Take a Moment

by Nina Kaye

  As I finish my well-practised speech, I look round the table at the abandoned starters, realising it wasn’t such a good idea to do this over lunch. A waste of food and money. Then I look up into the dumbstruck faces of my mother and sister and see my message has well and truly hit home.

  ‘Look, I’m sorry to sound harsh but this is happening,’ I say to them. ‘I’m a grown woman and it’s my decision. I’d rather do it with your support, but if it comes to it, I’ll do it without it.’

  ‘Right, well.’ My mother snatches up her bag, yanks on her camel cashmere cardigan and gets to her feet.

  ‘Where are you going?’ I look at her incredulously.

  ‘I’m leaving, Alex. Just like you. I assume you don’t expect to be part of my decision, given I wasn’t involved in yours.’

  This I was not expecting. Neither was John, apparently. He reaches for my mother’s hand, but she flicks him away.

  ‘But… hang on, this is ridiculous,’ I protest. ‘We haven’t even had our main course yet.’

  ‘No. Shame really.’ She looks genuinely disappointed by this. ‘I was quite looking forward to the sea trout. They do it so well here.’

  ‘Isabel, please?’ John appeals to my mother in a last-ditch attempt to get her to stay.

  ‘No, John.’ Her voice is almost a whisper but her message is strong. ‘Not this time. My daughter has carefully planned this event to keep me out of her life. I would never have done the same to her. You can tell her she can get in touch once she wakes up from this silly fantasy and is ready to discuss a realistic plan for her future.’

  I’m shocked to the core as I watch my mother exit the restaurant, careful to remain composed while there’s the possibility of eyes on her. As I watch her go, Carol scrambles to her feet. She looks at me with venom.

  ‘Well done, brat. You’ve always been so blinkin’ selfish.’

  Less bothered about making a scene, she gallops off after my mother, as the restaurant comes to a standstill and forty pairs of eyes land on our table.

  ‘Well, that went well.’ John chuckles, more out of discomfort than amusement. ‘Perhaps I’d better go as well. I’ve got the car keys.’

  ‘I’m so sorry about that, John.’ I chew my lip in discomfort. ‘I genuinely thought coming here would allow for a calmer, more constructive conversation.’

  ‘She’ll calm down. Just give her some time. Can I pay towards the bill?’

  ‘Definitely not.’ I shake my head firmly. ‘This is my mess. I’ll clear it up.’

  ‘If you’re sure.’ John gives me a hug and a fatherly kiss on the cheek, then heads out of the restaurant.

  As I watch yet another member of my family vacate the restaurant, I feel a reassuring hand on my arm.

  ‘Sorry that’s how it turned out.’ Sasha gazes at me sadly with her big blue eyes.

  ‘It was never going to go well.’ I shrug. ‘She doesn’t understand my position at all. It shows me that I was absolutely right to exclude her from this decision. Well intended but false promises would be all I’d get from her.’

  ‘So, what next?’

  ‘No idea. But we should probably get out of here.’ I reach up and signal to the perplexed waiter.

  Chapter 10

  One month later, I’m wandering around my empty Glasgow apartment, doing my final checks, my footsteps echoing loudly through the empty high-ceilinged rooms. The home I shared with Dom, once so warm and inviting, now cold and vacant; reminiscent of how my life here has become.

  ‘That’s us ready to go, love,’ one of the removals men calls out to me.

  ‘OK, thanks.’ I join him in the hallway. ‘You have the key for my new place, right?’

  ‘Sure do.’ He jangles a set of keys in his pocket.

  ‘Great. And thanks again for agreeing to set up the furniture for me, it’ll be good to be able to move straight in tomorrow.’

  ‘No problem. All the best now.’

  I see him out, then finish my checks before locking up for the final time and heading into the city centre for my train.

  On entering the concourse of Glasgow Central Station, my senses are immediately engulfed by garbled train announcements, guards whistling, the smell of diesel, and people rushing to catch their trains. For some, this is an essential passage from A to B. For me, it oozes vibrancy and opportunity. Not just because of my brand-new start, but because this is the type of living I love: bustling, active, energetic.

  Making my way across to the huge departure boards, I zone in on the illuminated timetable declaring the final destination of Birmingham, and I’m pleased to see that my train is on time. I feed my ticket into the machine and the paddle-shaped barriers snap open, allowing me onto the platform.

  On locating my train and carriage, I’m about to board when an unexpected wave of emotion rushes over me. All of a sudden, my chest feels like it’s filled with cement, and my breathing becomes shallow as I fight the lump in my throat. Reaching up, I dab at the corners of my eyes, realising there are tears forming. Tears that I refuse to let come. What the hell is wrong with me? This is something I want to do, that I’m looking forward to.

  But is it? A voice creeps into my head. The same one that visited me briefly in hospital. I only ‘want’ to do this because I’ve been left with no other choice. What I really wanted to do was get married, be Dom’s life partner in crime, continue my kickass career – and maybe have a couple of mischievous but amazing kids. Am I actually kidding myself? Is this the textbook denial my sister described?

  ‘You getting on board, love?’ The train guard shocks me out of my self-doubt. ‘The train’s about to go.’

  Time to decide. Is this really the future I want and need? Can I really do this alone? Or am I doing it for no reason other than being fiercely independent and stubborn? Perhaps more like my mother – who, along with my sister, has refused to have anything to do with me since I told her I was moving – than I thought.

  I tune back in to the buzz of the station, to everything that it represents for me, and my answer is clear. This is not me – I don’t ruminate and second-guess myself. I find solutions and I get things done. It might not be the future I would have chosen, but it’s the best one for me now – and I’m going to damn well make the most of it. Decision made, I push the button to open the carriage door and climb on board.

  By the time I’ve settled into my spacious first-class seat (a little indulgent perhaps, but it’s not like I up and move hundreds of miles away every day) and engrossed myself in a gritty crime novel, my floundering on the platform back at Glasgow Central is long forgotten. The beautiful Scottish countryside flashes past me outside the window, accentuated by the early autumn sunshine. The contrast between the racing images of the outdoors and the quiet calm of the carriage adds an extra layer of relaxation to my experience.

  I’ve chosen a two-seater table so I can enjoy a real sense of comfort, which is enhanced by the seat opposite me not being reserved until Oxenholme in the Lake District. Checking the journey on my phone, I’m pleased to note that I have nearly two hours of not having to share the space with a stranger.

  About twenty minutes into my journey, the train crew begin serving food and refreshments. They gradually make their way up the carriage towards me.

  ‘Tea or coffee?’ a man with a Yorkshire accent, armed with two large metal jugs, asks me.

  ‘Coffee, please.’

  ‘Right you are.’ He serves me at record speed, then moves to the next table.

  I add milk to my drink and give it a stir, before enjoying a satisfying slurp. It’s not the best coffee I’ve had, but it tastes good because of what it represents: my return to freedom, independence and a fulfilling career. I return to my reading but within minutes I’m interrupted again as my lunch is served and the drinks cart arrives at my spot. The woman in charge of it is very cheery, with a thick accent from somewhere in Europe. I smile warmly at her as she jokes animatedly with the people across the aisle from me.

&n
bsp; Having an advance nosey at what’s available, I see a range of soft and alcoholic drinks on her trolley. My eyes land on the miniature spirits, conjuring up memories of many enjoyable holidays (with both Dom and Sasha), where these Lilliputian bottles have been a symbol of celebration on board our outbound flights. A clear marker for the beginning of endless sunshine, exotic landscapes and architectural delights.

  Though I’m following quite a committed ‘healthy living’ plan, I can sense a longing for that celebratory feeling. It feels quite fitting right now. I’m certainly viewing this move as an achievement and a new adventure. My neurology consultant didn’t expressly forbid alcohol either. He suggested I limit my intake and apply common sense, particularly when I experience symptoms like balance issues that might be made worse by alcohol. I decide that one drink isn’t going to do me any harm.

  Once she’s finished with the other passengers, the jolly woman turns towards me. ‘Anything to drink, madam?’

  ‘Yes, please. Could I have a gin and tonic? Actually, can I be cheeky and ask for two cans of tonic so it’s not as strong?’

  ‘Of course. Good choice, gin.’ She dumps some ice and lemon in a plastic tumbler and places it in front of me on a paper coaster. ‘You go home or away?’

  ‘Sorry?’ I blink at her. I’m certainly not going to be opting for takeaway.

  ‘Home or away? Holiday, business or go home?’

  ‘Oh… I’m…’ I realise I don’t know how to answer. ‘I don’t know. I’ve just left home. But I’m moving to Birmingham today, so I guess I’m going to my new home.’

  ‘You have two home. Like me. I have home in Hungary, but also now here in UK. Enjoy.’

  She places a miniature bottle of gin and two cans of tonic water in front of me, along with an equally miniature packet of crisps. Then she releases the brake on her drinks cart and moves along the carriage to the next table.

  Alone once more, I pour my drink and just sit for a moment, watching the bubbles dance in the plastic cup. Two homes? I never really considered the question of ‘home’ in my decision to move. But one thing is clear: home is where you feel comfortable and safe. At the moment neither Glasgow nor Birmingham can tick both those boxes. I’ve just got to hope that Birmingham will – and right now I feel positive about that.

  By the time we’re approaching Oxenholme station, I’m tentatively anticipating the arrival of my tablemate and sincerely hoping they won’t be incredibly annoying. I’ve also had an enjoyable lunch of a chicken and chorizo flatbread, paired with my ‘long’ gin and tonic, and I’m feeling quite chipper. My drink has very much added the air of celebration I was seeking to my trip. But it has also depleted my attention span, causing me to cast aside my book in search of something more interactive.

  I pick up my phone and start scrolling through Twitter. I’m in the process of commenting on someone’s rather unfortunate encounter with an overzealous sheep at a petting zoo, grinning to myself as I do, when a voice comes from above me.

  ‘You look like you’re enjoying yourself.’

  I half-glance up to see that my tablemate has arrived. He appears to be squeezing a hiker’s style backpack into the luggage rack overhead.

  ‘Oh, hello,’ I greet him briefly, unable to drag myself away from my Twitter discussions.

  I continue to dip in and out of various discussion threads, some funny, some political, some involving more emotive and important issues like mental health. As I do, I become aware that my now seated tablemate is watching me. I look up from typing a tweet in support of an environmental activist group, and my breath catches in my throat. It’s the Brummie man from the train all those months ago.

  ‘We meet again.’ He smiles warmly at me and my senses feel like they’ve taken a dive into a cake mixer.

  I remember him being quite attractive. He’s not. He’s absolutely bloody gorgeous. His well-manicured beard gives him a look not dissimilar to Dom’s, but those dark chocolate eyes paired with his chestnut hair and that bone structure take him to a whole other level. He’s also wearing trendy outdoorsy gear that makes him look like Bear Grylls. It certainly explains the athletic physique: about right for someone who evidently hikes in the Lake District.

  I set my phone down on the table in front of me and try to breathe normally. ‘We do indeed.’

  ‘How are you? How’s the career going?’

  It’s an obvious conversation starter, given where we left off before, but with my changing circumstances, I’m not keen to chat about myself.

  ‘It’s… fine. I’m fine. And you? You’ve been hiking, I assume?’

  ‘Sure have. Three days, three peaks. Just ticked Scafell Pike, Helvellyn and Old Man of Coniston off my list.’

  ‘Right… I’ve heard of Scafell Pike. But not the others.’

  ‘They’re the three highest peaks in the Lake District.’

  ‘Gosh, you’re keen.’

  ‘Can’t get enough of the outdoors.’ He gazes longingly out the window at the hills and woods scooting past. ‘I’d live in a tent on a mountainside if it weren’t so impractical.’

  ‘The commute would certainly be a bit of a bitch.’ I smile at him and he chuckles in amusement. ‘I’ve never done the full-on hiking thing.’

  ‘You should try it. Once you get a taste, you’ll never go back. Promise you.’

  ‘Not sure I’m a stay-in-a-tent-with-no-running-water-and-pee-outside-in-the-middle-of-the-night kind of girl.’

  ‘What kind of girl are you then? A married one by now, I’m guessing.’

  I hesitate. ‘Actually, no. I split from my fiancé a few months ago.’

  His face immediately falls. ‘Shit. I’m really sorry. Got a habit of asking the wrong questions, haven’t I?’

  ‘It’s OK. You weren’t to know – either time. My ring was getting resized, by the way, I’m not one of those women who removes it to get attention.’

  ‘Right. Still haven’t covered myself in glory though, have I?’

  ‘You’re fine. How about we change the subject? What was it you were asking me?’

  He rubs his beard thoughtfully. ‘Ah, yes… what do you like if tents aren’t your thing?’

  I consider how to answer this question, given what I enjoy doing and what I can actually do don’t always match up any more.

  ‘I’ve always enjoyed park runs, crime novels, and I’m quite partial to a bit of karaoke.’

  ‘You’re a singer?’

  ‘No, doing karaoke and being a singer are two very different things. I can just about hold a tune.’

  ‘That’s better than most.’ He shrugs. ‘So, back to hiking, there are such things as hotels and hostels, you know. You don’t have to do the tent thing. Or you could just do a day’s hike in the mountains.’

  ‘Maybe I should try it sometime then.’ I’m saying this more out of politeness than anything else.

  ‘You do mountains as part of big change?’ The cheery woman with the food and drinks trolley has reappeared and decided to join our conversation. ‘Good change to life. Good for heart and head. Drink for you, sir?’

  The man scopes out her offerings. ‘Why not? As I’m in Scottish company, I’ll have a whisky and Coke, please.’ He glances back towards me. ‘Join me?’

  I hesitate at first, unsure whether it’s a good idea to have another drink. But, caught up as I am in the moment, and enjoying another chance encounter with the god of the countryside, my better judgement appears to be on ice for now.

  ‘Sure, if it’s on you,’ I joke, then turn to the woman serving us. ‘Gin and tonic again, please.’

  ‘Two cans of tonic?’

  ‘That would be great, thanks.’

  She serves our drinks, chatting merrily about the time she visited London and how it has no mountains, and then moves on to the next row, swaying a little as the train whooshes round one of the tighter bends.

  ‘You’ve made a friend, it seems,’ the man comments as he pours his drink.

  ‘She’s just re
ally friendly.’

  ‘I’m Matt, by the way. We never got properly acquainted last time, and if we’re going to drink together, we should at least be on first-name terms. Unless you have some kind of title, which I’m more than happy to use.’

  ‘Hmm…’ I tap my jaw reflectively. ‘Shall I go with Lady or Dame? Which makes me sound cooler?’

  ‘Dame, definitely. Then you can be known as “that damn fine dame”.’

  ‘I like that. I’m Alex. No title, but just as fine.’

  ‘Perfectly put.’ He gives me a little salute.

  ‘Cheers.’ I hold out my drink. ‘Good to see you again.’

  ‘Cheers, Alex.’ He takes a mouthful of his drink and makes a pained face that’s a dead giveaway he’s not a regular whisky drinker. ‘So, where are you off to this time? Another conference?’

  His dark eyes penetrate mine searchingly. Though his gaze is intense, it’s not in a creepy way. More just keen interest. I decide that, as much as we’ve met before and my inhibitions are currently on a minibreak, I mustn’t give too much away. After all, the ‘Belfast Strangler’ was utterly gorgeous – and a serial killer. And though I know that was a fictional storyline, there’s a remarkable physical resemblance between the two of them.

  I take a sip from my drink, enjoying the alcoholic heat of the gin and the bubbles teasing my lips. ‘I’m actually moving to Birmingham for a new job.’

  ‘You are?’ He seems surprised and – if my instincts aren’t totally off – pleased to hear this. ‘What’s the new job?’

  I purse my lips thoughtfully as I consider this question. ‘I want to say big important television producer for the BBC…’

  ‘But…?’

  ‘I’m a project manager.’

  ‘I see your problem. They are worlds apart.’

  ‘It gets worse. I’m an IT project manager.’