The Passenger, Daniel Hurst [ereader android .TXT] 📗

It will be my child too.

I wish the damn train were here. I wouldn’t be getting this worried if it was. That’s because I’d be too busy writing to even think about the fear of failure. But as it is, I’m still stuck here on this platform, and my overactive imagination is running away with itself.

I know I am taking a risk. I know it’s not just my life that could be ruined if it doesn’t work. Louise could have hers ruined too.

That explains why she doesn’t agree with what I am doing.

I reach into my handbag and take out my mobile phone, deciding at that moment to give my daughter a call to do something nice for her. I’m going to ask her if she would like a takeaway tonight. That will earn me a few brownie points. It won’t be a big thing, but an Indian or a Chinese will go a little way to keeping things civil between us, at least for one night anyway.

I unlock my phone and navigate towards my daughter’s number and notice the wallpaper on my device. It’s the one I saved as a way to motivate myself every day whenever I look at my mobile. It’s a photo of a sandy beach in the Caribbean along with an inspirational quote typed across the clear blue sky: “Dreams only work if you do.”

I saved that wallpaper to my phone a couple of years ago after a particularly hellish commute left me needing a little lift, and it always makes me feel good when I see it, even if it is a little cheesy. That tropical beach is certainly a long way away from this crowded platform in Central London, but I guess it wouldn’t be a dream if it were real.

I tap my finger on the number on the screen and then hold the phone to my ear as I wait for my daughter to pick up. She will be at home now, most likely lying on the sofa and watching TV, because that’s all she has done ever since she finished school last year and told me she didn’t want to go to college. I wasn’t too disappointed about her lack of interest in further education because I’m all for people doing whatever they want to do, and my daughter clearly did not want to sit in any more lessons. But the problem is, she isn’t doing anything at all right now. She doesn’t have a job, and she doesn’t have a dream, other than to go travelling, which I am fully behind, but she needs to earn money before such a thing can happen. Louise talks about exploring far-flung continents like Asia or South America, but she doesn’t seem to recognise that in order to fund those adventures, she needs to put in the work in less glamourous locations.

She can’t hope to lie on a beach in Brazil if she doesn’t make any money in Brighton.

Of course, Louise’s answer to that is that I should just give her the money she needs to go. She knows I have been saving up, and she expects me to just give her a big chunk of that so she can jet off and enjoy herself while I keep working. But I’ve explained to her that life isn’t as simple as that. If you want something, then you have to work for it yourself. Unfortunately, Louise doesn’t seem to want to work for anything. But she won’t have much choice for long. I’m going to give her a deadline to find a job. I don’t care what it is. I can’t have her sitting around at the flat all day, wasting her life, as well as my hard-earned money.

As the call connects and I hear my daughter’s voice on the other end of the line, I say a silent prayer to myself in the hope that this conversation won’t end up in yet another argument between the two of us.

But I’m not holding my breath.

3 LOUISE

‘What?’

Most people answer the phone with friendlier words than that, but I don’t because it’s only my mum calling. Why would I bother to be polite when she is probably just ringing to give me another lecture on why I should be doing more with my day than sitting around the flat?

She thinks I’m lazy and barely move from my bed to the sofa in all the time she is at work. But she is wrong. I’m not lazy, and I do more than just hang around sleeping and watching television. I have so much more going on in my life than she realises, and the fact that I can’t be honest and tell her that only proves to me how rubbish a parent she really is.

‘How was your day?’

I can only just hear my mum’s voice over the line through all the background noise around her. It sounds like she is at the train station, and it seems busy there, but I can still make out the weariness to her speech. She always sounds tired because she always is. She gets up early to go to London, and she gets back late. What a life. Is it any wonder I’m not in a rush to follow her into the world of work?

‘Fine,’ I reply.

‘What have you been up to?’

‘Not much.’

I’m making sure to keep my answers short so this conversation doesn’t go on any longer than it needs to.

‘Please don’t tell me you’ve been watching TV all day again. We talked about this,’ Mum says, and I roll my eyes.

‘I haven’t. I spent a delightful ten minutes in the bathroom having a shower. Happy now?’

‘Lou, you promised me you were going to apply for jobs today.’

I sigh because I can’t be bothered to explain myself again. I only told her I would apply for jobs to shut her up last night when she was on my case. Of course I haven’t applied for any.