Chapter 2: Chapter One: The boy at the railway station

On a sunny, Friday evening in late June, a short and chubby seven year old boy waited on a bench at St. Margaret's station in the English county of Hertfordshire. His straight, medium brown hair hung about his face uncombed. He was wearing a plain blue T-shirt, and a pair of orange swimming shorts with white and blue flames on the legs. He bit at the chocolate and cornet remains of a Strawberry ice cream he had bought at the village shop couple of hours previously. The ice cream part had long-since been licked away, though some of which had dripped down the cone and onto his white trainer shoes.
The boy finished eating the cornet and swung his feet to-and-fro as he continued sitting on the metal bench. Suddenly he shut his eyes and held his forehead in the palm of his hand. Harsh, critical voices rung in his mind, making him clench his other hand.
"Tubby Timothy!"
"Can't you do anything, right?"
"I don't get you. Trains, trains, trains. It's always the same thing!"
Timothy shook his head and tried to focus on what made him happy. He breathed deeply as he tried to calm himself down. After all, this was his happy place. Timothy had always been fascinated by trains. He often came to the station to watch them, he tingled with anticipation every time he saw a train come into the station. To Timothy, the station was just as significant as a cathedral, it was his happy place. A place to forget about his troubles at home, at school, or practically anywhere else.
The station served the village of Stanstead Abbotts. It had two platforms; each with a white set of canopies. Timothy's platform had a booking office, staffed part-time. The opposite platform had a derelict signal box next to the old brick and mortar passenger shelter. A tall, concrete footbridge stood at Timothy's end of the station, adjacent to the level crossing. Timothy licked his fingers, but suddenly he heard an ominous buzzing noise. A wasp started buzzing around his face, trying to get at the remains of strawberry sauce on his chin.
“Buzz off!” Timothy snapped at the wasp, hurriedly walking away down the platform.
Once he had escaped the persistent insect, Timothy sat down on another bench and looked around the station for a second time; he sighed, and a tear trickled down his cheek and landed on his knee, he watched wistfully as the salt-water droplet disappeared into the smooth material of his shorts. He sniffled and wiped his cheek dry with his the back of his hand before he looked over to the other side of the station. Timothy noticed a tall, slim boy on the opposite platform. The boy looked older than him. He was wearing an olive green jacket and blue jeans. The boy paced up and down, he constantly checked his watch and looked at the destination board, then he turned to face Timothy.
Timothy gasped as he expected the boy to smirk and make fun of him, like so many had before. Instead, he saw the boy was smiling warmly at him, and waved. Timothy smiled and waved back, he stood up and walked over to the footbridge, his weight lending a duck-like waddle to his pace. He felt himself tingling with anticipation, was he about to make his first friend? Timothy tried to keep his eyes focused on the other platform, he desperately wanted to talk to this boy, no matter what. However, when Timothy reached the other side of the bridge, the boy was gone! Timothy's eyes scanned the platform, all two-hundred meters of it, but the boy had just disappeared. Suddenly, another person came around the corner and Timothy felt a rush of adrenaline, he hoped it was the boy who had waved, but it wasn't. Timothy felt disappointed, it was his brother.
"Oh! David, you startled me," Timothy squeaked.
David was tall for a boy his age, unlike Timothy. He was eleven – four years older than Timothy, and he didn't appear very happy. David had short, straight black hair, and he was wearing a dark-blue pair of jeans and a white and blue football jersey. Although David was his brother, he had no interest in trains. His interests were in sports – football in particular.
“Have you been here all this time?” asked David, irritably.
“Yes,” Timothy answered truthfully.
“You should tell Mum before you go anywhere, Timothy,” said David.
“I did tell her!” Timothy protested, “I said where I was going,”
“You didn't tell her what time you'd be back,” said David.
“I didn't know what time I'd be back,” sighed Timothy.
“Come on, let's go home,” groaned David.
“What's the big hurry anyway?” asked Timothy, wiping his eyes with his arm.

“Uncle Anthony's coming over for dinner. Mum wants you at home when he arrives,”
Timothy sighed, he had forgotten all about that.

 

When the two brothers arrived home, Timothy noisily made his way upstairs and stumbled into his bedroom. He then flopped onto his bed and sobbed into his pillow. Many questions were flying through his mind; Why was he the only one to be truly interested in trains? Why was he picked on at school? Why wasn't there somebody else to share his passion? Why was he all alone? Why was he so different from everybody else? All of these thoughts spun around in Timothy's mind as more tears welled up in his eyes and rolled down his cheeks. He sniffled and wiped the remaining tears away, feeling very sorry for himself. He lay on his bed and continued sobbing into his pillow, while laying on his tummy.
"You aren't still wearing those silly shorts, are you?"
Timothy sobbed and looked over to his bedroom door. It was his younger sister, Rachel.
"Please leave me alone," Timothy mumbled.
Rachel scoffed and went downstairs, muttering to herself. Timothy mustered up the strength to rise to his feet and close his bedroom door. Instead of going back to feeling sorry for himself, Timothy began to play with his old wooden train set on the floor. This was a good way to pass the time as Timothy could be himself - disappear into his own imagination, nobody to bully him, belittle him, or make fun of him. He had the freedom to make up his own friends and adventures.
"Help! My wheels keep slipping!" Timothy said to himself as he played with a little green steam engine with four wheels, coupled up to some wagons and vans. Making chuffing and puffing noises.
"I'm big and strong! I'll help you!" Timothy continued as he brought forth a larger maroon engine with six wheels, coupling up behind and pushing the little green engine along the track.
"Thank you, big buddy!" Timothy chuckled as he continued pushing his wooden train around the track.
An hour later, the pleasant smell of freshly cooked meat and potatoes told Timothy that dinner was nearly ready.
“Timothy! Tea-time!” Mrs. Button called from downstairs.
The thought of food made Timothy forget about being unhappy, and he hurried downstairs. His tummy rumbled loudly, as if in anticipation of the wondrous food that he would soon be consuming at the dinner table. Uncle Anthony had already arrived, and he seemed to be quite cheerful over dinner. There were Roast Potatoes, Carrots, Broccoli, Peas, Cabbage, Yorkshire Pudding, and of course, Roast Beef.
Timothy sat at the dinner table next to Uncle Anthony. He licked his lips as his Mum delivered a place of Roast Beef, Potatoes and Vegetables in front of him. He wasted no time in consuming the meat and potatoes, and the carrots and peas. The Cabbage was a somewhat harder challenge for Timothy though, luckily there wasn't much and he was able to eat it with the last of his potatoes. This was a trick he had learned from his Dad who wasn't fond of Cabbage either. The Broccoli however made Timothy hesitate even more. There was too much of it. He ate a little bit with the last piece of meat on his plate, but there was still a lot of Broccoli left.
“Timothy... Eat your Broccoli please, sweetie,” said his Mum.
Timothy groaned, pushing the Broccoli around on his plate with his fork.
“Would some Salad cream make it better?” asked Uncle Anthony, holding the plastic bottle and generously squirting the salad cream onto the remaining vegetables on Timothy's plate.

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“Thanks!” Timothy instantly began to smother his Broccoli in the salad cream with his fork and then ate it somewhat less reluctantly.

 

The day ended with a beautiful sunset. Timothy and David accompanied Uncle Anthony down to the station to see him off. They walked a few paces ahead of him, though Timothy looked over his shoulder to say, "I wish I could come with you,"
"Don't be so silly, Timothy," David snapped, "Where would you sleep if you stayed with Uncle Anthony?"
"I meant to the end of the line. I'd come back on the next train!" Timothy cried,
"Sure you would, and Millwall will win the cup this year,"

"Will they?"
"No! Millwall is the most hopeless football team in this country," David spat, "It's called sarcasm,"
Once again Timothy felt miserable. His pace slowed and he clutched at his tummy, as if David's words had physically hurt him.
Uncle Anthony put his hand on Timothy's shoulder, sympathetically.
"Hey, don't pay any attention to him. I'm glad you're coming with me to the station,"
Timothy gave his uncle a small smile as he looked up at his kind face, feeling a little better at the reassurance.
They crossed the tracks by using the level crossing, and walked up onto the platform. They had only just sat down when the sirens started blaring to alert pedestrians and road users that the barriers were descending.
"Wee-wawww-weee-waawww!" Timothy imitated, making Uncle Anthony chuckle, while David rolled his eyes.
"One day soon you can come and spend a day with me, I'm sure. I can show you the trains at Hertford North,"
"Are they the same as the ones here?" Timothy asked.
"Very similar, yes. Sometimes we get some nice surprises though there too,"
David rubbed his temple and stood up, beginning to pace impatiently up and down the platform.
"How do you get home?"
"Well, I get off this train at the end of the line..."
"Hertford East," Timothy interrupted.
"Yes, that's right. Then I can either take a bus to Hertford North, or walk through the town. I often like a nice walk..."
"Timothy doesn't," David interjected.
"Let Timothy speak for himself, please, David,"
David scoffed and walked away. Timothy sighed and looked down at the motorcycles on the legs of his orange flame shorts.
"It's okay, Timothy,"
"He's alway so rude to me,"
"I know,"
Uncle Anthony held his arm open to give Timothy a cuddle.
"I wish I had a friend," Timothy spoke in his squeaky voice.
"I'm sure you'll find somebody, just keep looking," Uncle Anthony replied, comfortingly.
Timothy looked to see if the boy he had seen earlier was on the station, but he wasn't. However a whirring sound announced that the train was arriving.
"Ooops... Time to go!"
Uncle Anthony boarded the train and stood in the vestibule, waving goodbye to his nephews. David and Timothy stayed on the platform as the doors closed and the all-white train departed. Timothy watched in awe as Uncle Anthony's train hummed and whirred as it accelerated away and rattled around the corner, the red taillights disappearing into the golden sunset, the light of the signal changing suddenly from emerald green to bright red as the whirring sound faded into the distance, accompanied by several clickety-clack noises.
“Come on Timothy, let's go home,” said David.
“Can't I stay here a bit longer?” pleaded Timothy.
“No Timothy, mum won't like it. Come on,” said David. “Besides, you've got reading homework to do. Mum told me,”
Timothy sighed and walked along behind his brother, miserably. Timothy hated reading homework, he wasn't much good at reading – and besides, the books that his teacher picked were never about trains. Timothy knew he was just going to have to struggle with his homework again. He had always wanted just one thing... someone patient enough to help him with his homework, to make him feel better when he got upset, somebody to be at his side when times got tough - a real friend as such; he felt isolated and alone. He often looked up to David, but his older brother wasn't really one to offer him any sympathy or comfort when he needed it. If only he could have talked with that other boy he had seen at the station earlier.

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