City Break
I should have realised things were coming to a head when I drove the wrong way to work. I had been at the same school for fourteen years so I knew the way. Turning into the bus station forecourt was curious too, especially as anyone who knows me would tell you, if I was going to get away from it all, I wouldn't go on a coach, I'd take a train. Once I did get to school, the feeling of strangeness faded but it didn't quite go away.
That evening, James got home later than usual. I heard his car pull in and then the ignition go off. I found myself waiting to hear the door, my cup of tea half way to my mouth. ‘I want to go away,' I blurted, even before hello.
‘Good,' he said, turning on the telly, ‘how soon are you going?'
There'd been a lot of that sort of thing lately. Months, I suppose. Mostly, I'd manage to ignore it, but sometimes I felt kind of shaky. James would be sly in his criticism or silent when I suggested doing anything together. This was the most direct he had ever been and it had been the hard edge to his voice mixed with something like relief that hurt the most. But I didn't confront him. Instead, I planned my trip, looking up some train times on the web. There was a special offer on the ticket to Edinburgh, an off peak return for thirty eight pounds; I think that was what decided me in the end.
Ten whole hours on a train. I looked at the map. From Truro I'd go up on the left, via the Lake District, down on the right, through Newcastle. I'd get to see the whole country if I didn't fall asleep. I felt sleepy quite a lot during the days and wide awake most nights. James came to bed long after me, waking me with his noisy reading of the paper. Then he'd turn off the light and fall straight into loud snoring sleep. I wished he would just disappear I suppose, not just his physical reality but all the whispering memory of him as well.
At school, my friend and colleague Jane, was sympathetic about my troubled marriage but not at all keen on my trip to Edinburgh.
‘Sarah darling, what are you thinking of?' she said, ‘you don't want to go north.' The huge North reared up in my head, all ice sheets and glaciers. ‘Whatever possessed you?' she continued, ‘surely, the thing to do, especially at times like these, is to go south.'
‘Is it?' I said, there isn't much south of Truro and the only thing that I thought of was The South Bank Show and Melvin Bragg, ‘I thought I might go to a few galleries.'
‘You are a funny thing, Sarah,' she sighed, ‘if I was in your shoes, I'd splash out on a new wardrobe and take off for the sun.'
I looked down at my shoes, brown loafers bought two or three years ago at M&S. Jane's shoes had kitten heels and were rather special but how did she walk in them?
Often, I imagined myself on the train. I'd be looking out of the window at a sunny view across sweeping landscapes. The newspaper is on a table in front of me, open at the cryptic crossword page where, already, half of it is filled in. There'd be coffee or even a glass of wine at lunchtime. But things aren't often just like you imagine, are they. It was raining when the taxi pulled up, not badly, but the sort that makes visibility poor. At the station, the platform was crowded and being half-term, mostly with children. When I found my seat on the train, I discovered I was sharing my table with a two year old, a five year old and their mother who clearly needed six months sleep. The reservation ticket on the seat said they were going to Crewe.
There was no possibility of looking at the crossword as I had to have my bag on my lap so I gazed out at a milky landscape and imagined Jane, jetting off to Tenerife or somewhere else south. Plymouth is only an hour or so from Truro, but I was already sensing the circulation in my feet was suffering. The children were exemplary, the younger one nodded off as soon as the train started moving. I must have dozed off too for I woke later to the sound of tickets please, loud and close by.
Seasoned travellers would have their tickets to hand. Mine was in my purse at the bottom of my bag. Or so I thought. I was mildly surprised not to find it; perhaps it was in my wallet where I had secreted further monies only to be spent in emergencies. It wasn't there either. I rummaged about in increasing panic. The child opposite looked at me and then turned to the Inspector, ‘perhaps it's lost,' she said.
‘It must be in my suitcase,' I said, climbing out of my seat, but staggering owing to the lack of blood in my legs. He frowned and stood his ground. My suitcase was two thirds of the way down a great heap that spilled out of the racks and onto the floor. Maybe it was the onset of severe pins and needles, or just the blood rushing downwards but something happened then, my emotional waters broke is how I now think about it. I started to cry. Big sploshy tears with no possibility of restraint. It was my little red suitcase crushed by the assorted luggage of other people's lives. Suddenly, everything I loved was in that suitcase. I could hear a low moaning coming from inside me. It welled up and burst out in a sobbing wail.
A firm grip on my arm propelled me through the automatic door and into the first class carriage next door. It was quiet and nearly empty. The ticket inspector sat me down and handed me a large cotton handkerchief, the like of which I hadn't seen since I was a child. It was neatly folded and clean.
‘I thought it would come in handy one day,' he said, ‘my father always carried a proper handkerchief just for emergencies such as these.'
I'm afraid to say I had to blow very noisily into it.
‘Are you feeling a bit better now, love?'
‘Yes, thank you,' I said, hiccupping, ‘I do have a ticket, really I do...' I couldn't bring myself to look at this source of sudden kindness but he sat down opposite me. Not young, not handsome or in any way prepossessing but with a twinkly eye and an expression of lively concern.
‘Don't you worry about that,' he said, ‘I'm sure you do. You can tell when someone's trying to pull the wool over your eyes and I don't think you're one of them. Not unless you're a famous actress or something; doing a turn like that would win you an Oscar.' He laughed easily, but without any hint of derision. ‘Now,' he went on, ‘can I get you a cup of tea? Two sugars? Or are you sweet enough as it is?'
I nearly started up all over again.
Andy was the train manager. Ticket inspectors were something else altogether, he informed me on one of his several visits during the journey. He was going all the way to Edinburgh and even though I was scheduled to change at Birmingham and get a faster train, I decided to stay on the slower one and go first class all the way. Ten minutes short of Warrington he told me about his ex-wife, Susan. I told him about James approaching Wigan and had another, quieter, weep. But by Lancaster, I had nearly lost the blotchy complexion and Rudolph nose and in the loo, I cautiously dabbed at my mouth with a lipstick as the train rolled from side to side. We had made inroads into the crossword, spread out on the table. It's amazing how a good knowledge of public transport can help with some of the more obscure clues. Just before Penrith, Andy brought me a glass of wine. The weather had cleared and the Lake District was dressed in bright, spring green.
When Andy went to do train managery things I flicked through the newspaper supplement. Suddenly fashion seemed interesting. Weren't those shoes just like the ones Jane wore? Flattering for the ankles. That would be no bad thing. I might just do a little shopping in Edinburgh.
I had splashed out a little for this trip, not on a wardrobe or even shoes, but on a good, central hotel, right on Princes Street in fact, with a view up to the castle. When I arrived, the receptionist asked me for a credit card as proof of identity so I got out my purse and amazingly, there, nestling alongside my Visa card, was the train ticket. Only half an hour previously, I had carefully stored a small piece of paper with Andy's phone number on it, in the change section.
Edinburgh did not fail me. There were galleries and museums galore but one picture pleased me more than anything. It was of a solitary man skating. He took up most of the canvas. Dressed in black, one leg on the ice, the other stuck out at an angle behind him, he was in sharp profile, the brim of his hat and his pointy nose pressing forward with urgency, as if at any second he would skate right out of the picture frame. With such poise he cut an impressive figure. That his skates should be tied up with pink laces endeared him to me even further. On the way back from the gallery, I passed a shoe shop; a fashion shoe shop, I could hear my mother's disapproving voice say. In the window was a pair of pink suede kitten heels with small bows on the side. I thought they looked rather nice but when I put them on, I thought they just looked, well, it has to be said, awesome. I tried out the skater's pose. Yes, total transformation in the leg department!
Back at the hotel, I had a shower and pampered myself with all the goodies provided. Teetering down to dinner in my new shoes, I noticed heads turn in my direction. Did I look good or ridiculous? I had lost all sense of myself. James never paid me a compliment and Jane thought I was frumpy, I was sure, although she often implied I could look better. Trying to glide towards my table, I thought of the easy movement of the skater in the picture. He looked perfectly content, but how thick was the ice beneath his feet?
I slept badly. Trouble at home wouldn't go away just because I'd sat on a train for a long time. I'd liked Andy, but it was much too soon to start up another relationship. I didn't know my own mind. I was just flattered, grasping at straws. I wouldn't phone him. Besides, he was probably just being nice; he could see I needed a lift. There had been a little something between us, but nothing heart stopping.
‘I'm not going to pester you,' he'd said, writing his number on the corner of the newspaper, ‘I know you're going through a difficult time, but I would...' he caught hold of my hand, ‘I really would like to see you again.'
I definitely wouldn't phone him. James phoned me though. He wanted to know if I'd arrived safely. Perhaps some habits are too hard to break.
I visited the castle and bought a postcard for Jane, thinking to write it over a cappuccino. The whole place was full of noise and crawling with people. Suddenly, I felt a wave of claustrophobia wash over me, as if I was being buried alive. Huge heaps of tumbling luggage came into mind. Maybe that was when I lost the piece of paper with Andy's number on, as I was fumbling for some small change. After I'd bought the card, I left the castle and found a quieter place to have coffee. It was then I discovered my loss. I couldn't phone Andy even if I wanted to.
May is still a changeable month, especially so far north. Clouds gathered, rain fell and I felt more and more glum. What was I doing here all on my own? I decided to visit my skater again and buy myself a postcard. The Reverend James Walker by Edward Raeburn was still there, gliding along, unperturbed by the tribulations of the world. He made it all look so easy.
On the train back, I looked up every time the door whooshed open, but when the train manager did call out tickets please, it was with a woman's voice. Of course, it was stupid to even think it might be Andy, but I was disappointed all the same. A lot disappointed. The journey stretched before me and then I'd be home. I sighed. Couldn't I just stay on the train forever and never have to arrive anywhere?
Eight hours later, I couldn't wait to get off. James hardly glanced up when I walked in but he heard me loud and clear.
‘We've come to the end of the line,' I said, ‘I've had enough.'
Something like a mountainload of weight fell from me then. I took my case upstairs to the spare room and unpacked, propping up the little skater postcard against the bedside lamp. I took it to school with me the following week. Jane was curious.
‘It's a reminder,' I said, ‘skating is all about being serene in the face of uncertainty. I'm trying to be serene.'
‘Shall we go serenely shopping sometime?' she said, ‘to see if we can get an outfit to go with those new shoes? How about the new mall in Plymouth?'
We caught an early train. Jane was just showing me some pictures of Tenerife on her camera when a voice said,
‘Is Madam travelling with a ticket this trip?' Andy slid into the seat opposite, ‘I see you've brought a chaperone with you this time. Very wise.'
Jane looked at Andy and then at me, at him, then back at me. Her eyes bulged.
‘Well, you have to be careful on trains,' I said, ‘you never know who might run into.' I couldn't keep my face straight. A big smile was stretching across it from side to side. ‘We're only going to Plymouth today,' I said, ‘do you know Plymouth?' His eyes were even twinklier than I remembered. ‘It has an ice rink. Have you ever been skating?'
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