Page 20 of The Cake Fairies

Bing bong: A loudspeaker announcement filled the air:

“Great Western Railway would like to apologise for the delayed departure of the 18:55 service terminating at Plymouth.”

Plymouth? What if before that it stopped at Exeter… and maybe even Bristol?

Bristol!

Annabelle was a lit fuse, feet propelling her toward the platforms. Stuff the departures board; scouring through the data on that was way too slow. She’d run and look at each train. They were bound to have signs on the platforms themselves marking imminent departures and arrivals. She darted forward, her brain refusing to acknowledge the cluster of commuters in front of her, until she stumbled on somebody’s wheelie bag and lost the remnants of her doughnut to a huddle of pigeons, rolling her eyes at the irony that she’d unwittingly carried out a cake drop. She yanked her ankle boots from her tired feet in frustration, setting off again barefoot. Finally, she reached the far side of the station, gasping for breath; her eyes re-adjusting to what she hoped was a mirage.

It wasn’t.

A sleek, modern train pulled out of the station, gathering speed in sync with her growing realisation; the destination on its end carriage reading ‘Plymouth via Bristol Temple Meads’.

Goddammit. She couldn’t have missed it by any more than a minute.

Well, the day was not going to end like that. Annabelle vaulted the barrier, much to the startled expression of the elderly guard, much to her own surprise– she’d never excelled on the school athletics track, as Miss Edgar had incessantly reminded her – and ran like she’d never run in her life.

“Oi, missy! You get back here right now!”

She legged it after the train, the rush of its movement drowning out the Cockney fury of the doddery guard. Perhaps she could play stowaway like in a movie, jump onto some outer staircase and sit on the roof as if she were in India, holding on tightly for the ride. Anything was worth a try. She’d come this far.

That’s when she saw him. The waiter from the café, his face studying every inch of her intently from the train window.

Once again, his eyes locked onto hers, seemingly searching the depths of her soul, as he travelled in one direction (Plymouth, Exeter, Bristol, or whatever stop he’d be lucky enough to alight from)… and a heavy liver-spotted hand came down on Annabelle’s shoulder, pulling her sharply backwards in the opposite one.