Train Stories – Awkward?

I saw her today. 

She was standing at the doors on the far side of the carriageway, tall, blonde, slim but shapely.  

Her long hair is up, some sort of French plaid, she’s wearing a blue fitted dress in her usual style.

I expect that it’s tight at the waist, cut just an inch or two above the knee and no sign of cleavage.

It’s 8:30am on a sunny Tuesday morning, she has no jacket, or none that I can see from this distance on the busy train heading towards Edinburgh. 

Can you recognise someone from only seeing them from the back? 

Or specifically only seeing her neck and the back of her head?

It was that long slim slightly tanned neck that caught my eye, that I recognised immediately.

I know that neck very well from the times I’ve spent behind her, making passionate love at every opportunity when the kids, usually hers, weren’t around or those moments in the half light cuddled in behind her, my arm flopping around her waist, holding her, cupping her breast and falling asleep or wakening as she nuzzled back towards me, her bottom pressing against my growing erection. 

I wasn’t 100 percent sure at first, it’s a difficult balance trying to watch but trying not to stare, using your peripheral vision, hoping for a moment when she turns to the side and I can see her face.  

I knew she lived on this line, I’ve been there many times previously,  but the express train doesn’t stop at her station and I had been too busy staring at my mobile to notice her board. 

The moment came when the train stopped at the next station, people boarding and alighting. 


Do you ever hear that word anywhere else except on train journeys?  

Probably only British ones at that.

I thought I’d make an exception. 

She moves in to the main section of the carriage, taking a now vacant seat, facing backwards, fifteen yards to my left on the other side of the aisle. 

We have an unencumbered view of each other, so it’s just a matter of time before she spots me.

I was right about the dress.

The new man in her life stands dutifully beside her, he’s holding their jackets.

“Haud ma jaicket …”   A well used Glasgow phrase,  passing your jacket to a friend before you go into battle. 

Maybe it’s apt for this occasion?

He’s tall, dark with grey flashes, handsome in an older man kind of way.

If you like Jose Mourinho, then he’s probably your type.

Her type too!

Why wouldn’t he be! 🙂

I’m trying not to look, pretending that I’m looking at my phone as she’s glancing round the train.

She spots me, I can feel her eyes locked, taking a few moments to recognise the face she knew so well before.

I’m still staring at my phone, but for some reason, I can feel my face flush, and have no idea why it does.

I look up and our eyes meet, she smiles, I smile too and she looks away, now its her turn to blush.

She speaks to Jose, but he doesn’t look my way, so I don’t think I’m mentioned, she’s probably making up something else to cover her blush.


Not at all, it would only be awkward if you actually gave a feck and still had feelings for a love you no longer had or wanted.

I go back to my phone, a few minutes later after they’ve had a whispered conversation, Jose gives me a look and looks away.

By the time it’s my turn to alight, he’s sitting beside her and they both watch me stand at the doorway. 

Even although I’m facing towards the door, side-on to them, I can feel their gaze on the side of my face.

Don’t ever tell me that we only have five senses. 

As the train slows, I turn towards her, hold her eye for a moment, the smallest of smiles on my face and hold my hand in a good-bye.

Good-bye, good luck and all the rest.

All that good positive, well meaning stuff when love has came to an end.

And although I mean that,  in reality, I’m glad to see the back of you.

For the record, I made this up, I did happen to see someone who looked like an ex on the train but it wasn’t her. 

We did meet one night at a concert, me with my new girlfriend, and even although she had spotted us earlier,  ignored us,  she then seeked us out at closing time,  it was her friend that said “awkward” .. 

Which gave me the title of this post 

But it wasn’t awkward as far as I’m concerned and  I did the introductions, a quick chat and cheerio.

Love, old and new, can be very inspirational, writing about it is very cathartic,  putting those unsaid words out even although you’d never actually send them. 

Take the following for example, which was written with the same girl in mind!

As the poem says, I was blinded at the time, but hindsight is a wonderful thing.

As you can tell, it didn’t end well!!  🙂


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