The Fire House on Honeysuckle Street. Rachel Dove

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СКАЧАТЬ London to Leeds, and all the stops in between. He had stashed his holdall and suitcase in the compartments, and he checked on them as the train started to move. He took his jacket off, folded it and put it onto the seat next to him, before reaching into the carrier bag he had bought in the station. He took out a bottle of water and the latest thriller and settled in for the duration. He couldn’t bring himself to read the letter yet, when the smell of his mother was still all around him, on his clothing. He would wait to get settled in, and be alone. Then he would read the letter. No one wanted to see a six foot four man cry like a baby. As emotional as she had been on the platform, his mother wasn’t an overly emotional woman. Whatever was in that envelope was going to hurt him, and help him. How much of each, he didn’t like to hazard a guess.

      A few chapters of his book in, and the train was racing along the tracks, the near empty carriage quiet and soothing. Xander was still in his seat, wrapped in his and his mother’s coats, tablet propped up on the table, his head nodding as he fought sleep. The noise of a mobile phone broke the silence, and Lucy scrabbled to answer it.

      ‘Hello,’ she said, half whispering. ‘I can’t really talk at the moment, call you later?’

      The Tannoy sprang into life, announcing that refreshments would be coming down the train on a cart, and Lucy jumped, cupping the phone between her hands for dear life and scrunching down into her seat frantically. Shit!

      The voice prattled on, and Lucy listened as best she could to the voice on the line. He was talking about work, again. He hadn’t even noticed the Tannoy, hadn’t even asked where she was. She let him finish, and waited for him to ask her about her day.

      ‘So,’ he continued, a line starting to ring in the background, ‘I’ll be really late, so go ahead and have tea without me, I’ll grab something here. We might end up going out somewhere, with it being Friday.’

      ‘Hmm-hmm.’ She looked across at her son, whose eyelids had now closed, and marvelled at how adorable he was. His long brown eyelashes fanned out into his cheeks, and even in sleep, he looked a little confused and anxious. Her beautiful, clever, misunderstood boy. ‘Okay, fine.’

      If her husband picked up on her tone, he didn’t mention it. His voice was the same; distracted, far away. He acted as though letting his family know his whereabouts was an annoyance, a mundane obligation to tick off his to-do list. Speak to long-suffering wife. Check. Ignore existence of son bar the basics. Check. She thought of how he used to be, and her stomach flipped as she thought of where they were now. Miles apart from each other, now more than ever.

      ‘Okay. Oh, honey?’

      She took a deep breath in. This was it. He was going to ask her. He was going to ask if Xander got to school okay, or what she was up to today. Anything. He could ask her anything, and she would tell him the truth.

      ‘Yes?’ she asked on a shaky breath. Her eyes flicked to the man opposite, but he hadn’t lifted his eyes from the pages of his book.

      ‘I forgot to ask, sorry. Been so busy today.’

      Here it was. Ask me, damn you. Prove me wrong. I swear, we’ll get off this train. All you have to do is ask.

      ‘If you get time today, get my dry cleaning would you? I have golf tomorrow, and I need my suits back for Monday.’ Another phone started up again, his office phone, and he tutted crossly.

      ‘I gotta go, okay? See you later.’

      She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could even form the words, she heard the click of the line. He had gone, back to work. She looked at her phone, willing him to ring back. To have picked up on her tone and guessed that something was off. But she knew in her heart that he wouldn’t. He had stopped noticing things long ago. Her wallpaper came up on the screen, a picture of her and Xander together, smiling in the Lego shop. She remembered the day. Another bad day at school, another day of her son coming out of the school doors and running into her arms, crying. Kids were rotten, and some parents were no better. She had wrapped him in her arms and strode out of the wrought iron gates, mentally sticking a finger up at the judgemental mum set that watched them leave. She had gotten him straight into town, to the Lego shop that he loved so much, and they had sat there, at the activity table, till her son dried his tears and started to be himself again. One of the shop assistants had offered to take a photo, after her attempts at a selfie had resulted in either missing the model or chopping their heads off. The photo came out well, and it had turned into a good day. A day of hot chocolate in the coffee shop, of Lego models and little smiles. Another day where his dad had not been able to get out of work, or even taken a minute to give him a call.

      She looked again at her sleeping son and brushed a tear away. Today was going to be one of those days, where it would end better than it began. She turned her phone over, took out the SIM Card from the back and snapped it in half. Just looking down at the pieces of plastic and metal made her feel better. She brushed them into her pocket, and settled back down to read her book. At least in the pages of this story, there would be a happy ever after. She never noticed the man across watching her with interest, and a flexed jaw.

       Chapter 3

      Marlene stood on the train platform, shuffling from foot to foot, checking her watch and then checking it again when she realised she hadn’t even registered the time. Dot and Grace were sitting on the metal bench nearby; Grace knitting away, Dot tapping on her phone.

      ‘It’s late. What if she never got on it?’

      Grace didn’t look up, swapping needles over in her arms and flicking the multicoloured wool in her bag to allow more of it to escape.

      ‘She got on it. The trains are always bloody late, calm down. You’ll have no shoe leather left. You’ll look like a knackered old tyre by the time you’re done.’

      ‘I’m worried! I can’t help it. Dot, what time do you make it?’

      Dot looked at the platform clock and checked her own watch. ‘Eleven twenty-seven, dear. My clock is still the same as yours.’

      ‘And every other bloody clock in the land,’ Grace griped. ‘We share time you know, it won’t pass any quicker looking at the blasted thing.’

      ‘Oh shut up, Grace, go back to your knitting!’ Marlene snapped. ‘Why did you even come if you aren’t going to be helpful?’

      Grace’s needles clacked away, and she let out a little sigh.

      ‘I came to support you, and to stop you getting arrested by station security. You look like a bloody nutter, running a track into the platform. She’ll be here when she’s here, same as the rest of the train. It’s an eighteen-minute delay, not the end of time for God’s sake!’

      Marlene glared at Grace, and her friend eyeballed her from the top of her glasses, shoving her middle finger up the bridge of her nose pointedly and returning it to her knitting. Marlene gasped, and Dot groaned.

      ‘Up yours eh!? Well, the same to you, Grace. Dot, tell her!’

      ‘Dot, tell her!’ Grace mimicked, her needles picking up speed with her fury. ‘You need to chill out. That poor girl is going to get off that train and jump straight back on it looking at you. Knock it off!’

      ‘Oh shut your face!’ Marlene boomed, startling a СКАЧАТЬ