Nine Stations to Paradise. A short story.

27 Feb

1800 any Friday night

Victoria Tube Station

Gina steps onto the train –she looks hot and boy does she know it!  When out looking for pretty strangers she doesn’t tone it down.  Today’s offering is a pencil skirt, fishnets and a blouse that shows more than Gina’s Mum would have been happy with.  All finished off with her best ‘fuck me’ shoes. Standard dumb, neanderthal male fantasy stuff.  So she hopes anyway.


Sloane Square

Gina moves to stand opposite the opening doors – the best place to spot potentials. And lo and behold one steps onto the train as if to order. Rob also looks hot and knows it. Tall, shaven head, well toned and bleached jeans that show what needs to be showed.  He too is clearly looking to meet a pretty stranger. He sits to the left of the door – in the priority seat, Gina notices.  She has already guessed what his priority is.


South Kensington

Gina moves to stand opposite Rob. She looks – he looks away.  He looks – she looks away.  They just manage to miss that eye contact.


Gloucester Road

Eye contact.


High Street Kensington

‘Hi’.  ‘Hi’.

Here we go.

In unison, ‘You look great’.

A few newspapers held in the work weary arms of fellow passengers begin to slip down.  Bleary commuter eyes look at them fleetingly.

“I’m Rob – and you’re?”



“Mmm my Dad is.”

“Cool. Do you want a seat?”

“Nope – I’m enjoying looking down at you.”

Newspapers drop like flags – heads turn. Heads rapidly spin back. Nobody has seen or heard a thing.


Notting Hill Gate

“Busy day at work?”


“What do you do?”

“PR. You?”


“Hmm, where are you headed now?”

“Home – Muswell Hill. Where do you live?”

“Baker Street – at the back of the station.”



“Do you fancy a drink?”

“I thought guys were supposed to ask girls!”

“I’m different.  You need to know that.”

“Different. In what way exactly?”

“Well for starters I thought we’d do the drinks in your flat.  I mean it is the next but one stop, right?”

“Right. Yes  it is. Let’s do that. My flat it is then.”

The newspapers drop and the heads turn. They stay dropped and turned.  They eventually go up and turn back.  With some reluctance it must be said.


Edgware Road

Rob stands and Gina grabs him and snogs him noisily. Like the bad PR girl she is.

The newspapers stay up, but the heads twist and turn over, under and around them.  There is a tense, trouble-coming-in-the-jungle type of silence.


Baker Street

Rob and Gina jump off the train arm in arm and make for the exit. Happy that their game went so well, happy that the audience enjoyed it and happy that they are about to celebrate their fifth wedding anniversary in the only way they know.

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Posted by on February 27, 2012 in Uncategorized


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