The Train, Sarah Bourne [dark books to read .txt] 📗

men, her girlfriends, her mum. She was used to being looked at and liked being appreciated. But it came with its downside; the other women who found her a threat, the unwanted attentions of arseholes.

She went to the toilet and changed out of her audition clothes. As an afterthought she scrubbed off some of the make-up. It was a bit much for early evening drinks, especially on her own. She appraised herself in the mirror. Flawless skin – she had her mum to thank for that – generous lips, cute nose, dark, almond-shaped eyes like her dad, or so her mum told her. She wondered if Tim would prefer her with or without make-up, and decided he wouldn’t mind, and anyway, he’d get what he was given. She didn’t dress for other people, she did it for herself. Except for auditions. Then you had to play the game.

Thinking back to the audition, a cold rock sat in her stomach – the memory of humiliation, shame. Then she heard Tim’s voice in her head: ‘They’ll eat humble pie when you’re famous.’ She closed her eyes for a moment, imagined herself on stage in front of hundreds of people, Tim in the wings beaming as the audience clapped and cheered and demanded more.

The door opened and a suited woman came in and smiled at her.

‘Hi – busy in here tonight, isn’t it?’

‘Yeah,’ said Alice, although she didn’t think it was particularly.

The other woman went into a cubicle. Alice inhaled deeply, took one last look at herself in the mirror, and shouldered her bag. She had decided two things; firstly, she wasn’t going to let one audition, however bad, put her off her dream of singing. She’d show those bastards they’d made a mistake letting her slip through their fingers. And secondly, she wasn’t going to let Tim get away. He’d suggested they see each other the next day, and she’d make sure they did.

As she entered Euston for the train home, she was struck by the smell of the place – fried food and unwashed bodies; there were homeless people already staking their claim to a few feet of ground, spreading their cardboard and blankets out for another night in the station. She avoided their gaze, angry they were there, that she was forced to see them, that they didn’t do anything to help themselves. She joined the commuters looking at the departures board and decided to message Tim before she went home. She pulled her phone out, but before she could text him, Maddie rang.

‘We’re all dying to know all about him. You can’t keep us in suspenders!’

Alice laughed. Trust Maddie. She could never wait for anything, and don’t ask her to keep a secret, it was beyond her powers of self-control. Not that Tim was a secret. She’d wanted Maddie to tell everyone.

‘Well?’ asked her friend.

‘Well what? What do you want to know?’

‘Everything, of course. How did you meet him, and where? What does he do? What does he look like? Everything.’

Alice could hear the others in the background adding their questions. ‘Tall?’ ‘Rich?’ ‘Got a brother?’

Alice opened her mouth to answer, and stopped. What to tell them?

‘You know I said I was coming to London today?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, he’s the ticket collector from the train.’

There was a pause. Alice could hear her friend’s judgement reaching into it. When she spoke, Maddie’s voice had a forced cheerfulness to it. ‘Great. That’s… great.’

Alice bit her lip. ‘Kidding! He’s an artist.’

Maddie laughed. ‘Geez! You had me going there for a while. What’s he like?’

Alice thought about that. He was kind, and good-looking and into her.

‘Nice. Sexy,’ said Alice. ‘Gotta go, Mads, going to see him now.’

‘I thought you said you were seeing him tomorrow.’

‘Change of plan. See ya.’

Fuck ’em, she thought. Her friends were all so quick to judge. It was Maddie’s fault she’d had to lie. Her and her bigwig accounts-manager boyfriend. Alice was glad she hadn’t told anyone about her audition – they’d probably all be toasting her failure. She took a deep breath and shook her head. She loved her friends really, they’d been through a lot together – boozy nights, partying the weekends away, new love, broken hearts, illness. But they could be so bloody judgemental.

She looked at the time on her phone. He’d left almost an hour ago. She wondered where he was, what was happening. Would she look desperate if she called him? Interfering? Supportive? She decided to wait a little, and wandered towards Oxford Street again. It was only seven, perhaps the shops would still be open.

At Debenhams she remembered she’d promised Debbie, the girl who’d done her make-up, she’d let her know how she got on. She made her way to the Urban Decay counter, and there she was, serving a customer. Alice waited, pretending to be interested in the mascaras, until she was free.

‘Hi,’ she said.

‘Can I help you with anything?’

‘Debbie, it’s me, Alice. I was here this morning – you did my make-up.’

‘Oh, yes! Sorry – it’s been a long day. I was meant to knock off at four, but the girl who was meant to replace me called in sick. The X Factor – how did it go? Need your own personal make-up artist to go on tour with you?’

‘Nah. It was awful. I don’t mean your make-up. The whole audition was a real shit-fight. They don’t listen to anyone properly. Just choose people at random, I reckon.’

‘Sorry to hear that.’

Alice shrugged. ‘Yeah, well, at least it’s over.’

‘You can always try again. Or go on Britain’s Got Talent or something.’

Two girls were trying the eyeshadow testers and Debbie turned to them. Alice was relieved. Talking about it still made her want to curl into a ball and cry. Or shout at someone. ‘Yeah. I ’spose. Anyway, looks like you’ve got another customer. I’ll leave you to it. Thanks again.’

Outside on the street, her phone tinkled in her pocket but before she had a chance to get to it, it had stopped. She pulled