by Ivan B
A thousand thoughts filled her brain. Was she hungry – yes. Was she getting cold – yes. Did company rules forbid her from inviting people into her cab – yes. Did she want the hot-pot – yes. She went out of the back of the cab and opened the entrance door; he passed up a giant Thermos flask and then climbed in. She pointed to the mate’s seat and he sat down. “Thought you might be cold and hungry.” He murmured in a Norfolk vowel tarnished Oxford accent. He fished a large bowl out of his backpack and proceeded to pour steaming hot-pot into it from the over-sized Thermos. She took it and sniffed the odours. “That’s very kind of you.”
He shrugged, “Couldn’t see you freeze to death on my doorstep.”
She surveyed him. Up close he looked even more scary. His brown eyes were deeply set into his skull under a jutting out forehead; that, with the tufty eyebrows, made him look slightly manic. His appearance was not improved either by what was obviously a bad shave; she checked, no it definitely wasn’t designer stubble, just a bad shave. She started eating, “You live here?”
“Opposite the church, in the rectory.”
She paused, surely he couldn’t be? “You a vicar then?”
He nodded, “’Fraid so. Rupert Greeve Vicar of St Nicholas and St Jude’s.”
Sarah looked out at the flat and seemingly house-barren landscape, “Not a big flock then?”
He laughed, it sounded like a series of short barks. “From Trembine Halt to Methwold Hythe to Weeting and all points in-between. 869 souls of various ages most of whom live in splendid isolation or in small hamlets.”
Sarah relaxed slightly, vicars didn’t normally turn into raving rapists. “Doesn’t look like there’s many here.”
He grinned; it only succeeded in making him look more maniacal. “17 souls if they are all here, which is rare.”
He pointed out of the left of the cab, over the station building. “This side of the road there’s the church and then two old cottages backing onto the small graveyard, used to house two elderly couples, now there’s, one couple and a widow. Next to them, beyond the chancel, is Ambrose House, really it’s a yuppie palace with one resident couple and normally a few weekend guests. Opposite the church is the vicarage. Opposite the station platform you can just see the old Trembine Arms, now empty I’m sad to say. On the other side of the railway tracks you can see the Old crossing Keeper’s cottage , mother and daughter there, and then I’m afraid the road deteriorates into a farm track with just Flosse cottage – one male inhabitant – and the rather grand Flosse Farmhouse with father, mother and five children, but only three normally live at home.”
Sarah finished the hot-pot and wiped out the bowl with a paper towel. “How far is this from the next village?”
He shrugged, “Five miles down the country road, but a million miles in terms of attitude.”
She sensed some resentment and decided to change the subject, “You a train enthusiast then.”
He turned away and looked out of the windscreen, “Not really, it was my nephew who was the enthusiast.”
“Sarah smiled tolerantly, “Lost his enthusiasm when he grew up did he?”
He gave the slightest shake of his head, “No he lost it when he was killed in a car crash four years ago.”
Sarah didn’t know what to say so she kept quiet and they both ended up staring out of the windscreen, she at the blowing snow and he somewhere into the not-to-distant past. Sarah suddenly realised what she was seeing and walked past Rupert to look out of the other side of her locomotive. The snow was alive with the power of the wind and gently rippling across the barren landscape until it encountered her train which was now beginning to resemble an ever-growing snow-dune. He muttered something under his breath then turned to Sarah, “I wouldn’t stay her too long if I was you, once the snow starts drifting hereabouts it soon builds up. Sarah was considering this when, without prelude, it suddenly started snowing again. One second clear unhindered visibility and the next near-blizzard conditions. Sarah began to fear the worse and called up signal control to tell them what was happening, they offered zero comfort. Estimated waiting time was, incredibly, still two hours as the engine sent to guide out the other train had broken down. Sarah began to fear the worst.
Three and a half hours later she felt no better. Rupert had long since departed and Sarah had had a long chat with Mr Gladbury. Firstly he was furious that her locomotive didn’t have a snow-plate fitted and secondly he had asked her to check that the camp-bed and sleeping bag were in the appropriate locker. That could mean only one thing, namely that he expected her to have to sleep in the cab overnight. She began to be thankful for the three small additions Cargo-Haul’s predecessor had made to the engine by adding a small loo, a locker with the said camp-bed plus sleeping bag, and a built in FM radio (stationary use only): she only hoped that her stay would not be too long.
Not too far away in the warm farmhouse Julia licked her fingers. Her mother rolled her eyes, “I do wish you wouldn’t eat the curry with your fingers.”
Julia tore off another piece of naan bread and proceeded to scoop up some more curry. “Best way.”
She glanced around the table at her three brothers and her parents; at least the snow had some spin-offs, one of which was a family meal around the kitchen table with nearly all the family present.
Having read the magazine Sarah turned the radio on and started listening to some programme or other about the decline in standards of written English. Her mind wandered and she began to think about her own life. Since leaving the insurance office she had had zero social life; she spent five days a week driving the train, Saturday doing housework and shopping, and Sundays at church and out walking alone. She decided that she wasn’t a recluse, but did like to be alone and that was one of the great bonuses of the job she did, she did it alone. On the other hand she knew that she was content and that she had no inner drive to socialise or change her lifestyle. Her musings were interrupted by a call from signal control confirmed her worst fears. The second engine initially dispatched to aid the other stranded freight train had been diverted to help a struggling passenger train on the main-line. Signal control estimated that, given the conditions, she would be stuck for at least eight hours. On the other hand they did have a crumb of comfort, the weather was supposed to change around midnight to driving rain so the morning should bring clear tracks. Sarah laid out the camp-bed and unrolled the sleeping bag. She’d slept in the cab twice before, both times when she’d been stuck in the shunting yard at Norwich. Just before she slipped into the bed she watched a Red Mitsubishi Four-wheel drive stop at the level crossing and then start to back up. She decided that, perhaps, the conditions weren’t that bad, after all if they could get through the snow couldn’t be that deep could it?
Chapter 3
Rupert
The stars twinkled as Julia sat on the edge of her bed in her warm bedroom and studied them. She’d slept fitfully for a few hours, but now felt wide awake so she did what she had always done, sit on the edge of her bed and gaze at the stars. Of all the things in her university years this had been the one thing she had missed. Out here there were no street lights and few house lights so the stars were visible in profusion; at university only the bright ones had shone through. She smiled at the irony, ‘only the bright ones had shone though.’ She’d not been classed as a ‘bright one,’ partially due to her natural reluctance to join social groups when there was work to be done, and partially because PE was regarded as a non-subject by many university tutors. But she had gained a first class honours degree and obtained a merit during her Post Graduate Teaching Certificate year. She’d also learnt to be wary of men and wary of her own emotions. Her mind turned to the recent upheaval at school and she wondered if she was deliberately being sidelined by the head teacher. She knew that he had a policy of not keeping long-term staff, partly because he believe in bringing in fresh blood and new ideas and partly because it was cheaper to employ young teachers than older hands. This morning had been a case
in point with his usual efficiency the head had written her a letter regarding her previous day’s interview. It was carefully worded and assured her that although she had been subject to ‘job rotation’ she would, as per the Sutton agreement, not suffer a drop in pay for two years. However, screaming out from between the lines was a broad hint that he didn’t expect her to be there in two years anyway. Julia wondered what to do. She could apply for other jobs, and in all probability get one. But she loved living in the country and loved living at home on the farm; so what to do? What actually irked her was not being given year 7 for RE, she actually quite liked the challenge; it was loosing the sports teams. That was where she got her major buzz, from taking a mismatched group of individuals and moulding them into a cohesive team; winning was an unexpected bonus. And she was being denied this, so if she moved schools would she be given the sports team to manage and would she get the same buzz? All of a sudden the stars began to be obscured by clouds and Julia flopped back into bed.
Sarah woke up at 4am to go to the toilet. The cab was absolutely pitch dark and freezing cold. Instead of turning the cab lights on she used a small torch to find her way and eventually snuggled back into her warm sleeping bag. Just before she went to sleep she realised that she couldn’t see any light from the signal; when she had first gone to sleep it had been in the rosy glow of the red light, but now there was nothing.
She awoke a second time to a knocking noise on the side of the cab. She wriggled out of the sleeping bag, but couldn’t open the cab window as it was frozen shut. She eventually opened the entrance door and peered out into a silent white world. Rupert was standing at the foot of the steps and displaying his inane grin, “Wondered if you’d like breakfast and a freshen up?”
She mentally licked her lips, but the rule-book took over, “I’m not supposed to leave my cab.”
He burst into a cackle of laughter, “Well no-ones going to steal it and you won’t be going anywhere. It’s been snowing most of the night and according to the local news there’s been some sort of signal failure.”
She glanced at the signal in from of her, it was still blank. “I’ll need to make a phone call, then I’ll catch you up, and thanks.”
He gave his stupid nod and wandered off calling for Hoff, who was nowhere to be seen. Sarah called into her administration centre, but there was no answer so she left a message on the ansaphone. Then she called signal control and got a highly frustrated Mr Knowles, who let her know in no uncertain terms that they had been working on the signal problem all night and would get round to her when they had time, but currently he had bigger fish to fry. Sarah for once smiled at his tirade, “I wouldn’t be in too much of a hurry,” she said smoothly, “looks like I’m snowed in. I can’t see the trucks behind me as snow has blown all over them and the snow in front is at platform height, you’ll have to send a snowplough to get me out, even then with the two of us we may not have enough traction to get started.”
He swore loud and long and she cut the call before he finished. Sarah picked up her mobile phone, climbed out of the engine, locking the door behind her, and followed Rupert’s footprints.
Julia lay in her warm bed in a cosy semi-comatose state listening both to the sounds of her family going about their business and the small clock radio beside her bed. Eventually the radio informed her that all schools were closed for the day and she turned it off, rolled over and went back to sleep in no time at all.
Passage in the snow was more difficult than Sarah imagined as it was almost waist deep once she moved out from the lee of the train, however, when she turned into the road the snow was, miraculously, only a couple of inches deep. She realised that the wind was blowing the street clean, but she pitied whoever was the recipient of the wind’s contents. As Rupert had said his rectory was opposite the church and one glance at it made her wonder if this was a wise decision. To call it ramshackle, she though, would be an understatement. She supposed that once it had been a grand cottage, but now the outside rendering was crazed, the paintwork peeling and the roof decidedly uneven. The inside seemed no better. The hall was cramped and dingy with a mouldy smell, fortunately there were also a number of convenient hooks to hang up her company supplied bright yellow waterproof. She walked down the hall and passed what was obviously Rupert’s study; she decided that she’d seen more organised rubbish dumps. She poked her head into the next room, that turned out to be a dining room, but an unused one as the dusty table was covered in scraps of paper that spilled over onto the floor. Finally, at the end of the hall, she walked into a marvellous oak-beamed room that made here stop and look. To her right was a modern compact kitchenette complete with a tiny breakfast bar and to her left was a long lounge with an inglenook fireplace at the far end, complete with a roaring wood burning stove, and the two of the biggest leather settees she had ever seen. Rupert was in the kitchenette peering suspiciously at the microwave’s buttons, he was wearing exactly the same clothes as the day before. Sarah walked quietly in, “How old is this place?”
Rupert looked up from his labours, “Depends on which part, this is about three hundred years old, the rest is a mere couple of hundred.”
Hoff suddenly appeared from round the back of one of the settees to give her a suspicious look and then return to his hidey-hole. The microwave sprang into life and Rupert suddenly looked pleased with himself. Sarah looked around, “Can I do anything?”
He gazed at her with a disconcerting far-away look for a few seconds before he turned away, “I don’t think so, why don’t you warm yourself by the fire. Take your boots off if you want to, Hoff and I don’t stand on ceremony.”
Sarah wandered down the lounge and stood in front of the fire; she stripped off her fleece lined boiler suit and took her boots off. She sat down and stretched her toes out towards the fire.
Rupert looked down the lounge at Sarah toasting her feet and wondered what he was going to do with her. The last time it had snowed like this they had been snowed in for eight days and six of those had been without power. Trembine Halt was off the beaten track and not on any priority snowplough list, besides with the flat countryside and the wind snowploughing was a fruitless task. He kept one eye on the microwave, he was always suspicious of the timer, and started to butter some toast. He mentally ran through the inhabitants of Trembine halt wondering with which one he could park Sarah. He certainly didn’t want her here as he liked his solitude; if you had guests you had to keep them entertained and that meant polite conversation and he hated polite conversation. He decided that he’d try Ma Jones in the cottages or Jenny Flosse at the farmhouse.
Rupert triumphantly carried the breakfast on a tray down to Sarah and plonked in unceremoniously on her lap before returning for his own tray. Sarah looked in horror at a bowl of hot and steaming lumpy porridge and two slices of carbonate toast plus a cup of what looked like immensely strong coffee. Before she had time to feed it to the dog Rupert returned and offered her a bowl of sugar, she liberally sprinkled it on the already setting porridge and tentatively started to eat, much more out of politeness than appetite. Rupert appeared not to notice the lumps of congealed porridge oats and tucked in without talking, which was just as well as the porridge seemed to adhere to every part of her mouth. She was saved from a fate worse than death by the telephone that started to ring in his study. As soon as he’d left to room she quickly sought out Hoff and proffered him the porridge, he turned up his nose at the mess and slunk away. Sarah dashed to the kitchen area and washed it down the sink, she prayed that it would be a long phone call as even the drain was reluctant to take it without protest. Fortunately she managed to dispose of the porridge and get back to her seat before her reappeared. He came and sat down with a far away look in his eye, “That was Giles – he’s a farmer over at Weeting – he says that the main road is impassable.”
Sarah nodded, she didn’t really want to speak as her mouth was now full of carbon dust, but at least the coffee swilled it away. He picked up his nicely fast setting
porridge and continued to eat. When he had consumed all the sticky mess he contorted his face into what she took for a smile, “So what are you supposed to do on occasions like this?”
She shrugged, “Sleep in the cab till it passes or find suitable accommodation nearby, the company will pay.” She laughed, “Well they will pay something, but it wouldn’t keep me in any reasonable hotel.”
Hoff suddenly appeared to eye Rupert’s black toast and move away before he could be offered any. Rupert seemed suddenly lost in thought and then nodded to himself, “Would you like me to try and find you some accommodation?”
Sarah relaxed, she had feared that he’d offer to let her stay here, “That would be kind.”
She stood up, “At least let me wash up.”
He acquiesced without a fight and wandered off, coffee mug in hand, towards his study. Hoff followed a few seconds later.
Julia woke up to her mother gently resting a tray down beside her bed. “Come on sleepy head, you can’t stay there all day. If you’re going to stay here you might as well help me in the kitchen or keep your father amused, he’s already stir crazy.”
Julia sat up and grabbed a slice of succulently buttered toast. “You needn’t do this mum.”
Jenny Flosse reached over and ruffled Julia’s hair. “I know, but it’s good to see you having a lie in what with school and training you’re never here in the mornings.”
She got up and waddled out. Julia made the most of her unexpected luxury - breakfast in bed.
Ten minutes after she had started to wash up Sarah was still hunting for the washing-up liquid. She’d quietly opened every cupboard in the kitchenette to be met by pots and pans of dubious vintage in the lower cupboards and obviously unused china in the higher cupboards. She was reaching the point of despair when she opened the small fridge and there, in the door pocket, was the washing-up liquid. She swiftly washed up and, in the absence of anything that looked like a tea-towel, left the dishes to dry. She wandered down to the settee nearest the fire and sat down. On impulse she lay down on the settee and put her head on a cushion, she was wondering why it smelt of ginger when she fell asleep.