The Fire House on Honeysuckle Street. Rachel Dove

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      The train announcement sounded, and Sam took the woman into his beefy arms, kissing the top of her head as she wrapped her arms around his middle and held him tight.

      ‘I love you, my boy. I’ll see you soon.’ When they finally pulled away, she pressed a thick envelope into his hand. Her trademark cream notepaper and vellum-finished stationery. He smiled, a picture of her sat at her desk popping into his head. Glasses halfway down her nose, a glass of wine on a coaster on the wooden surface of the desk, her head bent over her paper as she scribbled away. ‘Read it on the train or when you get settled. Not now. Okay?’

      He nodded, not trusting himself to keep it together if he tried to speak. She raised her hands above her five foot six frame, placing them on either side of his stubbly face. He stooped to let her, savouring the warmth from her palms, the scent of her coconut hand lotion enveloping him.

      She dropped a motherly kiss onto his lips, stroking his face and letting the tears fall for a moment.

      ‘Just you remember, my sweet little Sam, you always have a home with me. Stay safe.’

      He hugged her tight once more, kissing her cheek.

      ‘I will, Mum, I promise.’

      She nodded, smiling through her watery tears. ‘And find someone to love, okay? Grandbabies need a mother, you know. I’m not getting any younger here.’

      He laughed then, a deep throaty boom, and she laughed right along with him, each of them tucking the moment into their pockets, to pull out and cherish when they needed it.

      They looked back at each other till he turned the corner, and he gripped the envelope to him. It smelled of her. He pushed it into his coat pocket and hauled his baggage to the train. The conductor looked twice at him as he went to enter the train, and Sam could feel himself getting annoyed. Looking down at the man, he nodded slowly, not bothering to raise a smile. The man nodded back, clearing his throat nervously and stepping aside for him to get onto the train. Sam was used to people thinking he was a meathead, a rough and tough bruiser, but realistically, it did start to grate when he was trying to go about his day. Made his job tougher too, with the louts that seemed to think it was okay to have a pop at a man trying to save lives, do his job. Idiots, one and all. He wouldn’t miss them in Westfield, and he very much doubted that it would be as tough in the little village he was going to call home for the next few months. He could only hope, anyway. In his current state, he didn’t have the energy for much else.

      Still irked by the bloke, Sam stomped through the carriages till he found his seat. Moving to the end of the carriage, he stashed his bags in the luggage compartments. He noticed a woman and a small boy, sitting across from his table seat. The boy had headphones on, his face enraptured in the screen, his hair ruffled and sticking up at odd angles, pushed askew by his big headphones. Sam smiled, thinking of the kids he had grown up alongside. Half of them had never seen movies, let alone been lucky enough to have a portable screen to watch them on. He squeezed himself into the seat he had reserved, so he ended up sitting the opposite way from the lad, the same side as the woman. He felt eyes on him, and looked across to see the boy watching him intently. He looked away, aware that a man of his size looking at a youngster might be intimidating. He flicked his gaze across at the woman, and she was looking right at him. He was just noticing how blue her eyes were when she opened her mouth to speak, flashing him a set of pearly whites, that were currently bared at him.

      ‘Do you have a problem?’ Her tone was clipped, pushed out like pellets from an air rifle.

      He laughed, out loud. Right at her. He didn’t mean to, and he choked off the motion in his throat as soon as he realised.

      ‘Sorry,’ he said gruffly. ‘I didn’t mean to laugh. I don’t have a problem.’

      She clenched her jaw, and Sam said nothing, observing her. He noticed how alike the pair looked, the young boy having her brown hair colouring, little streaks of lighter caramel tinted hair running through her shoulder-length locks. She had it wavy, and loose around her shoulders. She looked tired, he noted, and tense across her features. The boy was still looking at him, the tablet now on the table, forgotten.

      ‘Are you okay?’

      He surprised himself by asking. Normally he kept himself to himself, off the job, but something about her made him want to know more.

      ‘I will be,’ she said, folding her arms. ‘I just want to enjoy the journey in peace.’

      She glared at him again, and then turned to look at her son.

      ‘Xander honey, don’t stare.’

      The boy, who had one headphone off his ear, looked at her in surprise.

      ‘He’s staring! Tell him!’

      ‘Xander!’ his mum scolded, in the form of a whisper. ‘Remember what we said?’

      ‘Mum! He did it! You always said to tell the truth!’

      ‘Xander, please!’

      Xander huffed, and rolled his eyes so far in the back of his head Sam thought they would never return.

      ‘Fine,’ he spat out, giving Sam a sidelong glance that could spark a fire from across the county. ‘I don’t like you,’ he said, matter of factly, sticking his tongue out at Sam before picking up his tablet and shoving his headphones back onto his ears. The woman blushed furiously, and Sam chuckled again.

      ‘I’m sorry, Xander,’ he said. ‘You’re quite right, it is rude to stare.’

      Xander didn’t take his eyes from the screen, but Sam saw him sneak a peek over the top at his mother and give a little grin.

      ‘I see you,’ she said, but her tone was softer this time. She looked across at Sam. ‘Thank you. He speaks his mind.’

      Sam looked at the woman, who looked so frazzled and on edge and nodded once.

      ‘Nothing wrong with that.’

      She raised her eyebrows, pulling a face.

      ‘Not always, for him. He hasn’t mastered tact.’

      Sam looked out of the window at the man from earlier, who was now getting ready to blow his whistle.

      ‘He has time, I know plenty of adults who haven’t learnt that skill either.’

      She laughed then, just once, and smiled at him for the first time. Her blue eyes flashed and he couldn’t help but notice how pretty she was.

      ‘Well, thanks.’

      ‘Sam, Draper.’

      She looked him up and down, as though deciding something for herself, and then looked at her son, who was by now engrossed in his movie and not paying any attention to their conversation.

      ‘Lucy.’

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