All We Have Is Now

un

un // amelia

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"Ladies and gentlemen, the 9:35 Eurostar to Gare du Nord, Paris, is now open for boarding. Have a safe and enjoyable journey."

As soon as the metallic Tannoy announces that we are free to board, my mother leaps up from the seat she's been perched upon, swiping up her handbag with one hand and taking a sip from her takeaway coffee cup with the other. She potters forward in her heels, recently bleached blonde hair sashaying around her shoulders. To anyone else, she looks like a seasoned traveller; swooping around the departure lounge with the aura of a glamorous commuter. But I know my mother well enough to detect the nervous edge to her demeanour; the hesitance in her strides and uncertainty in each hair swish.

"It says we can board this way, Mum," I direct, gesturing at the labelled signs dotted around the lounge. I wheel my suitcase behind me as I lead the way towards an escalator, following the swarms of crowds more than the signs.

"Oh," my mum says, trotting behind me. "Are you sure it's this way?"

I offer her a tight smile and a firm nod, trying not to let my mother's lack of faith in me spark a flicker of annoyance. I've meticulously planned out every detail of our journey, conferring with members of staff multiple times to ensure my itinerary is correct. Partly because I always plan everything, and partly because I know that if I let my mother and her typically hopeless sense of direction dictate our route, we would probably end up in Brussels rather than Paris.

The escalator carries us onto a platform skirted by an elongated train which boasts a different design to the South Western railway service I'm accustomed to travelling on. Each carriage is numbered in orange digits on the doors, and after a quick confirmation with our boarding passes, we clamber into the thirteenth carriage.

"Are you sure we're on the right train, Amelia?" Mum asks, her voice hitching up a semitone with uncertainty.

I try not to roll my eyes. "Ask one of the train guards if you don't believe me."

I don't mention that double-checking with a member of staff would be just as reassuring for me as it is for her. Doubt begins to crawl up my throat – what if we are on the wrong train? – but I choke it down. I've planned every detail of this journey beforehand to prevent any mishaps, and have even written down a list of instructions on a small piece of paper. A quick glance at the note informs me that I've followed every point on my list, so we must be on the right train. So long as I don't digress from my plan, I have no need to worry.

There's a suitcase rack in the compartments between the carriages, and I gratefully slot mine onto the bottom shelve. I've caught a glimpse of the aisles, and there is no way my bulky case would fit along there without blocking the path.

"Let's find our seats, shall we?" Mum suggests. I scan the boarding passes again before leading the way down a narrow aisle until we find the spaces we'd been allocated. Two plush blue chairs sit side by side, waiting for us to sink into them. I slip in beside the window, before glancing up at my mother who is peering around the carriage curiously.

"We should've got a seat with a table," she frowns, perching on the chair beside me.

"I don't think we have a choice," I inform her. "We just have to take the seats we're given."

"Hmm," she says, picking up a magazine from the seat pocket. I see the disappointment flicker across her face when she acknowledges that it isn't one of her regular gossip magazines, but a Eurostar Metropolitan.

Now that we're seated and the journey is about to officially commence, nerves begin to crawl through my veins, sprouting into roots of fear. It had been my job to transport us from our humble three-bed in the London suburbs to St. Pancras Station, and it was easy enough to craft out an itinerary. The plan had been in my hands, but now it is entirely in the grasp of the train driver. Everything that happens for the rest of this journey is out of my control, and that fills my stomach with fear.