emotionally drained. I feel sick when I replay the sound of the collision and think about his final moments; I know I should put it from my mind but I can’t help replaying the earlier events on the train with the knowledge that it was him. It was gruesome enough with an anonymous person; an old drunk or junkie who had had enough of life. I need to stop thinking about it. I’m not sure if writing this down has helped or not. I’m not really sure I can communicate how I feel at all to tell the truth; still the only people who will read it are friends and I’m not ashamed about emotions. Any ideas on dealing with it welcome. Answers on a postcard.

I’ve kept busy today. I ran the Graduate training course; I enjoy giving training. Something appeals to my acting instincts I guess. I’m now in the office and have done very little but write this all afternoon. Work can wait for a bit.