I didn’t mean to fall asleep,’ he apologised. ‘It’s just that trains always make me nod off.’ He smiled to ease the tension.
The woman nodded. ‘I was worried, that’s all.’ She lowered her voice. ‘You were moaning … upset.’
He grimaced. ‘It was just a bad dream.’ When she smiled and looked away, he found refuge in his newspaper.
But there was no refuge in his heart.
The woman frowned to herself. A lot of young men had come back from the war in a terrible state. Poor chap; it must be that.
As the train chugged onwards, the billowing steam outside his window blocked his vision. His mind came alive with thoughts of how it used to be. He saw them all in his mind’s eye: the woman he had loved, small and slim with big bright eyes and a smile that could light up a cloudy day. And the children: Ellie, quiet and reflective with a gentle nature, and Peter, the younger one, wild and wilful, with a free, adventurous spirit. So different, yet so alike, in their kindness and generosity.
Reaching into his pocket he took out his wallet, pulling out a small photograph of them all … Bournemouth Sands, June 1951. His heart fell like a stone inside him. It seemed incredible to think that that wonderful holiday was just a year ago, and now, God help him, there would be no more.
‘Is that your family?’ The kindly old soul pointed at the photograph as he returned it to his pocket. ‘I always wanted a daughter, but was never blessed with another child.’
Gesturing to his pocket, she added, ‘Lovely-looking children.’ Giving the cheekiest of winks, she whispered, ‘Mind you, I can see how they might be handsome, with a father as attractive as you.’
Smiling and embarrassed, he wasn’t quite sure how to answer that, so he glanced out the window and pretended to be interested in the shifting landscape.
The woman saw his embarrassment. She thought him too good-looking for words. Discreetly observing the dark blue eyes, and the thick shock of golden-brown hair, she was sent back to her youth, when she could have had the pick of any young man. Sadly those days were gone and now, grey and old, she had too many regrets to contemplate.
‘I don’t mean to embarrass you,’ she apologised, ‘but when I’m anxious, I tend to talk a lot.’ Her face crumpled into a frown. ‘I must admit I hate these trains – noisy, dirty things. And I mean … you’re not in control, are you?’
‘We’re never “in control”,’ he answered thoughtfully. He knew all about that. He knew from experience how one minute everything was perfect, filled with love and joy, and, before you knew it, your whole world was turned upside down.
The steam whistle blasted noisily as they entered a tunnel. ‘Ooh!’ The old woman shivered. ‘I’ll be glad to reach London. I know I shan’t relax till then.’
He nodded. ‘You’re doing fine,’ he answered; then turned away to concentrate his thoughts.
Thinking she was becoming a nuisance, she tutted. ‘I’m sorry … keep chatting away … I hope you don’t mind?’
‘No. You talk away, if it helps,’ he suggested with a smile. ‘I really don’t mind.’
‘Only, you’ve been so quiet since I sat beside you, I thought you might be one of those people who like to be left alone?’ She giggled like a schoolgirl. ‘My son warned me not to be a nuisance. He knows how some folks don’t want to be bothered. You will tell me if I’m being a nuisance, won’t you?’
‘I promise, you’re not being a nuisance.’ He shook his head. ‘It’s just that I never find it easy to strike up a conversation.’
Encouraged, she chatted on about the new Queen, and when a short time later she started to nod off, he began to relax. When he relaxed, however, it was inevitable that he should be overwhelmed by the faces of the woman and children in that photograph. He had loved them with a passion that frightened him. Now, they were gone and all he had left was memories … of when they were walking in the park, he and Sheila laughing at the children’s antics, and afterwards eating in that pretty little café by the riverside, where they would throw leftovers to the ducks.
The memories rolled through his mind like the reel of a film. For one precious minute they made him smile; then they were breaking his heart.
‘Do you think it will be long before we get there?’ The elderly woman woke as suddenly as she had nodded off. ‘I’ve never been to London before. I wouldn’t be going now, if my only son hadn’t taken his family and moved down there.’ She continued wistfully, ‘I’ve got four beautiful grandchildren. I’ve missed them.’
Attempting to reassure her, he replied confidently. ‘Won’t be long now,’ he said. ‘And London’s fine. After a while you get used to it. I work for a big development corporation there,’ he confided.
She gave a wry grin. ‘I would have gone with them,’ she admitted. ‘My son wanted us to, but my husband is a cantankerous old sod. The furthest he’ll go is to the bottom of the garden and back.’
He smiled pensively. ‘I envy him.’
‘Why’s that?’ She was genuinely surprised by his statement.
‘Why, because he sounds contented.’ He would have given anything at that moment to be ‘contented’.
She gave a sorry little smile. ‘Unlike me! I’ve always been discontented! All the years we’ve been wed, I was the one who loved the dancing and going out – especially during the war, you know – but he was never that way inclined. He was an ARP warden. I expect that was enough excitement for him. If he could he’d be happy to sit by the fireside of a winter’s night, and potter about in the garden in the summer. I always put it down to laziness or lack of enthusiasm, but now I think about it, you could be right.’
His remark made her wonder. ‘Happen he’s just been “contented” all along.’ She gave a long, weary sigh. ‘It’s sad really. We’ve always been so very different in what we want. But he so depends on me, you see.’
When the tears rose in her eyes and she abruptly returned her attention to her book, he felt desperately sorry for her. He could imagine how this dear old woman and her husband might be mismatched; he assumed there were many couples like that: having stayed too long together, it was now too late for any chance of a new life for either of them.
Looking away, he peered out to where the countryside resembled a giant eiderdown, with misshapen patches of browns, yellows and melting shades of green. In the far distance, beyond the cotton-wool puffs from the train’s funnel, he could see a lake, shimmering and twinkling. At other times that beautiful sight would have gladdened his heart, but not now.
His own thoughts invaded the quietness. He had tried to go on, but it was impossible. This latest trip had been sheer hell! He found he could no longer conduct his business in that sharp, decisive way he used to. Too many things played on his mind. Dear God! Would there ever be any peace?
Right now, he didn’t even want to think about it. He wanted to wake up and find it was all a nightmare, that all was well and his family would be waiting at home, just like always. He laughed softly, a hard, cynical emotion cutting through his heart like a knife. It was not a nightmare, and he would not wake up from it; not for a long time; maybe never. Anger invaded his senses.
