Charlie:

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I’ve been here fifteen minutes at this point, pushing twenty I reckon, and I can sense ‘em stood out there. Just standing there, waiting. They’re not peeing, ‘cause I know I’d hear peeing. It’s just shuffling and foot-tapping. No hand dryer. No cough or sniff. They’re just stood there.

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I can’t leave the cubicle. If I leave now, they’ll know how long I’ve been in here, they’ll think “I’ve been, you know, washing my hands or whatever for ten minutes now. How long have they been in there?” and then they’ll think I’ve been doing a number two, and they’ll probably assume it was a bad one and that I must be sick because I don’t wash my hands, and that I live in some gross house with stacks of takeaway boxes like a hoarder with piles of newspapers going back to nineteen-fifty-one, and I wipe my nose with a brown towel.

 

No, you know what? It’s fine. I’ll just walk out with a sort of confidence, like “yeah I just did that”, and then I’ll sort of swagger over to the sink and wash my hands really clearly, really obviously, and - yeah, and I’ll sing “Happy Birthday” out loud while I do it, that way they’ll know that - no, I’ll do two, I’ll sing it twice, just to make extra sure that they know.

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(Pause)

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I’ll do that, that’s it. I’ll do it now. I’m leaving, I’m going. I’m an adult, I’m a grown up. I pay taxes. I’ve voted. I can open a cubicle door.

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(Takes one step, then freezes)

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But what if we make eye contact? What if they smile at me? Do I smile back? I can’t not smile back, I don’t want to be rude. But then I don’t want to be too friendly either. I’ve read about this kind of thing, I don’t want to get involved in something, you know?

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(A sudden panic builds)

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I can’t live like this. I’ve missed my train already. I’ve accepted it, I’m never going home. This is my home now. Cubicle Two, Platform Four Bathroom, Euston Station, London. The one with the note on the back of the door that says “Dean W smells of ham”. I’ll get a little bin for my things. Maybe put a houseplant on the toilet roll holder. This is fine. People start new lives in stranger places. It’s like witness protection.

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(Pause)

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It’s fine, this is fine. Are train stations open twenty-four hours? They are, right? No? I’ll stay here until the morning, then I’ll get the train home. This is fine. I’ll make friends with the cleaner. Maybe we’ll do Secret Santa.

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(Pause)

 

It’s actually quite convenient. At least it’s not far to the toilet.