We Passengers

Chapter 13

Dear God, I think to myself, is there nobody on this train who can just stay quiet apart from me and Trevor? I feel annoyed at the constant distractions and noise but then with one glance at the mother and her child, my anger melts away and I feel ashamed that it was ever there in the first place. It's the mother wailing this time, not baby Abigail. Baby Abigail is quiet. Too quiet. The child’s face is ashy white and she's making these tiny little hiccuping noises like she wants to cry but doesn’t have the energy. The mother certainly does; her screams have woken up the soldier and brought passengers from the other carriages running through to see what all the ruckus is about.

'What's wrong with her?’the soldier yells, his voice panicky, and I think it funny that he of all people who has seen God knows what over there in France, would panic at the sight of a sick baby.

'She's not breathing!’ Abigail's mother yells back and I wish they would stop bawling at each other when they're only a couple of feet apart after all. I want to help and I want to feel sympathy but all I feel is rage again - rage at Abigail's mother for bringing a sick child onto the train and putting all of us at risk. I knew from the start that the child was ill - cholera most likely - and now we're probably all going to die. I realise that I need to calm down and do something to help. As I move to get up from my seat, Abigail's mother reaches toward me, seeking comfort or help or both. Me and Trevor saw The Wizard Of Oz at the flicks last year and I remember the bit where Dorothy arrives in Oz and immediately seeks out other people - because that's what we do isn't it, we look for others of our kind to make us feel like we're not alone. I don't know if it's because I'm a woman or because we've been sitting so close to each other but, for now, it seems that all the others are forgotten as Abigail's mother clutches my arm and tells me to do something.

'I'm a bus conductor, not a nurse,’ I tell her but I take Abigail from her regardless. By this time, the baby's colour has gone from white to blue and her eyes have rolled back in their sockets and, suddenly, I'm sure that this child is going to die right here in my arms. She's almost limp by this point and I shift her around for a bit to stop her head from lolling back and, it's at that moment that her mouth opens and I spot something inside; something green right at the back and suddenly, I know what that something is.

'She's choking!’ I yell to nobody in particular, ‘she's choking on one of her mum's coat buttons!’ Because that's what I realise now that it is; a round button in a deep leaf shade which has somehow made it's way from the mother's tatty coat into the baby's mouth.

'Give her here,’ the soldier says, a bit calmer now, and I gratefully hand Abigail to him.

'Learnt about this in the army,’ he says and then turns his back to us, presumably so that Abigail's already hysterical Mum doesn't see what he's about to do, but I think I know. Working on the buses, we all get a bit of basic first aid training and I'm reasonably sure that what the soldier is about to do is to basically try to squeeze the obstruction from her throat. We all wait but nothing happens and I'm about to step in when, seemingly in desperation, the soldier prises the baby's mouth open, sticks two fingers inside and emerges seconds later holding the dratted button. From the moment I realised what he was doing, I wanted to tell him that there was a good chance that all he would do is push the button further down her throat but, from the unholy screech that is emitted from her previously blocked throat, I can tell that he's done it.

'You saved her life!’ I say and he smiles shyly and hands the child back to me, although I don't know why. Abigail's mother's mouth is opening and closing as though she wants to say something but the words won't come; like the throat blockage has passed from Abigail to her but then she stands and grabs the kid from me, holding her too tight as wracking sobs shake through her and make the baby cry harder. A round of applause erupts from the visitors from the other carriage, as though the soldier has performed a magic trick rather than just an everyday miracle, then they all begin to amble back to their own carriage. I notice that the woman who was screaming earlier wasn't among them and I wonder why,

'Stayed behind at the station,’ Trevor says, ‘too distressed to go any further, poor thing.’ For a brief moment, I wish I'd stayed behind with her; sipping tea and eating cake while the train goes on without us but I impatiently shake the thought away - of course I was going to keep going, because that's what we do after all; we just keep going until we stop. 

Chapter 14

It’s been ten minutes and Abigail’s mother is still thanking the soldier, even though it’s obvious that he just wants to go back to sleep. If she’s truly grateful, she should just leave him alone, I think but then, I wonder, would I? Probably not and I know that I shouldn’t judge - for all I know, baby Abigail is all that she has in this world and it’s just relief that’s making her carry on so. Not, I think, that she should be all that relieved just yet; the baby’s colour is still all wrong and, although she thankfully didn’t choke to death on the button from a cheap coat, she still looks as though she may not make it to the end of this train journey. I wonder how long the screaming woman will have to wait for a train back to London and I wonder how the refugee children are getting on with meeting their ne