by Jon Mackley
The train slowed and pulled into the next station. A man sitting across the aisle got up and left. Will watched him apprehensively. He waited until the man had gone and then fixed his gaze back on Lara. She shifted uncomfortably, trying to read his expression. She tried to speak, but no words came out. Instead she just shook her head. When the train pulled away, he spoke again.
‘What about you?’ he wondered. ‘You’re running, just like me. But you’re not focused. Regrets already? Or did you just want to get out of Stamford and make it up from there?’
Lara tried not to recoil under his sarcasm, she couldn’t meet his gaze. Was she so easy to read? Although she’d thought about Michael, she still couldn’t grasp that she was away from him. Not free, but away. And then there was the whirlpool of emotions. She had expected to grieve for the passing of a relationship, but there were no tears left inside.
‘You do have regrets,’ Will said. Something danced behind his eyes.
Lara shook her head. ‘Memories, some good, some bad. A few realisations, nothing else.’ She stood up. ‘Excuse me.’
He placed a hand on her arm. ‘Where are you going?’
‘To the loo,’ she said bitterly. ‘That’s all right, isn’t it?’
His shoulders slumped. He closed his eyes again, not willing to be drawn.
She made a shaky path along the train, away from him.
There was solace in her brief isolation. The small cubical reeked of bleach. She quickly checked her pockets: money that was the important thing, and her passport – she had both of them.
She wiped the seat and flushed the lavatory before sitting down. Sitting there, she focused her mind away from the problems taunting her. In the relative stillness she realised for the first time that she was on a train, away from Stamford.
She was free.
It was impossible to truly believe it. She’d lived so long with the chains of marriage strangling her. She wondered if she had ever been in love with him, or whether it was the idea of being in love that had seduced her.
She tried to tell herself everything would have been all right if Julia had lived. Julia, the daughter that never was, the child strangled by her own umbilical cord as she struggled her way into life. When Lara had fallen pregnant, she’d hoped a new focus would unite the pair of them.
Tears brimmed, then spilled. She always cried when she thought of Julia. She cried for her own loss and the love she would have been able to give. But also because it would have been unfair to bring a child into a relationship like theirs. Although she’d hoped Michael would have mellowed with fatherhood, the more she thought about it, the less likely it seemed.
He’d not been present at the birth; not been with her when she’d discovered Julia had died. When he eventually saw her, he had sat glaring at her, his silent brooding making her feel that Julia’s death had been her fault.
That had been eighteen months ago. While she recuperated, she’d endured his snipes about how lazy she was, her body became numb to the emotional pain he inflicted. Then, largely to get away from him, but also to subsidise his evening drinking, she took a part-time secretarial job. It was boring, repetitive work and she was nowhere close to achieving her potential, but Michael was insistent that she was at home when he returned; he barely gave her any freedom.
No more, she told herself. I’m free.
But would Michael ever let her be totally free? Would he find her and drag her back by the hair? Would he tell the authorities she’d stolen something? She smiled inwardly. All she had taken were the clothes in which she sat and a small amount of money, a nest egg she had protected from Michael’s drinking; the secretarial job had provided her with only a small amount to get away.
She washed her face, hoping her rheumy eyes and tear streaks would fade. She couldn’t stay around this ‘Will’ character, whoever he was: whatever his misdemeanours, he was clearly suicidal.
At the same time, she wanted to help him. Perhaps that would be the first step on the road to redeeming herself?
That’s Michael talking again, she realised. Making me feel guilty. Making me feel it’s my fault.
Isn’t it? a cold voice chided her.
If Will was suicidal, then he was dangerous. He might try again, and maybe not care who he took with him.
She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, then exhaled slowly. She’d try to get him to talk. That was all. If it didn’t work, well, walk away … fast. But at least Will had a direction, which was more than she had. He was right: she hadn’t thought this through. She could follow for a while, at least.
Steeling herself, she wove her way back along the carriage to where Will was waiting. He nodded an acknowledgement, but did not smile.
‘The conductor came round, so I paid for both of us.’
She sat down. She was tired and hungry. She said nothing. Just like with Michael, all her resolution drained away.
Will’s eyes narrowed. ‘D’you do a lot of this? Wandering around in the early hours? Pulling people away from oncoming trains?’
‘Only as a hobby,’ Lara said acidly. “Thanks” would do.’
Will sat back in his seat, saying nothing.
‘Where are we going?’ Lara asked.
‘We?’ Will cocked his head. ‘I’m going to Chester, eventually. You could leave at Birmingham. Go somewhere else? Or go back to wherever you came from.’
Her heart dropped. ‘Chester,’ she repeated uneasily. ‘Why?’
‘Because it’s there.’ His eyes had started to crinkle. It was the first sign of happiness she had seen in him. ‘History, architecture. And shops. You’ll need new clothes. Is there a problem with Chester?’
‘Only the ghosts.’
‘No such thing as ghosts,’ Will said sharply. He stared out of the window. ‘Birmingham International,’ he said. ‘New Street soon.’
Passengers collected bags and coats. Lara sat still, waiting for Will to speak. He chose not to. His eyes flicked from buildings to roads. When the train slid to a halt, he waited for the other passengers to disembark before nodding to the door.
She followed him, away from the platform, up the stairs, through the ticket barrier and into the main foyer, packed with morning commuters. The smells from the multiple eateries crashed against her senses.
Will glanced over his shoulder as he passed underneath the displays announcing the arrivals and departures. While he scanned them, she watched a huge screen broadcasting Sky News, half expecting the lead story to be that she had left.
‘Ninety minutes until the train,’ he said, breaking her thoughts. ‘Change at Crewe.’ She was about to speak, but he was already hurrying away like a frightened mouse. He joined a short queue.
Chester, Lara thought. If I’d left home, would I go back to where I’d lived before? Wouldn’t that be the first place Michael would look for me?
Was she focusing too much on Michael? The way he had treated her: not love, not even affection. He needed a servant, not a wife. Surely, he’d see there was nothing worth salvaging in the relationship and let her go. She closed her eyes. A part of her was scared – very scared – that he’d chase her to the ends of the earth, not satisfied until she was back in his possession.
When Will opened his wallet, Lara saw it was bulging with banknotes. Evidently he believed he’d take it with him when he crossed over to the other side, or maybe the ferryman of the river Styx didn’t accept credit cards.
‘Hour and a half,’ Will said, looking at his watch. He peered around apprehensively. ‘Birmingham’s changed a lot since I was last here.’ He pointed to a pub on the concourse. ‘You ought to get some breakfast. You look like you’ll fall down any minute.’
He led her away from the growing crush of commuters and the harsh station lights to the subdued lighting of the pub. He strode confidently into the wide bar room: the bar was in the middle of the room. The young barman was well dressed. This was the kind of place where businessmen would have their lunches. ‘Full English
breakfast and a couple of cups of coffee,’ he said.
The coffee was poured. Will carried it to a table at the side of the room. Lara sipped gratefully. The coffee provided a link with reality, a tangible moment which forced the morning’s events into the dawn’s fog. Perhaps she’d wake up and discover it was all a dream. When she woke would she find herself still in Stamford?
‘Do you have a mobile?’ Will asked.
Lara instinctively tapped a pocket, then shook her head. She’d deliberately left it at home.
‘Good,’ Will said. ‘They’d trace you with a mobile.’ He glanced up. The barman arrived with her breakfast. Lara’s head reeled. The smells were overwhelming. She had not realised how hungry she was. She devoured it quickly, looking up at Will occasionally. He sat back in his seat, eyes closed. Marks of consternation etched their way into his face.
‘All right,’ she said when there was nothing else to eat. Her voice was quiet and calm, ‘Will you tell me what’s going on?’ He said nothing. ‘Surely nothing’s so bad you have to end it all?’
He didn’t look at her. His eyes were vacant. He stared at his cup as if the grouts of his coffee would yield answers to unspoken questions. ‘You’d never believe it.’
‘Those men,’ she said. ‘Why were they looking for you?’
‘It’s a long story.’
‘We have time,’ Lara said, but her eyes flicked nervously to the door. Part of her expected it to burst open. She shuddered, realising she was adopting his paranoia. Her gaze returned to Will and her eyes narrowed. ‘Look, I’m not prying. There’s a fine line between concern and intrusion, but nothing’s worth giving up absolutely. Surely?’ That was a lie and she knew it. If nothing was worth giving up then why was she here and not with Michael? Only words. She was telling him what she needed to hear; offering platitudes, hoping to make her own pain better. ‘Will,’ she whispered. ‘Please, you don’t have to tell me anything, but maybe we can rake through the ashes of your troubles and find something worth salvaging.’ She wanted to reach out, place her hand over his, but felt the intimacy of touch might bring reality to what might still be a dream.
For the first time, he looked up at her with a penetrating stare. There was a depth to those eyes suggesting an “old soul”. Lara wondered if he had truly noticed her since they had met. She smiled gently, a comforting, sympathetic smile, rather than trying to make him feel like a lost puppy.
‘Lara,’ he said, nodding. His acknowledgement implied everything was all right. His jaw clenched. ‘You look like her … a bit.’
She did not ask whom he meant – his lost love, she guessed. She felt a sting of guilt. Was this what Michael was going through at the moment?
‘She left, is that what happened?’
‘Leaving wasn’t the problem.’ Will shook his head. ‘It was when she came back.’
2
Will regarded her carefully, seeming to scrutinise her face for traces of malice. When he found none, his shoulders sagged. He closed his eyes. ‘I guess,’ he started, but his voice cracked. He cleared his throat and started again. ‘Once upon a time, I had everything I wanted. I was a history teacher. I could make it come alive because I could see what I was teaching. Sure, the job was frustrating when my hands were tied with admin, but there were moments … and then there was Janet. She was my world.
‘I don’t know when it started to go wrong. They say you know the moment you first fall in love, but you never know when you lose it.
‘Janet …’ he stumbled over the name. ‘She still lived at home. She stayed with me sometimes – we’d talked about her moving in – but, then, something … I don’t know. Her mother fielded my calls, telling me she was out. Eventually, Janet saw me; told me she wanted a new life, away from Norwich … away from me. She couldn’t tell me what was wrong with us, only that she didn’t love me in the same way as before.’ His eyes expressed more challenge than curiosity. ‘Are blokes too insensitive? Should I have seen it coming? I keep telling myself I should’ve, but I wasn’t looking for the signs.’
Lara watched him. He had paused. She didn’t know if he wanted an answer. ‘People change, Will,’ she whispered. ‘Relationships change.’
Will lowered his eyelids, perhaps so he could see out, but no one could see in. ‘That’s pretty much what she said, too.’ When he looked up again, his eyes were misty and distant, staring across the bar and across eternity at the same time. ‘I cried. I don’t know how long for. It was dark when she left. I was still crying at dawn.’ His cheeks burned with remembrance. ‘I’m not a romantic, but I believed her when she’d said she wanted me forever. I thought I’d treated her well. I wasn’t promising a brilliant life, but people will always need teachers.’ He gave a sad sigh. Lara wondered if, even though he’d spent an age soul-searching, this was the first time he had asked himself the right questions.
‘After she went … when I wasn’t at school, I found oblivion in drink. But alcohol didn’t intoxicate me. It just made me sleepy and I dreamed of what might have been. I drowned myself in work when I could, but the cracks were showing. I couldn’t hide what was happening.’ Now his eyes seemed to beg for absolution. ‘I tried to concentrate on anything but her, but I never could. I saw those flashing grey eyes everywhere.’ His eyes were remote. ‘She could have been a romance heroine.’ He clasped his hands together and his voice lost its animation. ‘The thing about romance heroines is that they’re supposed to be put on a pedestal and worshipped. Never touched.
‘I didn’t give in gracefully. I texted and emailed, hoped she’d respond. It’s the paradox of falling out of love. I wanted her so much, but wanted to reject her. And she didn’t take kindly to being harassed by a drunk.’ He ran a finger around the lip of his empty cup. Lara made no move to get another and neither did he. ‘I waited by the phone, in that buzzing twilight of despair, didn’t know if she’d call or whether the last thing she’d say was that bitter goodbye. I would feel my vision blackening, my grip on reality slipping.’ He glanced across at her. ‘There’s months of my life where I don’t know what I did.’ He laughed, but there was no humour in the sound. ‘That happens sometimes when you’re a teacher. The weeks blend into each other. But, I once woke on a station platform in London. I didn’t know how I got there, all I knew was I had to get back to Norwich before 9.15. The kids didn’t get their homework marked that day. The head teacher called me in. “Blah, blah, blah, standards are slipping; blah, blah, blah, expect better, blah, blah.” Wasn’t interested in anything I had to say. Why would he be? I was a liability. He wanted me to deny anything was wrong. I needed to scream out I’d been beaten and I needed help.
‘Things didn’t get better. I was told to find a new position at the end of term.’
He waited for Lara to say something. She felt awkward under his stare. She felt he wanted her to yield answers for which there were no questions. She shifted uncomfortably. ‘Sorry,’ was all she managed.
Fire flashed in his eyes, violent and dangerous. ‘I don’t want pity,’ he snarled and she recoiled at the venom in his voice. ‘D’you think a stupid platitude can solve everything? It’s too late for that.’ Lara wondered if she should get away from him now, but the anger was gone as quickly as it arrived. He stared mournfully into his empty mug. ‘It was always too late.’
His eyes became stony. ‘What hurt the most was there wasn’t any support. Everyone’s been through a break-up. Why should mine affect me so badly? I wanted help, wanted to break away from the self-destructive cycle and no one wanted to listen.’
Lara nodded. She knew exactly how that felt. ‘I still tried to speak to her,’ Will continued. ‘Her mother permanently guarded the phone. Told me to leave her alone. She’d found someone else. She was starting a new life with him. How much time had passed? Months? Years? The fact she’d moved on and I was still in the same place as when she left … destroyed the last of my self-esteem. I told the school I wasn’t coming back. They probably said “no great loss” and got
a supply teacher.’
He stared down at the coffee cup, then glanced at Lara. ‘Do you want some more?’ She shook her head, not wanting to break his stream of thoughts, but he sauntered away and returned a few moments later with another cup. One of the bar staff followed him and cleared away the dirty cups and plates.
‘My memory … it’s blacked out most of what happened,’ Will explained as he sipped the coffee. ‘It’s hazy. A dream. But if I concentrate I can remember small details. I escaped into fiction. I don’t know how many books I read. I was just picking them up off the shelf, reading them, putting them back, then picking up the one next to it. I don’t remember much about what I read: it was War and Peace at one stage, but the only reason I know is because the spine’s bent.
‘Sometimes I’d pray Janet would come back, others I prayed she never would.’ His voice became grave. ‘I should’ve learned there’s no point in trying to change what’s already happened.’
‘But she came back,’ Lara prompted.
‘Oh yeah, she called. Said she’d been mistaken about her fiancé. She regretted everything, needed to talk to me. I was mad … furious and insane. But she was desperate. She needed the same help as I did, and I wasn’t going to refuse. But I also wanted her to see what I’d become, what she’d done to me.
‘She came back. It would have been better if she hadn’t. She didn’t mean to, but it was like rubbing salt into my wounds. Everything had been a horrible mistake. She said she was sorry. If there was any love left in me, I’d forgive her.’ His jaw tightened, his eyes were bitter. ‘She put the onus on me to forgive her, like it was my responsibility. I’d lost everything. So had she, but she’d had a choice, in both relationships. She chose to walk away from both of us.
‘And now she wanted to come back. The grass really wasn’t greener. She saw I needed help. I wasn’t going to get better overnight. She’d be there to help me through it.