Being Henry Applebee. Celia Reynolds

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      Always and forever, Francine.

      Even now, the memory cleaved Henry’s heart in two. Time, it seemed, had been cruel, and capricious. It had healed nothing.

      One thing he’d learned for sure: digging around in his memories as he sat, pen in hand, bent over his notebook, was like sifting for gold; he never quite knew when the most precious nuggets of all – the ones with the power to steal his breath away – were going to filter up to the surface.

      Catch me, Henry! – her arms beating wildly against her sides – Catch me if you can!

      Her smile was electric. Sometimes it was a transitory feeling, gentle as a whisper, as intangible as a baby’s breath; at other times it was a profound ache that grabbed hold of Henry’s heart and tightened its grip like an iron fist. It astounded him how the human heart could remain so vital and complex with the passing of the years; an organ so unwaveringly loyal and pure and constant on the inside, while the outer body bowed to its inevitable decline.

      And yet…

      Henry glanced in renewed horror at his blood-splattered clothes. He’d experienced spontaneous nosebleeds once or twice before, but never like this. He wondered if it were a side effect of the medicine he’d been prescribed (but so rarely succumbed to taking) for one of his various ailments. He’d never placed much stock in doctors’ pills and potions; they handed them out far too readily for his liking, when mostly – just like every other lonely pensioner he knew – all he wanted was a chat and the opportunity for a bit of social interaction in the waiting room. And now look at him! A disgrace in his dove-grey suit! He wasn’t sure things could be going any worse. He must look like a decrepit Sweeney Todd!

      Henry came to a stop alongside the train and placed his suitcase at the platform’s edge. Thank heavens for the girl: Ariel. Here she was standing right next to him telling him that she was travelling to Edinburgh, too:

      ‘I was supposed to be on the one that left at eight,’ she said, a little disconsolately. ‘But I had a total nightmare getting here on the Tube. I’m sure it’ll be fine if I just get on this one. I don’t suppose it’s full.’

      As she spoke, a horde of passengers swarmed onto the platform behind them, and jostled past in a shamelessly undignified scramble to board the train.

      ‘Well, not completely full, anyway,’ Ariel added with a frown.

      She turned and peered briefly through the First Class window. ‘Is this your carriage? It looks nice. Would you like me to see you to your seat?’

      Henry smiled, partly at her kindness, but mainly at the expression of wonder on her face. He cast a discreet glance at the holes in her jeans, at her faded black plimsolls (just like the ones he and Devlin had worn in school!). At her side was what he assumed must be the hand-me-down exterior of her rather tired-looking suitcase on wheels. He didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but at her age he could never have afforded the luxury of first-class travel. More to the point, if it hadn’t been for her helpful intervention, in all likelihood he might not have been allowed to board the train at all…

      ‘My niece was supposed to be travelling with me today,’ he said in answer to her question. ‘But she’s been otherwise detained. Could I offer you her seat as a token of my thanks? Unless –’ he added somewhat doubtfully – ‘you already have a first-class ticket?’

      He slipped the Basildon Bond envelope from his pocket and held out the tickets for Ariel to see. She looked down and regarded them with what appeared to be an expression of mild apprehension; or perhaps, it occurred to him with dismay, it was just sheer disbelief.

      A violent rush of heat rose beneath his collar. ‘Of course,’ he muttered quickly, ‘if you’d rather not spend the entire journey in the company of an old man, and a bloody one at that, then I completely –’

      ‘Thank you, Henry.’ Ariel raised her head and gave him a shy, but none the less winning smile. ‘If you’re sure it wouldn’t be a problem, then yes, actually, that would be great.’

      Relief flooded Henry’s face. ‘That’s settled then!’ he cried. ‘No sense in a perfectly good ticket going to waste!’

      Ariel’s gaze shifted to the carriage steps, to his white-knuckled fingers curled around the handle of his stick. ‘Here, let me help you.’ Moving nimbly alongside him, she slipped her hand once more behind his arm.

      Henry picked up his suitcase and stepped onto the train. The engine was already turning over, the microcosmic glow of the sleek, purring carriage firmly in his sights. The carriage door swung to behind him, gathering him up, buffering him in its steely embrace. He made his way inside, his heart pounding at the realisation that here, at last, was his return.

      To his past…

      And to the mistake that he’d give anything in the world to change.

Part Two

       7

      Train Hopping

      DECEMBER 6: EN ROUTE

       Ariel

      Ariel slid her wheelie bag into the luggage area just inside the carriage door. As she released the handle, three words popped into her brain, imprinting themselves like a trail of skywriting on the inner trajectory of her gaze: embrace the unforeseen.

      What, she asked herself, was that supposed to mean?

      She repeated the phrase under her breath. It wasn’t exactly unfamiliar, but then neither could she remember where she might have picked it up. Maybe it meant she wasn’t supposed to be running after all? Maybe what she actually needed to do was surrender, and trust that what was meant to unfold would do so naturally, of its own accord?

      Immediately ahead of her, Henry drew to a stop, double-checked his reservation, and with a contented, ‘Ah, here we are,’ placed his suitcase on his seat.

      Ariel followed behind him and walked into the carriage’s immaculate interior.

      ‘Holy shit.’

      Her eyes made a rapid tour of her surroundings. The lighting was calm and muted. The seats were spacious and spotlessly clean. Even the air seemed less dense. She glanced to her right and saw that her seat was opposite Henry’s at the carriage’s near end. Their seating area (a table for two designated for herself and Henry, and a table for four with an aisle in between) was quasi-separated from the remainder of the passengers by a dusky glass panel which stretched all the way to the ceiling. She wondered if it had been tacked on as an afterthought, or whether it had been purposely designed to offer a small corner of additional exclusivity. Either way, she liked the subtle degree of privacy it provided. Seems like the perfect refuge, she mused, СКАЧАТЬ