A Christmas Story
In the bright lights of the entrance a middle-aged woman sits alone on the plastic bench, her back to the sliding doors. People scurry past keen to take the opportunity for a quick break before they resume their journeys: a couple dragging a small girl with curly hair stuffed under a woolly hat; two young men, obviously brothers, arguing; a young lady holding out her arm to her elderly grandfather. They don’t even notice her. They don’t notice the darkening bruise around her right eye or the slightly matted hair at her temple soaked with blood, or the way she is rubbing her left elbow to relieve a throbbing pain. She stares straight ahead into nothing.
The woman is not wearing a coat and starts to shiver. She left the house too quickly after it happened. There was only time to grab her handbag and slip on the ballet pumps she kept by the door before she left, started the car and drove off without looking back. Her phone started ringing at the top of the road but she just ignored it. She didn’t feel safe driving. Against the black of the road she could see the coffee jar flying towards her again and again and could feel where her husband had angrily grabbed at her elbow as she turned away from him. She’d driven 60 miles away before she began to feel faint.
In the food hall the Christmas eve staff are standing around chatting. It’s 5.30pm. Most people are well on their way home now. The stainless steel food containers are empty and just a few remaining sandwiches are on the chiller shelf. Egg and cress, tuna and cucumber and the seasonal special, turkey and cranberry.
In the coffee shop a lone girl is sitting at the counter blowing on a cup of hot chocolate to cool it. Her hair is frizzy on top where she has been wearing a hat and her jacket is soaked through. Beside her cup is a scrap of paper with an address written on it, just five miles away now.
The girl looks up to check the clock. She sees the only other customer in the place is the middle-aged woman with the bruised eye. She watches her as she sips her hot chocolate. She knows she was there in that same position when she came in to escape the cold rain. Jumping down from the high stool she stuffs her hands in her pockets and wanders over in that direction.
“Are you OK?” she asks.
The woman flinches slightly and looks in her direction. She notices that she has pale green eyes and smudged mascara.
“Yes, fine”, she mumbles and briefly smiles.
“Oh my goodness, you’re bleeding!” says the young girl. “Let me help you get cleaned up. I know a bit of first aid”.
The girl leads her into the ladies toilet. There she bathes the woman’s temple, rinsing the blood from her dark hair until she can see the cut. It’s not too deep but probably needs attention.
“Can I take you to the hospital?” she asks. “Do you have a car?”
She doesn’t mention that she doesn’t have a driving licence, that she’s only 16.
“No hospital,” says the woman. “It’ll be fine.”
She’s looking now at her face in the mirror and can see the blood is congealing again and will soon stop.
“My name’s Lucy,” says the girl. “What happened to you? Were you in a car accident?”
The woman is wiping mascara smudges from under her eyes and rearranging her hair. Her numb state seems to be dissipating. She notices the girl’s sodden jeans and remembers that it is Christmas eve.
“No, not a car accident,” she laughs an ironic laugh. “Why are you on your own here on Christmas eve? Are you homeless?”
Lucy thinks about it for a few minutes. No she’s not homeless, she thinks, but she doesn’t know her home.
“I’m trying to find my mum,” she answers.
“And is your dad looking for you?”
“Probably,” she waves her mobile phone. “It’s switched off”.
“Mine too. I’m Carol,” says the woman. “Pleased to meet you.”
Back in the main service station, the automatic doors only open every 10 minutes or so now to let new travellers through. Most of the staff have taken off their silly Christmas hats, put on their coats and waved goodbyes to their workmates.
Lucy and Carol sit round a small table eating the last remaining muffins and drinking tea watched by the cashier. Lucy insisted on tea with lots of sugar for Carol.
They are planning their route on Carol’s iphone. The phone rings every few minutes but she ignores it. A carrier bag holds the last turkey and cranberry sandwich, a bottle of wine and two paperback books from the 24 hour WHSmith shop. Together they are embarking on two very different journeys. Lucy to meet her mother for the first time and Carol to a warm, quiet Travelodge close by, to spend her Christmas in peace.
In the bright lights of the entrance a middle-aged woman sits alone on the plastic bench, her back to the sliding doors. People scurry past keen to take the opportunity for a quick break before they resume their journeys: a couple dragging a small girl with curly hair stuffed under a woolly hat; two young men, obviously brothers, arguing; a young lady holding out her arm to her elderly grandfather. They don’t even notice her. They don’t notice the darkening bruise around her right eye or the slightly matted hair at her temple soaked with blood, or the way she is rubbing her left elbow to relieve a throbbing pain. She stares straight ahead into nothing.
The woman is not wearing a coat and starts to shiver. She left the house too quickly after it happened. There was only time to grab her handbag and slip on the ballet pumps she kept by the door before she left, started the car and drove off without looking back. Her phone started ringing at the top of the road but she just ignored it. She didn’t feel safe driving. Against the black of the road she could see the coffee jar flying towards her again and again and could feel where her husband had angrily grabbed at her elbow as she turned away from him. She’d driven 60 miles away before she began to feel faint.
In the food hall the Christmas eve staff are standing around chatting. It’s 5.30pm. Most people are well on their way home now. The stainless steel food containers are empty and just a few remaining sandwiches are on the chiller shelf. Egg and cress, tuna and cucumber and the seasonal special, turkey and cranberry.
In the coffee shop a lone girl is sitting at the counter blowing on a cup of hot chocolate to cool it. Her hair is frizzy on top where she has been wearing a hat and her jacket is soaked through. Beside her cup is a scrap of paper with an address written on it, just five miles away now.
The girl looks up to check the clock. She sees the only other customer in the place is the middle-aged woman with the bruised eye. She watches her as she sips her hot chocolate. She knows she was there in that same position when she came in to escape the cold rain. Jumping down from the high stool she stuffs her hands in her pockets and wanders over in that direction.
“Are you OK?” she asks.
The woman flinches slightly and looks in her direction. She notices that she has pale green eyes and smudged mascara.
“Yes, fine”, she mumbles and briefly smiles.
“Oh my goodness, you’re bleeding!” says the young girl. “Let me help you get cleaned up. I know a bit of first aid”.
The girl leads her into the ladies toilet. There she bathes the woman’s temple, rinsing the blood from her dark hair until she can see the cut. It’s not too deep but probably needs attention.
“Can I take you to the hospital?” she asks. “Do you have a car?”
She doesn’t mention that she doesn’t have a driving licence, that she’s only 16.
“No hospital,” says the woman. “It’ll be fine.”
She’s looking now at her face in the mirror and can see the blood is congealing again and will soon stop.
“My name’s Lucy,” says the girl. “What happened to you? Were you in a car accident?”
The woman is wiping mascara smudges from under her eyes and rearranging her hair. Her numb state seems to be dissipating. She notices the girl’s sodden jeans and remembers that it is Christmas eve.
“No, not a car accident,” she laughs an ironic laugh. “Why are you on your own here on Christmas eve? Are you homeless?”
Lucy thinks about it for a few minutes. No she’s not homeless, she thinks, but she doesn’t know her home.
“I’m trying to find my mum,” she answers.
“And is your dad looking for you?”
“Probably,” she waves her mobile phone. “It’s switched off”.
“Mine too. I’m Carol,” says the woman. “Pleased to meet you.”
Back in the main service station, the automatic doors only open every 10 minutes or so now to let new travellers through. Most of the staff have taken off their silly Christmas hats, put on their coats and waved goodbyes to their workmates.
Lucy and Carol sit round a small table eating the last remaining muffins and drinking tea watched by the cashier. Lucy insisted on tea with lots of sugar for Carol.
They are planning their route on Carol’s iphone. The phone rings every few minutes but she ignores it. A carrier bag holds the last turkey and cranberry sandwich, a bottle of wine and two paperback books from the 24 hour WHSmith shop. Together they are embarking on two very different journeys. Lucy to meet her mother for the first time and Carol to a warm, quiet Travelodge close by, to spend her Christmas in peace.