Eileen stared up at the departure boards. All those places she had which she had never heard.
A plethora of possibilities slid through her mind. Why not leap on a train and go to one of them? There was no one to miss her now.
People swarmed between platforms, sharp-elbowed groups heading in the same direction when their platform was announced, shoving each other out of the way, determined to get their seats.
Edinburgh perhaps? She had only been there once, performing with the London Philharmonic. Strange to think of that now. It seemed almost unbelievable that she had played in front of audiences. A professional pianist in her own right.
Yet, it was what she had trained for and what her parents had pushed her towards, driven by their desire for her success. They worked hard to pay for her increasing expensive tuition, he in his restaurant and her mother as an accountant. She was the one who had driven Eileen everywhere she needed to go, waited while she took an exam, rehearsed, performed in competition. Proud, always proud and encouraging.
It wasn't until she was older that Eileen's doubts began to crowd in. Was she really good enough? However much she thrilled to the music running through her fingertips, the stage fright she had to overcome became increasingly an obstacle. She would vomit secretly in the loo, or stand in the wings frozen until someone nudged her to go on.
If ever Eileen had expressed doubt about this chosen path, her mother would remind her of the sacrifices they had made to get her to this point. No. There had been no turning back.
Now, that they were dead, she could see how controlling the had been all through her life.
"Ow..." Someone stood on her foot.
"Watch out." "Watch out yourself, you stupid cow..." A hooded young woman disappeared into the crowd.
This story is from the February 28, 2023 edition of My Weekly.
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This story is from the February 28, 2023 edition of My Weekly.
Start your 7-day Magzter GOLD free trial to access thousands of curated premium stories, and 9,000+ magazines and newspapers.
Already a subscriber? Sign In
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