The lights glared out from the Sheffield railway station forecourt that night. The lit railway station arches showcase the building's emptiness, which you can see through the glass-fronted facade. the desolate ticket offices, public toilets, out of order, and the ‘closed for cleaning’ sign that sits idly in the middle of the floor. I can see the cleaner, leaning on her mop and sipping her coffee. A taxi lays idle in rank, engine running, a radio humming; the distant sound of 'Last Orders' by Richard Hawley, followed by the late-night local news roundup.
That was the last song I ever heard.
It was the end of the day, and the night was in full flow. Lights glared through the emptiness of the railway building. The beauty of this Victorian train station facade is clearly visible -not that many people notice. The commuters certainly don’t. You know the type, brashly rushing and bullishly bustling through. It’s usually the same crowd; rambunctious revellers, students straggling with suitcases, returning to uni or just returning home. the homeless person wanting some change for cheap cider, the lads in football shirts singing songs. They sing in post-match unity, before the inevitable tide turns, no doubt. They probably gave the conductor some grief before they got off the train - you know the type. MIND THE GAP means a position on the football table for them, not a safety instruction. ‘We’re all blades, aren’t we? We’re All Wednesday aren't we?’ dual chants before the fights break out. No referee this time tho. the only assistants are the flashing lights of the boys in blue, ambulances, checks of CCTV, and appeals for witnesses on social media. R.I.P. and ‘fly safe’ they’ll post in unison and the police will issue grainy, grey, footage that’s blurry and inadmissible.
No one is gonna recognise ‘em, and at least of all, me.
I had seen them in fact, but I ignored them, as I walked her to her train that night, and down into the heart of Sheaf Square.
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| The 'Cutting Edge' Water Fountain - Sheffield Railway Station |
‘It’s called The Cutting Edge’ init, that’ I said pointing at the railway station's water feature. Just a tidbit of Sheffield knowledge, just to keep her interested. ‘I like watching the water flow from it’ I said, noting my own reflection in the water sculpture’s lights. She laughed - sharing with me, that infectious giggle that gets sweeter, every time I hear it. The London twang with just a dash of Yorkshire sneaking in, I acknowledged it, mimicking her dulcet tones. ‘I've been around you too long’ she said.
Funny story really. She stole me, heart... new years eve, it was. Holding hands, and shared a kiss as the clock struck midnight. We were supposed to be in The Leadmill but we went out for a fag and some air, and they wouldn’t let me back in. Too drunk he says, this big burly bruiser of a bouncer. I wasn’t gonna argue with him, that’s for su-ure! I sez ‘reyt, come on then’ and we strolled back down towards the sheaf square fountain, past the cinema, off-licence, crossed that zebra crossing, and we took a seat outside the station itself.
It’s where a few people sit, it’s just stone seats really. You get commuters standing, chatting, smoking, suitcases and bags in tow, walkers, workers, and wallflowers of commuting life.
No people were waiting that night tho, apart from those football lads.
‘Nice meeting point this? She says, Yeh, I sez ‘There’s that old forge tilt lays under us feet. At this actual spot, where the five rivers meet. Porter, Sheaf, and a few more.
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| Sheffield black and white Image instagram.com/ryboxo/ |
‘You can listen to out for the river on platform 5 - while you wait for the train, luv’ I sez. I glance over and see my reflection in the water feature, and I see those footy lads again. 4 of em, 5 of em? They weren't standing that far away, but close enough. You could almost smell the testosterone - I knew what wa’ coming. ‘Times you train love? I say’ ‘bout 15 minutes, she laughs and replies. ‘I love how you say Luv after everything’ ‘Term of endearment’ I say ‘init’ and anyway I mean it, with you’ love. It had only been a matter of days, but the close dancing in the club, sharing of secrets on the fag breaks, heartfelt drunken declarations. We both knew what it was. We both looked around, admiring sheaf squares late-night luminous, and the moment soon passed.
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| Sheffield 'Megatron' under the railway station |
I twiddled with my hearing aid, whilst she adjusted her lippy, both of us were suddenly sent silent with nervousness and a strange air swirled around, as the station’s automatic doors unexpectedly opened. As I twiddled with the badge on my suit jacket lapel, - I guess it was that -or the colours on my scarf, that gave the game away, the football lads were suddenly a lot closer. Before I knew it, they were running at me. The intention was clear like they were getting ready to take a penalty. She tried to pull me away from ‘em - grabbing my suit jacket, the badge on my lapel hitting the floor. She tried but she couldn't hold them back on her own.
I remember seeing that cleaner again, from out of the corner of my eye, which is what made the doors open.
My hearing aid hit the floor as I took the first punch before I fell onto the concrete forecourt with a thud to my head. I still felt the first few reigning blows though, dull pain, blurred vision. Then I felt hot, strange for a winter's night, even in Sheffield, and then I looked down and saw blood gushing from the stab wound on my chest.
We are all blades, aren’t we?
Then it went blank.
Distant voices, sirens, muffled calls for help, she's screaming my name, but I can't answer. Breathing lulls, yet I can still hear my heartbeat. My ears rushed now, like the sounds of the water, flowing through the Megatron below. Then it's outta body. I'm looking down. She's screaming and I see myself motionless by the cutting-edge water feature.
That cleaner saw it all, they said. She consoled her until the police arrived. Tried stemming the flow with wipes and whatever from her cleaning trolley. It was evident at the inquest. They never got ‘em mind. I guess they got away. The trains don't usually stop that late - so who knows?
She leaves me flowers by the cutting edge, and she still listens for the water at platform 5. Late night, on Sheaf Street. the heart of the city, where the 5 rivers meet.
THE END
Written by Ryan Oxley (C) @rybazoxo January 2022
