GATES

Maisy Shaw

The train station is busy today, too busy for a Wednesday. Too many businessmen running late, shooting past each other in a wave of monochrome greys and swinging canvas laptop satchels. Too many sports teams crowding the walkways, clusters of varsity style hoodies, striped with school colours. Too. Many. People.
            Working the gates isn’t hard. Just have to make sure no one tries to bump them, help out the people who can’t scan the tickets on their phone. It’s boring work, but it’s money. Sometimes Gary is on gates with me. He’s a laugh, Gaz is, likes to give each person that comes through a name and a backstory.
             Outrageous stuff.
             Terry’s working with me today. He’s okay. And that’s unfortunately it. He is simply fine. We don’t have much in common, he’s about twenty years older than me and doesn’t have much to discuss with a dropout uni student.
            The flow of people doesn’t cease as the hours tick by. A blur of every kind of person passes through the gates. Then I notice them: a mother and a daughter, the parent attempting to scan her phone, her frown deepening after each attempt. The child fiddles idly with the stuffed bear she’s cuddling. More frowns and exasperated noises from the mother.
            ‘Bloody hell, come on, love! We haven’t got all day!’ a man behind her shouts.
            She cringes away from the noise, aggressively slamming her phone screen to the scanner, again and again. More men behind her start sounding grievances, advancing upon her like a raging, testosterone-fuelled sea. I begin to walk over, to help her, when the gate beeps open before her and she shoots through. She clears from the gate, getting lost in the river of commuters.
            A child’s cry drowns with the screech of an arriving train. A surge of people press forward onto the platform. The flood of bodies clears slightly as the passengers board. The mother is no where to be seen, but neither is the child. I scan the platform, then whip my head around to the gates.
            A small teddy bear lies discarded on the floor.