Mind the Gap
London at last! How glad she was that she’d decided to take the dreaded Megabus down from Liverpool. The price of the ticket – 5 quid – made it almost worthwhile, somehow making up for the persistent smell of sick and wee inside the coach. And now Victoria. Julie’s heart soared at the sight of the magnificent columns, heralding the glory of the British Empire, their glory somewhat tarnished by the modern and uninspiring concrete parking bay.
She hopped off the coach, dragging her almost too brightly coloured wheelie case across the tarmac, heading straight for the station. Marvelling at how they were charging 50p for the loo and mentally running the “It’s not like this up north”, rhetoric in her head, she still paid up and went in. She carefully applied a violent shade of purple to her lips. A good scrub of her Doc Martens with the toilet paper, a bit of adjustment to the cleavage, a bit of blusher and she was ready to take on London. This was her second trip to the capital. Her first was about three years back, when she’d come with her older brother and his two friends. That trip had been a blur, and the pub crawl had become quite literal by 2am – she still remembered walking on her hands and knees down Camden High Street. Not because she’d wanted to, but because the amount of prosecco, beer and cheap red wine she’d consumed made any other sort of movement impossible. This time, she promised herself she’d be different. More grown up. Classy while still being sassy.
She got out of the loo and into the crowd - people in their hoards, like worker ants, rushing, walking and running, all barely looking up. The bustle made her pulse quicken. She headed for the barriers enunciating a shrill “Ta very much!” to the ticket attendant when he helped her with the bag. She thought he looked at her funny, but who cared? She was in London! She was meeting her friends at the pub later. Shame they were all so busy and couldn’t take the day off. In fact, it seemed like they were always busy, all the time. “Not like up north”, Julie muttered to herself again, shaking her head.
At the bottom of the escalators an elderly John Lennon tribute artist was belting out an off-key version of Imagine. Julie warmed to him. She liked his wispy grey hair - reminded her of her dad. She gave him a quid, knowing that she might regret it later when she fell short of cash just when she needed a pint at the pub. But his earnestness deserved her money.
She got into the first train that pulled in, wondering what she should do next. Three hours to kill. Go window shopping? Dangerous. She might buy something - and she knew she couldn’t afford that. Sit in a park with a beer? It was raining. Go to the museums? Free, but not quite her thing. She got out her phone and began to fiddle with it. At the same time she popped a gum into her mouth. She loved blowing bubbles – it helped her concentrate. The man sitting opposite raised big bushy eyebrows at her. Julie smirked. What a toff. She began making loud, smacking noises with the gum, deliberately trying to annoy him. With an audible sigh he gathered up his expensive coat and made his way to another seat at the other end of the carriage. Julie smiled. Victory.
She continued looking at her phone, to see if anyone on Facebook or TikTok or Whatsapp had any ideas. She’d already posted three photos of herself (all with her trademark pout), so everyone already knew that she was in London. She began scrolling through her friend lists, carelessly flicking through the photos. Her fingers moved with easy dexterity, opening up chat windows, looking at friend’s profiles, commenting on photos, replying to comments on hers. She started looking at Ellie’s photos from the party last night, the one she’d missed. Who was that? Ooooh he looked fit. Was he the boy who’d moved in near her gaff? Was he the exchange student who was boarding at Ellie’s Nan’s? Or was he Ellie’s cousin from Newport? She was getting into a bit of a tizzy now. “Who was he?” She clicked manically on the photos to see the tag, feeling slightly thwarted by the slow internet connection.
Then, there it was. Steve. Steve Brown. Biting her lip, she began to scroll through his photos, feeling slightly delirious at the sight of his chiseled cheekbones and equally chiseled abs. He seemed to be spending a lot of his time with his top off, this boy - always at festivals and holidays. She scrolled through a few more of his photos, and looked at his profile. Was he in a relationship? No, single. She could continue to look at the photos without any trace of guilt, then. Her fingers moved rapidly, swiping left and right, up and down, when suddenly – “Oh no!”. She had liked one of his photos! “Quick…unlike!”
But she was too late. Already, at the corner of the screen, Steve Brown had popped up in Messenger. “Hi”, he said. Julie thought she’d faint with excitement. Not bothering to pause and wonder about the character and lifestyle of a man who seemed to be poised over his phone/laptop ready to respond to any female attention within the second, Julie replied: “Hi!!!” Damn. Too many exclamation marks. But again, it was too late.
And so, over the next 15 minutes Julie and Steve got to know a little more about each other. She was right, he was from Newport. He had seen pictures of her on Ellie’s page. He’d love to hang out. Did she like beer? Did she go to pubs? He was going to be at the Prince Arthur in Shoreditch. Yes, he was in London too! Just for the day! Could she make it there before 6pm? “When?” she replied, trembling. “Today?” “Yes!” He was there now!
So just like that, all thanks to the magic of social media, Julie went from having nothing to do to possibly doing the hottest guy she’d seen in a while. She knew mustn’t think that far ahead, but she couldn’t help it. A bit of harmless fantasy. And it wasn’t the first time that she’d use a pub loo for something other than weeing. Quite forgetting herself now, she began to fidget. She looked up at the tube map. Where was she now? Where did she have to get off? Stockwell? That should do it. She began to look for a mirror in her backpack, making rustling noises and dropping bits of tissue and old receipts on the floor. The portly African lady sitting next to her tutted in exasperation. The thin, smartly dressed woman in designer wear on the other side was a bit more restrained in her disapproval, merely pursing her lips so tight that they disappeared into her face.
Julie was oblivious. She found the mirror – thank Christ. Normally she’d use her phone camera but Steve was messaging like his life depended on it. In an astonishing display of ambidexterity, she messaged him back and touched up everything, pouting at her reflection in the mirror. Lipstick. Three more stops to Stockwell. Blusher. Two more stops. Hair. One more stop. She’d just about finished shoving everything back into her backpack when the train pulled into Stockwell. She got up, forgetting she still had her phone on her lap and it went clattering across the floor and landed on the big toe of the lady with the pursed lips. Julie apologised profusely and got a withering look in return.
Clutching her wheelie case, backpack and phone, Julie got to the door just as the automated voice was saying “Mind the gap, mind the gap please”. She’d always thought this bit of instruction was extremely daft. Surely people could see a tiny two-inch gap between the train and the platform? And what would happen if anyone tripped? Surely they’d just be a bit bruised? Why was everyone so soft down south? They needed to go up north.
Shaking her head and dragging all her things, one eye still on the phone for Steve’s latest message, Julie got off the train and got her foot stuck in the very same gap she had been dismissing just a few seconds earlier. Her wheelie case went flying down the platform taking on a life of its own and causing other passengers to scatter in its wake. Fortunately the backpack cushioned most of her fall, and all she suffered was a slight dent to her pride and a marginally bigger one to one of her Docs. But as she lay there on the platform floor, with a new respect for the man who said “Mind the gap”, she noticed that her phone - with what seemed like an unnecessary vindictiveness - made its very determined way straight into the gap. Try as she might, she couldn’t stop it.
She got up quickly, just as a lady came up to her to ask if she was OK. Julie started telling her about the phone. Steve! How would she meet him now? What was the name of the pub? Prince Albert? King Arthur? King James? Could she borrow the lady’s phone and try logging in? But she’d long forgotten all her passwords. Besides, she had no sense of direction. Without Google maps she would spend hours, maybe even days, wandering lost. The train was still at the station, hesitating, as if it was checking to make sure she was OK. But now, it slid its doors shut. As it started to move away, Julie was sure she could hear the crunch and crackle of the wheels going over her new iPhone.
And sure enough, after the train left the station, Julie peered down at the tracks and saw her phone, shattered into tiny bits. Through the cracked screen she imagined she could read Steve’s latest message - but she knew deep down that she couldn’t really. She was just fooling herself.
As she continued staring, another train pulled in and went over the phone again, this time definitely making sure that the gap between hope and reality remained insurmountable.