England 1908: Under the clock, on a sleepy station platform nestled in rural Lincolnshire, an unexpected romance blossoms.
Maisie: Every Friday, at precisely five to six, a handsome young man arrives at the station. I know the time because I can see the clock. The train pulls in, punctual as always, and among the alighting passengers is an elderly gentleman. The young man greets him with a smile and a handshake, then tucks his arm through the older man’s and they leave the platform.
Every Friday.
Occasionally, we exchange a glance or two and, to be fair, I suspect I notice him more than he notices me.
Fred: I count the hours until Friday afternoon comes around. Not only because this marks the start of the weekend but also, and more importantly, I get to see the flower girl. I am clueless as to her name, yet my heart begins to race the minute the station comes into view. I almost run up the steps onto the platform, hoping for a glimpse of her bright smile.
Every Friday.
I doubt she ever notices me. I’m just a village lad, one more faceless person in the throng.
Then again, you never know what might happen… in an innocuous corner of a quiet platform…
…under the clock
