6.32 from Reading

I should speak to him today.

The heady scent of roasting coffee beans and sweet pastries surrounded her. Strangers nattered on their phones and pigeons cooed at her feet, but Jazz ignored it all, instead she took a moment to revisit her love life or love death plan. She brushed her clammy hands down her polyester skirt. Maybe if I’m really lucky, he won’t be here. She tested the speed of her erratic pulse. It thrummed in her throat. Please let him be here today.

Her train journey from the boring town she called home into the inner city would be the mirror image of her daily commute for the last three years. If no one beat her to it, she’d slide into seat 34A, four rows from the middle door, next to the window on the left and with a table in front. Then within a minute of taking her place, she’d hold her breath and look up, and catch his eye beneath her stringy black fringe. He’d look up and give her a nod accompanied by a pleasant smile that would add creases to the corner of his mouth.

His shirt would be so crisp and white that she imagined she’d ruin it with a brief touch. It was a Friday, which meant his dark cropped hair would be slightly more unkempt because he’d slept on it while it was wet. Thursday night’s he played badminton. He had the arms for a racket sport. His biceps regularly strained the cotton of his shirts. During the heatwave last year he’d rolled up his sleeves and displayed his forearms to all in carriage C. At the smattering of dark hair and defined muscles she knew she wasn’t the only one sighing internally that sweaty morning.  

One Friday she’d overheard him talking to Brian, one of the train table mates, about needing another member for his badminton group. She should have volunteered, but the palpitations had started. Trembles touched her fingers which she’d forced under the table as she’d slowly counted to ten. When she’d reached eight, the conversation had moved on. That was over a half a year ago. Brian had retired a couple of months later. Her love interest didn’t say much more than a casual hello to anyone now. His hair continued to be fluffy on Fridays, though. And I still imagine running my fingers through it as I sneak a look over the top of my tablet.

Jazz hadn’t finished a book in years. He was her focus, from his green eyes that reminded her of holidays by the sea, to his smart brown brogues and blue suit. His trousers came close to hiding his range of superhero socks that he wore every day, but she still got a peek. As the train eased into Paddington at 7.05, he would offer another smile and say in a voice deep enough to make her belly flush with excitement, “Another day at the grindstone.” Then she’d smile shyly, drop her eyes and see a swash of Ironman red or a flash of the Batman logo as he stood.

For the last three years, every weekday morning had been the same. I’ve waited for that morning where he’d be wearing a wedding ring, be a bit more dishevelled as if he sneaked onto the train after a walk of shame or not be there at all. Aside from the odd week’s annual leave, every day was the same.

But everything was about to change. Today was his last day on Jazz’s train. He’d had a call two days ago and told his friend about the new job he was starting in a week. Tonight he’d have drinks with his colleagues, and then Monday morning he’d be driving to his new office in Slough. His executive sales role had different demands.

In the silence of the train, his friend’s voice had carried well. “Will you talk to that woman on the train before you go? The one you fancy?”

If she didn’t know better Jazz swore that every woman around her held their breath in anticipation. Jazz wasn’t the only one who wanted to be his chosen one, over the last couple of months she’d had to fight a little harder for her seat. On their table the commuters followed the early morning rules; stay quiet and don’t engage, but others tried to draw him into a conversation, and he was always polite, but there was no clear winner in the race for his heart.

On the day of that phone conversation, he’d covered the mouthpiece and told his friend he’d give them a call back later.

The 6.32 from Reading pulled into the station with a rumble so loud she nearly covered her ears. Today was Jazz’s day. I have to get to my seat and confess my feelings before it’s too late.

A rush of people pushed her towards the door. She loved this part of the morning. It was everyone for themselves. Any social media messages about “Be Kind” were a distant memory when the train came to a stop. Energy rushed through the limbs of people who just seconds earlier had been yawning wide enough to catch bugs.

Elbows poked at her waist as familiar faces tried to get ahead. As if in battle each tribe stared each other down as the doors opened. The grey-haired, suited warrior stood at the door prepared to shove his way out of the train, unwavering when faced with the gang of people wanting to force their way on, desperate to claim a seat for the last thirty minutes of the journey. Fridays were the busiest mornings on the train. People who usually started later were trying to get in so that they could finish early for the weekend. Most office staff did Friday night drinks. Jazz used to look longingly at the teams that would skip off for a gin at the local bars as she carried on with her data inputting. Then she’d eventually shirk off and get the train home alone, but that was a while ago now.

The grey-haired warrior shoulder barged anyone in his way. He already reeked of BO, but no one held their nose. It was like the last second before a typhoon; the last breath before hell broke loose. It wasn’t the moment to be precious, not when the opportunity to sit in the presence of Mr Superhero socks was at stake.

I have to get to my seat. It has to be today. But I’ve said the same thing for months. Getting to her place would be difficult, but speaking to her crush about the love that had been bubbling for years was going to be impossible. When Brian stopped getting the train, Linda, who worked in PR, had got his coveted spot. But that increased competition for 34A. Even if I can’t get mine maybe by ousting Linda I have a chance.

She pushed a delicately placed elbow into Linda’s stomach. Jazz flashed a sly grin when the PR guru fell to the back of the group with an anguished cry. But as one enemy fell, another quickly replaced her.  

Jazz swung her Tesco ‘bag for life’ wide and slammed it into Patricia, a woman who sneaked into Brian’s old seat when Linda took annual leave. Not today, Patricia. The sound of plastic crinkling loudly hinted at another successful win. Thank goodness for her Superman ‘bag for life’. She was defeating her enemies with surprising ease. It was her moment to shine.

Jazz set her mouth in a hard line and prepared to barrel through the next group. She cleared her throat noisily when John, a corporate accountant, tried to sneak past her. He wasn’t usually a gentleman, using the morning train journey to chat to any pencil skirted woman once he’d slipped off his gold wedding band. Today he must have sensed the futility of doing anything but stepping aside when faced with Jazz’s mission.

Jazz was first through the door, but the battle wasn’t over yet. The lower down the platform crowd had jostled their way through the opposite door at the same time. Janice, a legal secretary who was retraining in publishing, smirked her challenge. Everyone coveted a seat in the presence of Mr Superhero Socks; he was easy on the eye and not a snorer, grunter, and had never been full of a cold like some passengers.

I have to get there first. Jazz’s thighs, muscular from her daily power walk to and from the station, pumped as she strode down the aisle. Both her and Janice must have looked ridiculous speed walking, yet trying to wear an air of cool while rushing to the seat. The closer they got, the more frenzied their gait.

The seat came into view. It was empty, and it seemed to beckon Jazz to move faster. Mr Superhero socks sat opposite with a newspaper in hand. He glanced over the paper. Was his smile broader than usual, or did she imagine it? The day after he’d worn Thor socks she’d purchased a pair for her special cupboard at home. She also wore her Wonder Woman ones over her tights every day in the hope he’d notice. Had she had a best friend, they probably would have told her that her special cupboard was creepy. But she hadn’t had a bestie since that issue at school with the popular boy. I wonder what he’s up to now? I hope he survived that unfortunate accident. I didn’t mean to hurt him, but my crushes always go wrong.

At a careless foot in the aisle, Jazz lost her balance. I’m falling. Janice grinned and winked in the direction of the owner of the foot. That had been an orchestrated trip! I can’t fail. I am not losing to “guess where I’m getting waxed tonight” Janice.

Someone’s headphones were on full volume, and she swore Eye of the Tiger was playing loudly out of them. Determination rose inside her, and she quickly regained her composure. She’d lost a metre. Did she stand a chance?

I’ll probably never see him again after today. I can’t wait in Slough hoping to bump into him while he’s on his lunch break. She’d consider it if she had to.

“Please,” she whispered to the gods of love. They’d ignored her before, but surely this was the day she deserved after a lifetime of rejection?

As if in answer to her prayer the strap of Janice’s oversized blue Karen Millen handbag that she’d picked up from TK Maxx “it was a total bargain, Babe” snagged on the corner of a seat. A rookie error was all Jazz needed.

With one last stride, she closed the gap and plopped into the coveted spot opposite one of Swindon’s most attractive bachelors. I know that I wasn’t the only one to see an article about him in the Swindon paper last week. I wonder if anyone else cut out his picture and stuck it on their wall? She’d put it next to the sneaky photos she’d taken of him when she’d been pretending to read a book on her tablet.

“Well done,” he said with a smile.

Now is my chance. Do it. Say something before it’s too late. Prepping her words one last time, she took a breath and opened her mouth.

“Excuse me, ladies and gentleman,” the train manager said over the loudspeaker. “Due to a minor disruption on the line, we are going to be changing trains. The next one is already waiting on platform four. It will be leaving within the next five minutes. Be prepared to stand.”

Mr Superhero Socks stood and elbowed his way past. “I have to be on that train.”

He threaded his way through the bustling crowds, and before a squeak had left her mouth, he’d disappeared amongst the throng.

I might as well go home. Jazz followed the crowds off the train. She’d been fired from her job seven months earlier for making male members of staff uncomfortable with her “obsessive behaviour”. Was it obsessive to follow a man home and send him flowers every day? That was how love worked. If she had to, then she’d do the same with Mr Superhero Socks. Maybe I’ll treat myself to a croissant as I scrapbook our superhero-themed wedding. Then I’ll head to where he’s having after-work drinks. My chance at love isn’t over yet.