We met eye to eye straight away.
Got a seat?
Of course! Can I give you a hand with your suitcase?
Thanks Wow, its pretty stuffy in here!
Want me to open a window?
Yeah, if you dont mind.
The wheels clacked, the night slipped down outside the carriage
Im Imogen, by the way.
Andrew.
And just like that a chat kicked off a simple roadtalk between two strangers. Two young people, she twentytwo, he twentyfive. An hour passed, then another, then a third. It wasnt a nightout banter or a work catchup; it was two folks who hadnt even known the other existed three hours earlier.
What were we talking about? Honestly, nothing special, yet somehow everything. As it always does on a train, we started with the weather, then the price of a cuppa, Hows it going for you?, and then, naturally, life itself. Thats how it went for us.
Andrew was the first to spill. He talked about his childhood, his parents, and his job a musician with the London Philharmonic, playing drums in a small ensemble. He pulled out a stack of old photos from his old school days The Blue Bird, Gemstones, Merry Lads. And he was right in the middle of those snapshots.
Wow, thats fascinating!
And you, Imogen?
Me? I work for the National Youth Council in Westminster.
No way! Right in the heart of London?
Exactly. I dont have any pictures with me now Im on leave and came back to my little hometown. My grandparents are from around here, so I could spin a long yarn about how I ended up in London.
Then tell us. Where are we heading?
He went on to explain how hed landed in the ensemble. The conversation stretched long into the night, us sitting facetoface, eyes locked.
When sunrise painted the sky, Andrew dropped Imogen off at an empty platform, gave a friendly wave and vanished completely. From that moment on, he could never talk to another woman without picturing Imogen, the nighttime railcompanion, in her place. No one else could touch his heart.
He kept calling out to any woman who reminded him of her, apologising afterwards, blushing like a schoolboy. He wrote dozens of letters that never went out. Where would they have gone? To London? To the Youth Council office? He hadnt even asked for her surname or address what a fool!
It got almost ridiculous: at every gig, perched behind his drum kit, hed scan the audience through the stage lights, halfhoping shed be somewhere in the crowd. Hed even doodle her portrait from memory and stick it above his hotel bed.
Every woman in the world seemed to cease existing for him. There was only one Imogen.
Life kept barreling on. The Thatcher years, the poll tax riots, the fall of the old order, the reshuffling of parties. Musicians, after all, survive under any regime they keep playing, keep dancing, keep moving with the wheels of life.
Then, on another tour, Andrew wandered into the dining car. You guessed it, there she was Imogen, the same girl whod haunted his dreams for years, sitting alone at a table. No other men in sight. He froze at the door, his breath caught. Imogen looked up
See, Sam? Andrew said, lighting another cigarette, pouring the last of his pint into a glass, taking a deep swig and continuing, thats when I finally understood what hit you like a hammer really means. My ears were buzzing, colors dancing in my vision, my legs felt like jelly, I couldve toppled right onto the floor of the dining car. I was a mess, vision dark. And Imogen Imogen stood up, came over and rested her head on my chest. And, just like in that old movie, she whispered, Ive been looking for you forever. Thats the whole story, Sam. I took her up north to the Scottish Highlands, and turned out shed spent all those years roaming city streets, scanning the faces of passing men, going to almost every concert, always keeping an eye on the drummers. She, like me, kept hoping the day would finally come. And it did. My cigarettes ran out on the train, so I stalked the dining car for a pack. The rest, you know
I already knew the rest, because my old schoolmate Andrew told me the whole tale on the second day of his wedding to Imogen. We were sitting in his kitchen, the guests had gone, Imogen was resting in her room. Id bumped into Andrew a couple of weeks before the wedding, completely by chance on a gig, and I was invited to the ceremony along with a few others.
So thats the railway romance they ended up with, and theyre still together, you know. Life keeps rolling on. They say some souls are like trainsalways moving, never stopping for long. But every now and then, two tracks align, just long enough for a meeting that changes everything. Andrew and Imogen boarded separate lives that night, only to find theyd been heading toward each other all along. And when they finally collided, it wasnt with a crash, but with the quiet click of two hearts syncing at last.
