THE TRAIN ROLLED INTO THE PLATFORM and I laid eyes upon my new surroundings. The busy station was filled to the brim, commuters en route to their prospering businesses mixed in with men stricken by poverty, sitting desperately for spare change and scraps of kindness. To look up was to look at iron latticing over facets of window pane, beyond which London smog took resident. Small cafes littered the walls of Liverpool Station and I felt my mouth salivate at the smell of fresh coffee and dough baking.
An instructor slouched idly on a wooden bench, his head covered in a cap and hanging to his side. He was apparently dozing before he heard the whistle of the train's arrival. The engine had carried tens of people from Canterbury, me included.
The sound provoked a reaction in him and he promptly woke up, strutting to the first cabin at the station. He methodically unlocked the compartments, beginning from the one situated behind the driver. As he worked, I gathered my bags and firmly placed my plain black cloche hat upon my brown curls.
Fatigue hit me as I removed myself from the seat which my body had moulded to for several hours. I lowered myself gently out of the carriage, knowing that my clumsiness could be incredibly unpredictable at times, and made a mental note that once I had retrieved myself from the throng of human bodies attempting to get themselves away from the platform, I would check the time. I knew there was a large, art-nouveau style clock-face somewhere, probably situated above the exit. In a city such as London, timing was of the essence and demanded it be heeded too.
The fact that I was a Kentish girl was neither here nor there; I was not oblivious to the curfews that were heavily enforced upon the City of London as of late. Of course I also understood why, exactly, they were necessary. I read the newspapers, as many as I could get my hands on, in a desperate attempt to beat any naivety that might set in from living in such a distant place.
The goings-on in London failed to shock anyone.
Perhaps the only benefit of the atrocities that were occurring was the absence and pre-occupancy it caused my father; the hefty increase in dark crime meant much more work for him. The increase in his workload provided a distraction from his attention on me. Of course I loved him dearly, and partly I enjoyed the fact that he was as busy; it meant he spent less time moping about my scatter-brained mother. Yet our relationship was an awkward one, and I was fully aware that this needed to be addressed before I went to finishing school.
The clock read five minutes to eight, in the evening, and though my hunger and fatigue addled mind begged me to sit down and nourish myself, the logical part warned me about the nine o clock curfew. Reluctantly I let it dictate my actions, knowing that due to my uncertainty over where to go and little judgement towards the amount of time I had to get to my father's house it was best to make haste home.
The nine o clock curfew was looming over me.
I walked quickly out the epic, beautiful station doors, along with the crowd rushing to get back home before the curfew was up. I quickly spotted the bus stop, and reminded myself of the note Renee had given me, directing me as to how I would get from Liverpool Street to my fathers house near Broadway Market. I remembered it had mentioned the number eight bus just in time to jump on one which would have passed me by.
After paying for my ticket, I stumbled wearily to the top deck of the iconic red bus. Judging from my fellow travellers clothes, I concluded the general consensus that the number eight did not lead into the wealthiest of neighbourhoods. I recognized some trendy but somewhat poor flapper girls, dark hair short and styled in tight curls under their bonnets. They smoked cigarettes daintily out the window and flirted with the men accompanying them. Two pretty young things that subconsciously I was worried about, and intrigued towards their circumstances.
Peeling my eyes away from the pair, I focused upon the street so far below my eye-level. The streetlamps were placed so far apart that there was barely enough light extending from them for me to make sense of my surroundings fully. The months were fast approaching winter, therefore, despite the lamps; dark shadows were cast through the mist and gloom of the slummy city. I saw enough to find poverty and despair; so obvious from the smashed windows of the shops. The glass made a glittering, lethal carpet for folk too poor to be entitled to any house other than this street I travelled over. Prostitutes, desperate and resigned to sex slavery, huddled together around street corners, like scantily clad vultures. They did even look provocative, or corny. They looked cold.
During the long bus journey I struggled to stay awake, fearing the safety of myself and my possessions if I was to slip from consciousness. The voyage seemed arduous and ridiculously stretched out; for no apparent reason, the streets still insisted upon being controlled by traffic lights. Legal limits upon time were in action for the evening and therefore all cars had evacuated the roads, emptying them. In streets like these, traffic lights were becoming an annoying necessity; simply delaying the laborious ride further.
My head began to flop down, and it took a lot of strength to pull it back up again. Forcing myself awake seemed pointless as my head just flopped down once more. Keeping my head up turned into such a struggle that I forgot where I was in the journey; when I looked out of the window I panicked.
The district outside the bus' window seemed very unfamiliar; I felt tentative and immediately on edge. Glancing around the now deserted bus seats with rapidity, the dull anxiety rose within me. I gathered my belongings and scampered down the stairs, to the bus driver.
"Excuse me sir, but I would just like to ask, where are we?" I mumbled quickly. He gestured for me to speak up by cupping a hand to his ear, his eyes never once leaving the road. "I said I'm sorry that I am interrupting you, sir," I spoke with more diction than before, "but I was wondering where we are?"
And with that, he nodded to signal he had heard me, but instead of replying, he pointed to a sign. I was incredibly annoyed to read the words: 'Do not speak to the driver when the bus is in motion.' I could have, and to tell the truth would have liked to scream at that very moment. I pulled the bell to show I wanted to leave the bus, and shortly it pulled into a stop.
I reconsidered my actions for a quick split-second before the doors swung open and my legs lead the way into the cold, misty air. Looking around, I saw a moderately middle-class region, and felt a little less anxious, yet nothing could slow my heart beat, racing due to concern.
Deciding there was nothing to do bar walk until I found someone, to ask where we were and if they knew how to get to Broadway Market from here, I set off. The misty air made it hard for me to identify street names or faces, but I hurried off the main road where the bus had left me, onto a smaller road where terrace houses faced each other. I could tell they were around fifty years old and looked remarkably like slum houses, although the only thing defining them from being that was the perfect wrought iron fences and in-tact windows. I walked past them quickly, seeing that at the bottom of the street was a small alleyway to the right, which opposed a larger street. The small alleyway seemed to run between two terraces, and I wondered if they could speak to each other through the windows.
As I walked past that one house, slightly more dilapidated than the rest, I knew exactly what it was. I would not disclose it to my thoughts and did not dwell upon it, yet the concept of the place scared me. I knew a social revolution was undergoing; however, I never thought it could be for anything other than heightening morals. I made the mistake of hurrying past, aggravating two horrible dogs, who strained on their collars; threatening me if I wished to move any closer. They were stocky and strong looking; dribble pooling from their bared teeth, and that sight in the context was enough for me to be scared into making a bad decision, wishing to put enough space between myself and the two horrible creatures as possible.
Without a thought, I turned to the left.