The Ned Wood Archive

Ellie

“Oh my god, it’s too early,” says Phoebe as she spots Ellie.  Abi just throws her pack on the ground and sits on it.  Ellie’s been there fifteen minutes.  Phoebe and Abi are five minutes late.  Well, five minutes later than Ellie suggested they meet up.  That’s not too bad.  She knew they’d underestimate the walk from the tube.  Still fifteen minutes before the coach leaves, though.  At least.

Ellie’s always been the organiser.  She’s always the one who decides where and when they should meet on trips like this.  She’s the one that keeps them in line. They call her the Mom, but she doesn’t always mind.  Someone’s got to do it.  

There are groups of travellers dotted around the coach station at Victoria, all of them somewhat quiet.  Not many of them get up this early for work.  Or play.  Or anything.  Most of them are students or do the sort of stuff that doesn’t get going until 10 or 11 or even lunchtime.  London’s that sort of city.  It’s got so much going on that the locals have sorted themselves into shifts.  The early shift, the normal shift, the late shift, the night shift.  Ellie’s always been a lark.  She gets that from her Mom.  I mean, she can sleep in with the best of them after a good night out, but getting up and getting into work early has rarely been a problem for her.  

Lauren, on the other hand.  Lauren never knowingly gets up when the 24 hour clock is in single figures.  Ellie’s getting nervous.  Like she knew she would.  She knew Lauren would be late and she knew that she, Ellie, would worry.  And now she’s annoyed with herself for not telling Lauren the coach left at 7.  Maybe that way she’d wouldn’t be too late and would still be a little early.  Ellie realises that she’s pacing around.  Phoebe catches her eye.  She doesn’t need to say anything, just the look is enough.  Phoebe knows what Ellie is thinking.  Abi on the other hand is still catatonic and oblivious.  Those two!  Abi always asleep.  Lauren always late.

Many in the crowd have identified the coach they’ll be on and are piling up the bags to go in the compartments under the coaches.  Assorted backpacks with sleeping bags and other essentials tied haphazardly to the outside, supermarket bags-for-life full of booze, one or two tents that haven’t managed to get packed properly and have ended up being carried in tired arms.  Pairs of boots precariously tied to various straps.  As the piles grow, would-be passengers nag at the mounds of bags like flies bothering food as they suddenly remember items they want with them on the journey or freak out about what they think they could have forgotten.

Having put off the work as long as possible, the driver starts loading up the bus that Ellie and the gang are booked on.  Ellie wonders how long she would be able to delay him for if she needed to.  She’d rather not.  It’s not really in her nature.  She’s all kindness and light with folk unless they cross her.  If they do, she’s hard as nails, but she’d rather not go there.  She doesn’t like herself when she gets angry with other people.  Or bossy even. She knows she’ll do what she can to get them to wait for Lauren.  Up to a point, however.  She knows she’s getting on that coach when it leaves, Lauren or no Lauren.

Abi gets on board and goes back to sleep. To be more accurate, and Ellie always likes to be accurate, Abi never woke up. She gets on board and remains asleep as she finds a seat.  Ellie keeps an eye on her bags and Phoebe’s and Abi’s to make sure they all go on the coach.  They do.  All expertly placed to take up the minimum amount of space.  There’s probably a knack to getting your pack put in last, so it’s first out, but Ellie hasn’t worked out what it is yet.  Probably making sure it’s the right shape and size to fit in that last remaining space, whatever that is.  When the pile of backpacks has been moved onto the coach, the driver shuts the luggage compartment door and tells everyone to get on the coach.  Most of the crowd do.  Ellie and Phoebe hang back.  The driver quickly counts the numbers.  Three missing.  He goes to the back of the coach to start checking tickets, working his way forward.  Ellie and Phoebe look at each other, each of them trying to work out how long they’ve got.  

“What the actual Fuck…,” shouts Phoebe, suddenly.  She’s trying to sound angry, but Ellie can tell she’s pleased.  Ellie turns round to see Lauren struggling towards them.  She’s got a big pack on her back, a largish pack across her chest, and a massive bag full of cans of cider in her arms.  Not that that’s any excuse.

“FIFA Punctuality Prize and commemorative medal awarded to Lauren Baker,” announces Phoebe.

“Fuck Off, Phoebe,” says Lauren.  “You can’t give me a FIFA prize.”

“She’s right, Phoebs,” says Ellie.  “You only get the FIFA Punctuality Prize if you know nothing about football or punctuality.  She may be as late as a turkey on Easter Sunday, but she knows her football.”

In any case, all’s forgiven. Lauren gets a hug from Ellie and a hug from Phoebe and, when they get to their seats, a dozy grunt from Abi.

Ellie’s fairly sure that they’re doing the right thing, going by coach.  The first year they went, they travelled on the See coaches from Greenwich.  A bit weird to get to Greenwich – nobody ever goes there – and a bit of a long way round the M25, but then, getting into the festival was fine.  The other time they went, they got the train at Paddington.  That was more trouble.  Paddington wasn’t so bad – a bit crowded and lining up all over the place, but they got on the train OK.  The real hassle was from Castle Cary onwards.  Sitting around waiting for ages at the station after they’d got off the train and then getting taken on those manky old buses that she always thought were going to break down.  Going back was even worse.  Waiting for the bus at the festival, then waiting on the bus at some disused parking place half way to Castle Cary.  And more waiting at Castle Cary and massive crowding on the train.  Yeah, normally trains are better than coaches, that’s why they cost more.  For what they’re doing today, though, coaches are better.