With just one small cereal bar left, a hungry stomach and three hours worth of travelling left I stumbled in to the station cafe, bags of luggage hanging from each arm.

With condensation mischievously covering the lens of my glasses, I squint over the top of them to try and read the blurry words on the menu. “A large hot chocolate and blueberry muffin, please” I respond to the staffs enthusiastic questioning of my desires. Begrudgingly, I hand over the pricey charge and thank them for their service. I sit at the table near the window, so as to keep an eye on the trains as they arrive. My train isn’t due for another 30 minutes, but I still feel as though I have to check every train that pulls up at the dreary station…. just in case. 

Watching the passengers as they roam the platform, my mind races with the usual concerns. Did I leave the back door unlocked? Have I remembered to pack my phone charger? Will mum be disappointed with the colour I put on my hair last night? Being unable to change any of this now, I call mum to remind her of my arrival time and warn her of the new colour (I had learnt from an early age that a gentle warning provided much needed time for her to prepare for a change she hadn’t decided on). I hang up the phone without saying “Love you too Ma”, regrettably realizing this will be held against me when I next speak to her. Even though it has been six months since I last saw her, it was only mum’s confusing phone call requesting I visit as soon as possible that brought me to the station today. Despite this, I look forward to arriving home, even if it is just so I can put my bags down and use a toilet that has been cleaned within the last two weeks! Having already waited at two other stations today, my urge to visit the family has now increased as my boredom with trains and strangers grow.

Finally, my train pulls up and I scramble through the hoards of passengers either trying to get on with me or racing to get out the station. The shrill of the carriage doors closing and the conductors whistle pierces my eardrums as I am forced to stand in between the rows of seats taken by excited children, embarrassed mothers and show-off business men with their portable technology and shiny cuff links. I try to telepathically tell one of them to offer their seat to me, soon realizing I clearly haven’t mastered that talent yet. Admitting defeat, I place my bags on the floor and use them as a beanbag. Knowing I still have time to spoil the surprise, I convince myself that by the end of the journey I will have guessed what mum so desperately wanted to tell me in person. As I analyze each phone conversation had with her over the past four weeks I assume that mum is either engaged to her 24 year old toy boy, with child or feels the need to show off her latest confidence building plastic surgery. Only four more stations until I get off. I pray she isn’t on the platform waiting for me!