In hindsight, Megan admits she
was cocky by then, evidenced by her casual attention to ticket details, the
not-a-problem-in-the-world stroll to Amsterdam Central where she had alighted just
five days before. Easily time for a quick check of the departure board, she had
thought, before a final coffee…
Puzzlement. 10.28 to Rotterdam,
10.32 to Paris, 10. 44 to Dusseldorf – no 10.37 to Berlin? She stares again, then at her ticket. Monday 7 November, yes, 10.37 departure,
Amsterdam for Berlin. Everything looks right but there’s no such departure on
the board.
Panic. 10.21. Who to ask? Where’s
the ticket office? There’s a queue, of
course. In halting English the woman behind the counter explains that, yes, her
train leaves at 10.37 but from Amsterdam South. This is Amsterdam Central.
10.25. Can she get a taxi? How
far is it to Amsterdam South? Why didn’t she think to get Eva’s cell phone number?
In six hours, Eva will be waiting at the
Hauptbahnhof for a guest who won’t arrive. A paralytic calm descends. Resigned
to the mess she has got herself into, Megan stands frozen to the spot. Stupid,
stupid idiot. There is simply nothing to be done.
“Excuse me. I can help.” A man in a uniform approaches, radiantly
blonde and as tranquil as an angel. “If
you run, you will just catch the 10.28 to Rotterdam. Get off at the third stop.
Your train to Berlin will stop there also, six minutes later.”
Gratitude rises through her body
like spring sap. She wants to wrap her arms around this man, this saviour, a
railway timetable savant.
“Run, you don’t have much time.
Back to the platform.”
Megan seizes her pack and,
gobbling incoherent words of thanks, flies back the way she had come just
minutes before. The train is waiting. She falls into the closest compartment
and has only just found a place to stand amongst the students and business commuters,
when the doors close and the train glides into motion. Count, count, count is her mantra. First
stop, three students laughing and jostling each other. Doors close and the train pulls away, passing
the underskirts of Amsterdam with not a canal or bridge in sight. Second stop, and a woman with two children
and a baby buggy struggles into the carriage.
The doors stay open while she seats the children and then returns to the
platform for a wheeled suitcase. Come on, come on…
Third stop and Megan is ready,
alighting before the doors are fully open.
The clock on the platform reads 10.43. Six minutes now, as her angel
said…
10.45. A train stops at the
platform with barely a whisper. It can’t be, not yet.
“Berlin?” she stutters to the
uniformed woman who springs from the door.
“Yes, yes, please get on
quickly.”
Doors close. A seat. Relief.
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