Woman on the Phone

I watched this woman as she made a difficult phone call on the train back from London. If I used her as a character, her favourite food would be fish and chips eaten out of newspaper and she would probably drive an small elderly Peugeot.

The Phone Call

She was in a deep and intense conversation on her mobile. She held the phone tight to her left ear and was nervously chewing at the nail on her right forefinger. Things really didn’t look good. She looked serious as though something was very very wrong. Now and then she rubbed her face with the flat of her right hand and bit her nail again. She fought back the tears because she didn’t want to be upset in front of all the other passengers.

It was hard to guess what she was like or why she was travelling. Her handbag was on the seat beside her. But there were no carrier bags, no brief case and no laptop. Unusual for a late afternoon train from London. Her white blouse was slightly stained and she wore grey slacks and brown suede boots with chunky two-inch heels. Not exactly a snappy dresser. On top she had a thin coat in a chequered pattern of cream and chocolate brown. The cuffs were slightly frayed. A bleached blonde with three inch roots, she sat with her long legs outstretched so they almost reached the seat opposite.

Her phone conversation hotted up as she got very heated and intense. Her head hung down. She scratched her forehead and ran her fingers back though her hair, almost in despair. Suddenly in anger she took the phone from her ear and stared at it in disbelief. A black hole - bloody trains!

She watched the screen intently waiting for a bar or two. Impatiently she hit redial, put the phone to her ear and then down again. No connection. Leaning back in her seat with a big sign she stared at the phone again and rubbed the little screen with her left thumb. Suddenly she breathed a sigh of relief and hit redial again. Still nothing. She mouthed a word, ‘Shit.’

She stared in space for ten seconds deep in thought, looked at her watch and poked the key in anger. Fixing her eyes on the screen, shook her head in disbelief and tried once more. It connected and she relaxed and studied the nails on her right hand as she waited for him to answer. After all it had to be a ‘him’.

Eventually he did and she fiddled with one of the buttons on her coat as she nervously continued the conversation where they’d left off. She was oblivious to the countryside flashing by the window and the sun painting its orange and purple hues as it sunk behind the hills. She became more relaxed and moved her handbag slightly on the seat beside her before she wiped off an imaginary mark with her right hand. Almost as though she was stroking it in consolation.

After another minute of intense conversation she smiled and the little dimples in her cheeks lit up like beacons of hope. She flicked out her tongue and licked her lips in anticipation.

Two minutes later she blew a kiss into the phone and said ‘love you.’ She hit the red button put the phone on her lap and relaxed back into her seat. Putting her head back she closed her eyes and smiled in relief.