The Stationmaster’s Daughter. Kathleen McGurl

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СКАЧАТЬ of place that sold more wine than beer, and served enticing-sounding light meals to visitors. She went inside and ordered a large glass of Pinot Grigio and a bowl of homemade vegetable crisps, and sat at a small table with a view of the sun sinking over the sea. She’d done the right thing coming to stay with her father, she knew. But she needed to somehow keep her mind off all that had happened. Just wallowing in the memories of her miscarriages had set her back. It wouldn’t take much to give in to it, and she’d find herself curled on the floor, crying her eyes out. That wouldn’t do, in this pub where no one knew her or where she lived.

      She knocked back the last of the wine. That had disappeared very quickly. Was there time for another? The sun was just above the horizon now, and with an hour’s walk back, perhaps she should leave, rather than risk having to walk the cliff path in total darkness.

      As she left the little pub, she realised there was a small corner shop across the street. Without quite realising what she was doing, she crossed over to it, went inside and bought a screw-top bottle of wine. ‘To have with dinner,’ she told herself, but she’d unscrewed the top before she’d even left the village, and spent the long walk back swigging from it.

      Arriving back at Ken’s in almost complete darkness, she dropped the empty bottle into his recycling bin and went inside. A roast dinner would help soak up the alcohol. With luck, Ken would have another bottle open.

       Chapter 6

       Ted

      It was lonely without Norah and the children around, but at the same time Ted appreciated having his home back again, the peace and quiet and the return to routine. How on earth one got used to children being always around, he had no idea. Norah seemed immune to the constant noise and bickering, especially that produced by the two boys. Maybe it was different when it was your own flesh and blood. He supposed he’d never know. The chances of him ever having a child seemed very remote. This had never bothered him before, but for some reason now it made him feel sad.

      He hadn’t forgotten his conversation with Norah about Annie. Indeed, he’d spent many a sleepless night running over scenarios in which he finally plucked up the courage to speak to Annie, to say something more than simply ‘thank you’ or ‘good morning’. Endless scenarios, in which sometimes she’d scorn him and other times she’d smile and stay chatting with him, missing her train to prolong it, accepting the offer of a cup of tea. In one fantasy, she leaned towards him, put a hand on his arm, and kissed him, just lightly, on the lips. He’d been shocked at his reaction to this little daydream. He shouldn’t think of her in such a way, not before he’d even spoken to her. It wasn’t right.

      And still, Monday to Friday, morning and evening, Annie passed through the station on her regular trains. The year was drawing towards its close – it was dusk by mid-afternoon. Ted made sure the station’s electric lamps were switched on well before Annie arrived for her train. He also lit a fire each afternoon in the ladies’ waiting room, in case she arrived early and wanted to sit in there. It was an extravagance, he knew, as there were so few passengers passing through. But he’d do anything for Annie.

      It was a Friday morning, the week after Norah’s visit, when he finally took his chance. Annie alighted from her train wearing a bright red coat, matching hat, black stockings and heeled shoes. Her lipstick was the same shade as her coat. Her hair curled around her face, framing it to perfection. Ted held open the ticket-office door for her to pass through, and almost without realising what he was doing, said, ‘Good morning, Miss Galbraith. Might I say you look very lovely today. That colour brightens the day for all who see it.’

      He felt his cheeks blush to a shade that probably matched her coat as she smiled in response – a gorgeous, wide smile, showing perfect pearl-white teeth. ‘Why, thank you, Mr Stationmaster. It’s most kind of you to say so.’

      ‘M-my name is Edward Morgan. M-most people call me Ted.’ But by the time he’d got the words out, she had gone.

      Nevertheless, he’d done it. He’d spoken to her. Complimented her. And been rewarded by a smile and a thank-you. She wouldn’t have heard him mumbling his name. But it was a start. Something he could build on. And what a smile she’d given him! He knew he would never forget it, even if he never saw it again.

      Ted spent the rest of the day smiling broadly, watching the station clock as it ticked away the minutes until Annie would return for the 17.21. He had the station at its best by mid-afternoon. The platform swept clear of dust. A roaring coal fire in the ladies’ waiting room. Flowers – a tiny posy of winter jasmine in a jam jar – on the waiting-room mantelpiece and a cushion, borrowed from his parlour and placed on the best waiting-room chair, completed the setup. His hair was combed and uniform brushed.

      But it was 5.20 and there was no sign of Annie. The train pulled in, and Ted asked the driver – it was Bill – to wait a moment. ‘A regular, she must have been held up.’ He darted out to the street and looked up and down it. The dim streetlamps meant it was hard to be sure, but he could not see anyone approaching. He waited a minute and checked the station clock. 5.23 p.m. Another minute. She’d be here.

      But she didn’t arrive, and Bill was impatient, and he couldn’t hold the train forever. With a sinking heart he set the signal to clear, waved his flag (red, like her coat) and the locomotive released its brakes and puffed out of the station.

      Ted was worried. Should he run down to the National Provincial Bank and check if she had left, or if there was some problem, something he could help with? It felt like something that ought to be part of his duty as stationmaster, to ensure regular passengers were safe, and caught their trains. He was on his way out, locking the station door, when he stopped. He wouldn’t do this for any other passenger. He’d just assume they’d made other plans. Maybe Annie was working late today, or going out with friends in the village. Maybe she’d be travelling home on a later train. Yes, that was it. She’d be here later. He’d keep the fire going in the waiting room, just in case.

      Three hours later, when the last train had passed through the station, Ted doused the fire in the waiting room, threw the little bunch of flowers out onto the track, and locked up. Annie had not caught a train that evening. He spent a sleepless night worrying about what had happened to her.

      *

      It was Monday before Ted saw Annie again. She was on the usual train in the morning. His heart leapt to see her, and he rushed across the platform to open the carriage door and assist her down from the train.

      ‘Thank you, Mr Stationmaster,’ she said, with a smile.

      So she hadn’t caught his name when he’d spoken to her last week. Or at least, she’d not remembered it. Never mind. He opened his mouth to say something, but at that moment she squealed and stumbled, tripping on a scarf that was trailing out of her bag. He caught her by the arm, saving her from falling headlong out of the carriage onto the platform.

      ‘Miss Galbraith! Are you all right?’ he said, as he helped her to regain her balance. He bent to pick up the scarf – a flimsy, lacy affair that could not provide much warmth, he thought.

      ‘Oh no! Look, my coat sleeve!’ She was wearing the red coat again, the one he’d complimented her on. She must have caught it on the railway carriage door as she tripped. It was torn – a gash of about three inches from elbow to wrist.

      ‘And you are hurt, too,’ Ted said, noticing blood on the silky blouse sleeve that showed through the rent.

      ‘Am СКАЧАТЬ