style="font-size:15px;"> A thrill of excitement shot through Felicity Mitchell’s system as she stepped into the luxurious carriage and was ushered to her compartment by a man in a smart uniform who had introduced himself as Donald, her personal attendant. She passed several other compartments with their doors open and smiled at the couples who beamed back at her.
Booking a double suite in platinum class on the Indian Pacific was a hideous extravagance. She could have done the Sydney to Adelaide leg in the sitting compartment or even the gold class and saved a lot of money, but it had been a lifelong dream of hers to watch the world chug by as she lay on her double bed, looking out the window. She’d spent the last of her inheritance on the fare but she knew her grandpa, wherever he was now, would be proud.
They passed a compartment with a shut door before Donald stopped at the next one along. ‘Here you are,’ he said, indicating she should precede him.
Felicity entered the wood-panelled compartment dominated by a picture window. A small plate of cheese and biscuits sat on a low central wooden table. A long lounge that would become her double bed sat snugly against the wall between the window and a narrow cupboard where her bags had already been stowed.
‘This is your en suite,’ he said, opening a door opposite the lounge to show her the toilet and shower. It was a reasonable size considering the space constraints.
Donald gave her a quick run-down on her compartment and other bits of information about the service before asking if she’d like a glass of wine or champagne as the journey got under way.
Would she? Hell, yeah.
‘Thank you, Donald, I would love a glass of champagne.’
He smiled at her. ‘One glass of bubbles coming up.’
Felicity waited for him to leave before she danced a crazy little jig then collapsed onto the lounge in a happy heap. Workers scurried around on the platform outside, ready for the train’s departure in a few minutes. She couldn’t believe she was finally sitting in this iconic train about to begin the trip of a lifetime.
Donald returned quickly and handed her a glass full of fizz. ‘You’re just with us until Adelaide, that’s right, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, that’s right. I’d love to go on all the way to Perth. Maybe one day.’
The Indian Pacific was so called because it travelled the width of Australia between the Indian and Pacific oceans. The full trip from Sydney to Perth took three days. Her leg of the journey was only twenty-four hours.
‘I think you’ll enjoy yourself anyway,’ Donald said.
‘Oh, yes,’ Felicity agreed. ‘I have absolutely no doubt. I’ve been looking forward to this for most of my life.’
‘So, no pressure, then?’
Donald laughed and Felicity joined him as the train nudged forward. ‘And we’re away,’ he said.
Felicity looked out the window. The platform appeared to be moving as the train slowly and silently pulled away. ‘Let me know if you need anything. Dinner’s served at seven.’
Felicity nodded then turned back to the window, sighing happily.
* * *
Felicity emerged from her compartment half an hour later. She’d stared out the window, watching the inner city give way to cluttered suburbs then to the more sparse outlying areas as it headed for the Blue Mountains. And now it was time to meet her fellow travellers.
Her neighbour’s door was still firmly closed as she headed out. Maybe she didn’t have one yet. Maybe they’d be joining the train at a later stop? Quelling her disappointment, she headed for the place she knew people would be—the lounge.
And she hit the jackpot. Half a dozen couples smiled at her as she stepped into the carriage, her legs already adjusted to the rock and sway of the train. She stopped at the bar and ordered a glass of bubbles from a guy called Travis. It was poured for her immediately and she made her way over to the semicircular couches where everyone was getting acquainted.
‘Hi,’ she said.
The group greeted her as one. ‘Sit down here with us, love,’ said an older man with a Scottish accent. The woman with him moved over and made some room. ‘If you don’t mind me saying so, you don’t exactly look in the same demographic as the rest of us.’
Felicity laughed. ‘I have an old soul.’
Every other person in the lounge would have to have been in their sixties. At twenty-eight that made her the youngest by a good thirty years. Luxury train travel was clearly more a retiree option than a hip, young, cool thing to do.
But that was okay. She’d never been particularly hip or cool. She was a small-town nurse who genuinely liked and was interested in older people. She had a bunch of oldies at the practice who she clucked around like a mother hen and she knew this lot would probably be no different despite what would be a short acquaintance.
‘What do you do, dear?’ a woman with steel-grey hair over the other side of the lounge asked.
Felicity almost told them the truth but a sudden sense of self-preservation took over. If she told them she was a nurse, one of two things would happen. She’d have to give medical advice about every ache, pain or strange rash for the next twenty-four hours because, adore them as she did, too many people of the older generation loved to talk obsessively about their ailments. Or they’d pat her hand a lot and tell her continually that she was an angel.
If she was really unlucky, both would happen.
She might be a nurse but she was no saint and certainly no angel. In fact, that kind of language had always made her uncomfortable.
And she didn’t want to be the nurse from a small community where everyone knew her name on this train journey of a lifetime. She didn’t want to be the girl next door. She wanted to be as sophisticated and glamorous as her surroundings. She wanted to dress up for dinner and drink a martini while she had worldly conversations with complete strangers.
Nursing wasn’t glamorous.
‘Oh, I’m just a public servant,’ she said, waving her hand dismissively as she grabbed hold of the first job that came to mind. She doubted it was very glamorous either but it was one of those jobs that was both broad and vague enough to discourage discourse. Nobody really understood what public servants did, right? They certainly didn’t ask them about their jobs.
Or tell them about their personal medical issues.
‘What do you do?’ Felicity asked, and relaxed as the woman, called Judy, launched into a spiel about her job of forty years, which kicked off a conversation amongst them all about their former jobs, and that segued into a discussion about the economy and then morphed again into chatter about travel.
Felicity was in heaven. She was on a train surrounded by witty and enthusiastic companions on the inside and the rugged beauty of the Blue Mountains on the outside. For twenty-four hours she was determined to be a different person.
Tomorrow afternoon she’d be back home where everyone knew her name and stopped her in the street for advice about their baby’s fever, their weird allergies or their shingles. Where
