The Girl (or Bratty Twatty Bitch) on the Train, part III

Oh fuck. Fuck. Fuck. It’s gonna be a long chilly night. It’s already chilly now at 9pm.

“I’m sorry Kee,” is Ben’s overused line. I hear this line too often for the last nine years. Why can’t he just ignore the skinny twat’s behavior, just like the woman sitting across the girl? Or like me? Or like everybody else?

I ignore him. The station master asks us to wait on the platform. We watch the train slowly leaves Worthing station and soon disappears in the dark, cold night.

“The police will be here in forty five minutes,” the burly, late thirty-something station master informs us.

Ben goes to sit in a nearby bench. I ask the station master the nearest exit so I can go out to smoke. I follow the direction he points at.

Brrrr…. It’s getting chillier. I puff my Marlboro light slowly. Forty five minutes wait feels very long, especially when it is not a normal situation. We are waiting for the police. We are waiting, or more precisely, Ben “the wierd old man” is waiting to be interrogated by the police for “touching” a seventeen-year old girl. Well, I will describe her as a five-foot three, shoulder-length, light blonde hair, pale and skinny bratty twatty bitch.🤔😉 I’m just the “star witness” (self-proclaimed), in case I am needed to help with the police investigation of the drama of the day. 💣🤜🤛

After two sticks of Marlboro light, I walk back into Worthington train station. Ben is staring at his phone. He looks up.

“The police are arriving soon,” he says.

“Great. They better be. It’s a long wait already. And it’s fucking cold now,” I respond.

I pace back and forth on the platform, trying to emulate back-and-forth scenes in movies, just to annoy Ben. The purpose is to make him feel guiltier than guilty for dragging me into the drama. Well, to be fair he did ask me to let him deal with it alone and I should just go back to our hotel in Chichester. But he is my partner, for better or worse.

The soles of my shoes are rubber. It sounds “shriek”, “shriek” instead of the cliché “tap”, “tap”, “tap”. Or is it “clack, clack, clack?” What a bad actor I am.

About thirty five minutes of waiting, two policemen arrive. Ben stands up. The station master talks to them, then the two officers indicate to Ben to follow them to the end of platform which is about twenty metres away from where Ben is standing. One looks like in his late forties and I am guessing the younger officer is around 30. They walk towards the end of the platform.

“Shall I come along?” I ask. Both officers turn around and the older of the two asks me,

“And you are,?” in a very polite tone.

“I am his partner. I am the star witness,” is what I want to say. But I make do with “I am his partner. I am also the witness of what happened.”

“Alright. You stay here. We’ll let you know when we need you,” he says.

After about 7 or 8 minutes later Ben calls my name and indicates me to join them.

“Are you having anger management problem,?” I hear the older officer was asking Ben while I am approaching them. I stand a few feet away from the three of them.

“No, I am not,” Ben replies. “It’s just that I can’t stand how rude and entitled kids today,” Ben continues. The older officer is checking Ben’s police record on his portable handheld device and continues,

“You had been in police custody for one night in 1989, it says here.”

“Oh yeah. 1989. That was when the police put half of London homosexuals in lock ups using their dirty and sick entrapment method,” Ben replies, with a hint of a smirk.

“Thank god we don’t do that anymore,” the older officer quickly responds. He seems in a hurry to move on from the subject of police brutality toward LGBTQ community in the 1980’s and prior.

“Look, there’s no case here. We understand what really happened. But please note that physical contacts, no matter how brief or tiny or insignificant they seem, it is still categorized as common assault,” he informs Ben.

“I understand,” asnwers Ben.

“Good. You may go,” the older officer tells Ben.

“Thank you.” Ben thanks both of them.

“Good night,” I say. I am a bit disappointed that they didn’t even ask me anything on the incident. How very dare they. I am the star witness.

They respond the same. Ben and I wait for our train. The two polite and professional police officers walk toward the exit of the station. The night gets colder as my watch says it’s nearly 10.30pm.

“What a waste of police precious time,” I say to Ben. “And our time too,” I add, unnecessarily but I still want Ben to know how silly the whole drama is.

“I am very sorry. Really.” he pleads. Hmmm…

Our train pulls into the station. We get onboard, sit opposite each other, recalling of what just had happened, silently until we reach Chichester.

xxxxxx

The drama the night before makes us go our separate ways in the morning. We say our goodbyes at Chichester station.

As my train is choo chooing away from Chichester the events of the previous night still anger me. It should not have happened. It was just silly. And the police had to be involved? It was partly to blame why I’m on this train for Brighton, not to London with him.

I guess some of you already read about last nite’s drama on train to Chichester from Brighton on Colin Roberts’ thread. As as results, this morning we go separate ways in Chichester station.

Colin Ben Roberts takes the London-bound train. I take the train for Brighton. I collect my phone at lost & found office at Brighton station, jump on London-bound train & will meet him for lunch somewhere around Laughborough Junction.

Apology if you all thought it is a separation, as in divorce. We are not married in the first place to get divorced. My phone must’ve slipped out of my pocket while in the train last night. Ben made a call to my number & the train driver who answered my phone told us to collect at Brighton station. All is good as at the posting of this story. Heigh ho…