Waiting For a Train That Never Comes

by J A Henderson Henderson

  “You not gone to get a cup of tea yet, darling?” he said. “Or something to eat?”

  “Eh? Nobody told me I could go get anything.”

  “Sorry. We’ve been a bit… preoccupied.” He opened the door wider and beckoned. “Too late now, anyway. They want to see you.”

  “Finally!” The policewoman stood up, smoothed down her uniform and followed him into the squad room.

  It had changed beyond recognition. Tables had been shoved together and an enormous map of Scotland was spread across their surface. Around the makeshift panorama were several police and army officers together with a handful of civilians. She recognised one or two of them as politicians. Chief Inspector Montgomery, standing to one side, nodded curtly at her.

  WPC Arnold stared at the wall behind them. Huge aerial photographs were tacked up everywhere. Each picture showed a different stretch of sea and, judging by the angle, they had been taken from a high flying aeroplane.

  The policewoman put a hand to her mouth.

  Above the churning water the sky was a broiling sheet of fire, flames stretching from one side of the horizon to the other, from the surface of the sea to the uppermost edge of each photograph.

  They looked like gigantic snapshots of Hades.

  “Quite a sight, isn’t it?” A blonde man in a suit gave her a weary smile.

  “Can you tell these people what you told me earlier?” The Chief Inspector said. “About a man named Gordon Berlin.”

  WPC Arnold pulled herself up to her full height of five feet five.

  “We got a call from one of his neighbours this morning. Rana Szeresewska. She claimed that Mr Berlin had suffered some sort of breakdown and lost his memory. She didn’t know the reason, but she believed he was walking to Dundee.”

  “And this was second hand information?” A General with shining brass buttons, and an even shinier bald head, put his hands behind his back and glared at her.

  “It was. She was told about the situation by Gordon Berlin’s fifteen year old son, who then went after his father. As far as I know, her granddaughter has also gone to look for him.”

  “Could Berlin be faking?” one of the officers asked his companions.

  “Why would he? He couldn’t have known about the… situation this morning,” the man replied. “And even if he did, why head towards Dundee? That’s far more dangerous than the hilltop where he was living.”

  The General raised a hand to silence everyone. “Did you find any evidence to back up Mrs Szheresewska’s claim?”

  “I ascertained that camping equipment had been removed from Gordon Berlin’s house,” WPC Arnold continued. “I also found three sets of fresh footprints in the frost, all heading in the same direction. I’m fairly certain that a handgun was removed from the premises.”

  “You know Gordon Berlin, I’m told?” The bald General leaned forwards accusingly.

  “We met socially a few times.”

  “Did he seem stable to you?”

  WPC Arnold thought carefully.

  “Yes. He did. He was quite charismatic in fact.”

  “You were unaware he had a history of mental illness?”

  “Until a few hours ago, yes.”

  “Good work Constable,” the Chief Inspector said curtly. “You can go now.”

  WPC Arnold hesitated, her eyes flickering round the walls.

  “It’s the Norway Sea.” The blonde man who had smiled before ran a hand through his hair. “The sky is on fire. It’s like Hell burst out of the ocean.”

  “That’s classified information!” The bald General turned his crossfire stare upon the man in the suit. “You’re in enough trouble as it is, mister!”

  “Oh. Come on! It’s hardly a matter of secrecy now. The whole world is going to know about this in a few hours.”

  “May I ask a question?” WPC Arnold cut into the argument, eyes straight ahead. The General harrumphed loudly, before accepting that confidentiality had obviously gone out the window.

  “Ask away.”

  “What has all this got to do with Gordon Berlin?” The policewoman motioned towards the photographs.

  “Well… it’s most unfortunate that Mr Berlin has lost his memory and gone walkabout.” The General put both hands on his back, leaned back and cracked it loudly.

  “Because, apparently, he predicted this was going to happen.”

  Mary woke in the middle of the night, her neck stiff and cold. The fire had almost died and shadows hung like thick drapes round the walls of the shed. Gordon was lying a few feet away, snoring loudly.

  She turned over to get more comfortable.

  A shadowy figure was sitting beside her holding his hands out to the feeble flames.

  “Bobby!”

  The boy grinned, teeth white in the darkness.

  “I’m all right,” he said gently. “Just fashionably late, that’s all.”

  “God, I was scared!”

  “Shhhh. It’s ok.”

  “I’m so glad you’re safe.” Mary clutched his hand

  “Nothing can hurt me, toots”

  Mary gave a shudder. “Bobby, nothing is turning out like I thought.”

  “Then stop thinking about how it will turn out.” Bobby lay down beside her. “Let’s just get ourselves to Dundee. Maybe my dad’s right. Maybe the answer to all this is there.”

  Mary pulled her blanket up so that he could get under it

  “Don’t tell me,” she whispered happily. “You’ve got a feeling.”

  “I have. But it’s probably just my body thawing out.”

  “You’re a pain in the neck Bobby Berlin.”

  “I know. I learned it from my dad.”

  And Mary drifted back to sleep with her friend’s arm draped across her.

  Monday

  The Bridge Over the River Tay

  Narcissistic personality disorder (NPD) is a personality disorder with a long-term pattern of abnormal behaviour characterized by exaggerated feelings of self-importance, excessive need for admiration, and a lack of empathy… They seek to establish abusive power and control over others

  - Wikipedia

  -39-

  Bobby’s father woke with stabbing pains in his lower back and head, vaguely aware of a crackling sound behind him. He was freezing cold; his neck was stiff and his arms and leg joints were throbbing. He rolled over with a groan, his eyes gummed half shut. A blurry figure was kneeling by the fire, blowing onto the flames to get the blaze going again.

  “Morning dad,”

  “Bobby boy!” Gordon’s eyes shot open and he pulled himself upright with a flurry of cracking joints. “You made it!”

  “Yeah. And breakfast is coming right up.” His son gave him a wink. “We got a third of a Mars Bar each.”

  “And a pack of chewing gum.” Mary was stretching in the doorway of the engine shed. A weak sun was shining through her hair and the sky outside was cobalt blue. “It’s a lovely morning. If we get going, I bet we’ll reach Dundee in a few hours.”

  “Then let’s do this.” Bobby stood up, put his hands on his hips and looked down at his father. “We can eat on the move.”

  “Aye, all right. But I’m starving and my back is killing me.” His father groaned and rotated his neck. “If I get my memory back the first thing I’m going to do is buy a steak pie supper and a feather mattress to lie on while I scoff it.”

  Mary, Bobby and Bobby’s father were making good progress, despite Gordon constantly grumbling about the pain in his knees.

  “So where did the gun come from?” Mary said as they marched towards the crest of yet another hill. “And you’re a moron for waving it around, by the way.”

  “Why thank you,” Bobby replied caustically. “I believe it came from a car boot sale.”

  “Oh yes, the gun,” Gordon chimed in. “I better take that.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Because you’re only fifteen. You could have got yourself killed last night.”

  “Yeah? And y
ou think you’re a kid too. The gun’s not any safer with you than it is with me.”

  “Hey! Less of the cheek,” Gordon scowled, holding a hand to his aching neck. “I’m still your dad, remember?”

  “And I saved your butt. Remember?” After the escapades of the night before, Bobby was filled with a new found confidence.

  “Ach, just give me the bloody thing,” his father said, holding out his hand.

  Bobby held back. He and Gordon had been getting along well but he hadn’t forgotten the outburst back at the house, or at the roadside. Besides, if they ran into more soldiers he really didn’t want his father to be armed.

  “I said, give me the gun,” his father repeated, taking Bobby’s hesitation as a sign of refusal.

  “No.” Bobby took a step back. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to have it.”

  “Since when did you do the thinking?” Gordon’s face twitched. “I’m three times your size, pal. I could take the bloody thing if I wanted.”

  “Listen to yourself.” Bobby retreated a few feet, stumbling across the pitted earth. “You can’t control your temper. I don’t want you shooting the next policeman you see.”

  “Don’t you sass me!” His father moved forwards. “Give it here, right now!”

  Bobby skipped to one side and his father stumbled and fell flat on his face. Despite himself, Bobby gave a snort of laughter.

  Gordon raised his head. He had a raw scrape across his forehead where it had impacted with the ground and his nose was streaked with dirt. His hands curled into fists, one of them closing round a stout branch that was lying next to him. The man’s eyes had narrowed to pinpoints.

  “Dad?”

  “I’ve had just about enough of this crap,” Gordon hissed. “First you almost get us caught on that road, then you go waltzing off leaving me and Mary behind.”

  “Put that down, dad.” Bobby didn’t think it wise to mention that it was Gordon who had deserted him.

  “You going to make me?” Gordon hefted the branch from hand to hand. “Not so bloody tough now are you?”

  “Mr Berlin, what are you doing?” Mary joined in.

  “You shut it, an all!” Gordon swung the branch round. “I don’t need you ganging up on me.”

  “Who’s ganging up? We’ve been trying to help you!”

  “Trying to help me? By waving a bloody bible in my face!”

  “I explained that!”

  “No. You were trying to get rid of me!” Gordon raised the branch above his head. “I see it now! You were trying to stop me!”

  He jabbed the branch at Mary and she leapt back, losing her balance and landing on her back. Gordon gave a sinister chuckle and moved towards her.

  “Stop right there, Dodd.”

  The man whirled round.

  “Put down the branch.” Bobby was pointing the revolver at him.

  “Or what, eh?” Gordon crouched in a defensive stance, circling his son. He tossed the makeshift weapon from hand to hand like some scruffy martial arts expert. “You better drop that gun or you’ll be sorry you ever met me.”

  “What’s got into you?” his son stammered.

  “You put that gun down or I swear you’ll get a broken neck.” Gordon’s lips curled into a manic grimace. “I’ll batter the living daylights out of you!”

  “You’re cracking up dad. Please don’t do this.” Bobby took another step back, the gun trembling in his hand. His father feinted to the left, eyes filled with evil glee.

  Bobby dropped the gun and stepped away. Gordon pounced, scooping up the weapon.

  “Now, that was the stupidest thing you’ve ever done,” he sneered, pointing the weapon at his son. “What you going to do now, hero?”

  “Dad?”

  “Don’t dad me!” Gordon cocked the revolver. “I told you! My name is Dodd Pollen.”

  Mary scrambled to her feet, took a deep breath and stepped between them.

  “Get out of the way!” Bobby shouted. “Mary! He’s crazy!”

  Gordon Berlin’s arm wavered. The gun was only inches away from Mary’s face.

  “Yeah,” he mocked. “Get out of the way, girlie.”

  “I’ve got faith in you, Mr Berlin.” Mary stepped towards the man, so that the barrel touched her temple. “I have faith in you.”

  Gordon’s cheek began to twitch. Mary didn’t move.

  “I’m sorry.” With a shuddering intake of breath, Gordon lowered the weapon. “I truly am.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I just want a bit of respect from Wonder Boy here,” he sulked, his fury evaporating as quickly as it had sparked up. “You can see that, can’t you? If he was always this rude to me, no wonder I didn’t like him.”

  There was an awkward silence.

  “Looks like bits of your memory are coming back after all.” Bobby glared at the ground.

  His father handed him the weapon and stepped back, blinking rapidly.

  “What the hell is happening to me?” he said quietly.

  “I didn’t mean to upset you, honest.” Bobby’s voice was strained and quivering.

  “No. Shhhh. Don’t apologise.” Gordon put a trembling finger to his lips. “It’s me who should be saying sorry. What did I just do?”

  “Well, it looked for a bit like you were going to kill me.” His son risked a joke.

  “Don’t say that!” Gordon slumped to the ground and put his head in his hands. “Please… don’t say that.”

  “Look. It was a stupid argument and it got out of hand,” Mary cut in, sounding like a disapproving schoolmistress. “So let’s stop fighting and keep going. The Tay should be right over here. We follow it and we’ll be at the bridges in a couple of hours.”

  Gordon’s stubbled chin was quivering as he blinked back tears.

  “Oh God,” he whispered. “I don’t know what came over me.”

  “Bobby. Stick the gun in your bag and give your father a hug.” Mary put her hands on her hips. “Do it now, and then shake hands.”

  And Bobby, white as a sheet, did just that.

  Mary nodded and began walking purposefully north, mainly to hide the fact that her legs had turned to jelly.

  They walked in strained silence until they came to the top of the hill. Sure enough, the River Tay lay below them, a glistening silver expanse winding its way towards Dundee.

  Gordon sidled over to his son.

  “Did I have a temper when I was my normal self?”

  “No. No, you didn’t.”

  His father held out one calloused hand. It was shaking like a leaf.

  “I can hardly keep my emotions in check,” he said wretchedly. “I feel like crying, then laughing, then hitting someone. It’s like I’m fighting a war inside myself.”

  “You just have to hang on a little longer, dad.”

  “I’m trying.” Gordon glanced round to make sure Mary couldn’t hear them. “Listen. You keep that gun away from me.”

  “I wouldn’t have used it, don’t worry.”

  “No, you don’t understand.” Bobby could see a knot of muscle jumping where the man’s jaw met his ear.

  “I ever act like that again? You bloody well shoot me.”

  -40-

  The trio skirted Wormit, staying up on nearby Ormiston Hill. That way they could keep an eye on the village without having to actually go into it.

  “We’ll save a ton of time if we follow the river road.” Mary pointed to a country lane that led west. “There’s a couple more villages and a few scattered houses on the way but I’ve got a horrible feeling we won’t meet anyone.”

  “There aren’t any cars down there.” Bobby studied the village. “Not even parked ones. And no smoke coming from the chimneys.”

  “That’s what I mean. The whole area’s deserted.” Mary sounded resigned rather than uneasy about the fact. Two days of constant walking, little food or proper sleep and the constant tension generated by Gordon’s condition had begun to unravel her. Her hair was lank and gr
easy and there were dark circles under her eyes.

  “I think we should be trying to find people rather than avoiding them. We need to know what’s going on.”

  “Dundee can’t be empty,” Gordon objected. “There’s three hundred thousand people living there.” He started down the hill and Bobby noticed that he had begun to limp. He caught up with his father.

  “Dad. Something truly odd is happening and we don’t have a clue what it is.”

  “All right.” Gordon jutted out his chin to show his displeasure. “If we spot anybody on the road, we’ll ask what’s up. But we see the police or army and we hide, ok?”

  His companions were too shattered to argue. Besides, there was nowhere else to go.

  But, after an hour on the road they hadn’t met a living soul. They passed through the hamlets of Ballinbreigh, Fliskmillan and Hazelton Walls. Each were empty. There were no cars, no people and the shops were locked and shuttered.

  At first they approached the villages warily, but it soon became apparent that they were utterly alone. Even Gordon’s fear of being accosted gave way to curiosity. He allowed Mary and Bobby to peer in some windows but there were no lights, televisions or computers on in any of the houses. He even knocked on a door himself then hid behind a bin. Nobody answered.

  “This is enough to make anyone paranoid,” he stammered, his face slicked with sweat. He ran a hand over his jaw, glancing around like an escaped convict.

  Bobby watched him uneasily. He and Mary were tense and exhausted but Gordon Berlin was falling apart in front of their eyes.

  “Keep it together, dad,” he whispered, patting the man’s arm.

  “I’m trying, son,” the man rasped.

  Eventually they reached Balmerino, the last habitation before the Tay Rail Bridge. For the first time they could see the thin silhouette crossing the sparkling river. The road bridge, a couple of miles further on, was still out of sight.

  “It’s not just me, is it? This is really happening.” Gordon flopped down on a bench in the abandoned village square and mopped his face with his T shirt. “It’s like some kind of fairy tale gone wrong.”