The Best Laid Plans

“What’s up with them?” Fahad says, looking at a couple of Asian students rush out of the train.

“Must have gotten on the wrong train,” I reply, settling down, relieved that we had found empty seats.  [Our train journey to Grantham had been spent standing because the train was so busy.  I made my way down the aisle and stood right next to the priority seating, my jacket open, sneaking sulky looks at the oblivious young people sitting there.  ‘I thought English people are supposed to be polite,’ I muttered darkly to myself.  There’s that lack of confidence in foreign countries, the penalty of leaving home where you can demand your rights a bit more hotly.]

Anyways, it hasn’t been a minute and the train has just picked up speed when Fahad says, is this train going to Norwich? The next stop is Peterborough.

The tiniest spark of anxiety puffs up, and I look at the blue screen confirming what Fahad said.  We are most definitely not supposed to be going to Norwich.  Norwich is not Nottingham and we live in Nottingham.

“Maybe the boards haven’t been updated yet,” but I get up (since I missed a flight in the US a decade ago due to my outrageous nonchalance, I’ve never been able to get rid of the sudden jabs of panic that flash in my mind whenever I’m travelling – is my flight 8 am or 8 pm? Will my visa work? Is the bag too heavy? Will I be able to lift my trolley bag into the overhead compartment?).

“Where is this train going?” I ask a passenger and they say, “Norwich” and I smile weakly while the little sparks inside burst into a merry fire of panic.

I know it happens, I know it is not the end of the world, but I fall in the camp of people who do not make such mistakes, who thrive on efficiency and if plans follow the dotted lines utter peace and smug contentment descends and when they don’t fall into place then it is utter doom in Aishaville.  “We did get on the wrong train! I don’t know how this happened … I checked the time and the platform!” I say in mild turmoil to my husband, who shrugs and puts on his headphones. “It’s okay. It happens.”

When the conductor comes by to check tickets, I tell him what we’ve done, feeling incredibly stupid.  “This is the delayed train to Norwich, the one for Nottingham was right behind this one.  And if it makes you feel better, a few other people have done the same thing.”

It does make me feel a little better.  I hear him talking to the people sitting in front of us and it sounds like they’ve done something similar.  Then I hear them talking on the phone trying to explain what has happened to someone – and then one of them turns around in his seat and I can see it is a young boy not more than 10, his curly dirty blond hair and that magical shade of grey-brown eyes indicative of biracial parentage.  His face is streaked with tears and he says, “Can you please talk to my dad?”

I say sure and explain to the confused man on the other line what has happened, trying to reassure him that we’re adults and we’ve done the same thing so it really is okay.  I told him we’re also from Nottingham and that I’ll make sure his children get off at the next stop and then get on the right train for home. Then I handed the phone back to his ‘lad’ as he requested.

I’d already checked the timings and platform (!!!) for the next train and was hopeful we’d make it with minutes to spare – in fact we had better make it because the next train to Nottingham would then be an hour later.  Just to spice things up our current train stopped for an extra ten minutes because of traffic or some other British transport inefficiency just before we arrived. Two minutes to exit and rush to the right vehicle – let’s just hope the platform was the one next to us.   I am not at my most agile self these days.

I prepped the young ‘uns as the train slowed down, apologised to people as we elbowed our way to the door.  The platform was the one right next to us and we did manage to get on the train with a minute to spare – the conductor of that train was actually waiting for the kids but by this time Fahad had struck up conversation with the young boy (video games apparently bring together all ages!) so we decided to sit near by anyways.

The conductor lady was super sweet and was trying to reassure the children they’d be fine and she’d make sure to drop them off to their father but I think the stress of it all got to them and the boy was soon sniffling again.  Fahad offered Skittles to them (‘it’s an open pack, what if people think we’re creeps trying to poison them kids?’ was my view on it but the boy was very happy to take the offer up).

“That’s very kind of you!” the conductor lady told us as she went by and was quite amused when she found out we were in the same boat (train!).  “ It’s okay, we’ve all done it and we will continue to make these mistakes, best accept it!”

You couldn’t shut Fahad up now that he knew the boy – Tyler – played video games.  Turns out Tyler and his sister (who was probably 12) were travelling by train alone for the first time – the poor cuties.  Reminded me of my plane missing adventure – except I had been 17 then and had most definitely missed the plane because I was too chilled out… 

The kids were going from their mum’s to their dad’s place in Nottingham, where I think they lived and their dad had been in the city centre waiting for them for at least an hour and a half by now … I ended up talking to their mum on the phone as well, who told me it wasn’t our fault because they should have made a clearer announcement about the train delays and changes – and that I was an angel for looking after the kids, which definitely made me feel like the whole annoying mishap was worth it.

“See, I told you,” the girl said as she took the phone back, “I told you we got on the right train. And you yelled at me!”

The universality of mum behaviour made me feel warm inside.

An hour of video game discussions and discoveries like Fahad was just 3 years younger than their father, we finally arrived in Nottingham and the children were escorted by the conductor to their dad – hopefully they reached home safely and were treated to a McDonald’s meal after their mini post Christmas adventure!  

I, on my part, was reminded once again of how the world is a funny place with wrong paths often leading us past some really special moments.

Happy new year fellows, here is hoping 2020 is a good balance between plans coming to fruition and mistakes leading to even better adventures.