The railway office

February 24, 2011 § 1 Comment

He likes his trinkets, so he does. A hundred and twenty seven of them he has now. Management keep telling him to clear them out, that it’s not a bloody toyshop, it’s a railway office, and besides, they’re cluttering up the place, but he just ignores them. He’s only a couple of years left anyway. Sometimes as he’s cycling to work he thinks that someone might have been in and cleared them all away, shoved them in a binbag and chucked them before he’d time to protest.

He knows they won’t though, knows old Addleshaw can’t touch him, not since he found out what he did about the old fella. They don’t mention it, not ever, and this old man is happy in here with his trinkets. Little dolls on every surface but mostly linking the windows, looking out at the trains. It’s not as if any of the passengers come down this far anyway.

Gets them on his days away.

Goes off to the seaside, or on a day trip to another place – York, say, or Crewe. Perk of the job, see, working on the railway and getting away.

He knows it’s daft, he knows people don’t see them, she’ll have grown up now. She’s off with that lad, last he heard. He seems to be in the habit of it now though, that perhaps if he buys enough dolls his granddaughter might start visiting her old granddad a bit more. Makes no logic, he knows that. Aye, well.

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