Page 34 of The Last Train Home
Without explaining my reasons, I asked if I could think about it. Sean took it so gracefully it endeared him to me even more. And then we bought hot, steaming cups of mulled wine and went for a walk along the Embankment, holding hands and making plans to see each other tonight before he goes away to the Maldives. And I felt so safe, so happy, so content that I knew that yes, I did want to be Sean’s girlfriend. I want everything that entails, but the moment had passed to say it back.
And now I’m in a hotel suite with Sean, and it’s midnight as one year finishes and a new one starts. He wraps his arms around me and I turn away from the sparks shooting through the sky and look at him – right at him. I trace the curve of his mouth with my finger and he closes his dark eyes. Then I pull back, and his eyes open and he looks at me with a hint of amusement. ‘What?’ he asks, softly.
‘Yes, please,’ I say shyly, days after he asked me. ‘I would like to be your girlfriend.’
His smile widens and his eyes crease at the edges in happiness. ‘What took you so long?’ he asks.
I lean in to kiss him. ‘I have no idea.’
Chapter 23
Tom
February 2006
I wake to find my hands shaking and my heart racing. Am I having some kind of panic attackwhile I’m asleep? Is that even possible? I sit up, pull on my running gear and decide I’m going to have to run this all out of my head. Running always stops me thinking.
I head down towards the river and join the few others who are also out bright and early, stopping by the coffee shop at Embankment Tube to get an early-morning coffee and croissant fix. I think I’m their first customer of the day; they look a bit startled, but it might have been the way I entered the shop, suddenly and with no care as to whether the door hit the wall, swung back and then hit me in the face.
I’ve got plenty of time before I need to be at work, so I can afford to linger, walking through Embankment Gardens where in the summer they put deckchairs out. I must come here one day in summer and just sit. I won’t do that, though. As I walk back towards the river there’s a homeless guy and I open my wallet to hand him a fiver, although I remember all my notes have gone. I had to use them to bung the cleaning team somecash again. I give him a couple of quid, because it’s all I’ve got, and then I turn back and hand him the still-wrapped croissant in its paper bag. He thanks me and tucks in eagerly.
I enter the network of little lanes near my office. I reckon half the people who wander near Fleet Street and St Paul’s never even know this lot’s here, which is why I like living where I do. It’s right in the centre of the City, close to my office, and it’s so quiet at weekends that it doesn’t feel much like London at all.
As I take in the scene around me, I suddenly notice Abbie riding past on her bike. I don’t immediately realise it’s her. But it is.
‘Abbie!’ I yell her name and she skids to a startled stop, puts both her feet on the ground and turns in her seat to look at me.
Her face falls immediately, which cuts me so hard. I’d never have expected her to look so devastated at seeing me. The few times I imagined this happening I thought she’d be shy, and so would I, that we’d hug awkwardly and possibly even joke about what a dick I’d been that night. But four months on, I didn’t expect her to look at me the way you look at the underside of your shoe when you step in dog shit.
‘Yeah?’ she says without any hint of emotion whatsoever.
I walk towards her to close the gap between us. I’m going to have to ignore her ambivalence and make small talk, regardless. It looks as if me walking towards her is the very last thing she wants.
‘Hi,’ I say.
With some effort she says ‘Hi’ back and waits for me to continue. She really has nothing to say to me, after all this time?
‘How are you?’ I ask.
‘I’m OK.’ She sounds stilted. ‘How are you?’
God, this is awkward. ‘Yeah, good.’ I have nothing else in the reserve tank. I don’t know what else to say now.
I miss you. That’s what I want to say. It’s the truth. So I’m going in for it. ‘I mi—’
But she opens a verbal assault on me. ‘Why didn’t you tell Sean how we met?’
‘Sorry?’ I ask.
‘You told Sean we met on the Tube.’
‘Yeah?’
She looks at me. ‘Why didn’t you tell him what actually happened?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. He asked me how we met and I think I did just utter the words “on the Tube”, and I wasn’t really able to think or do anything useful, much, immediately after that day. He assumed I’d been out and was on the Tube, drunk, and that we’d started talking. And because thatishow we met, I didn’t bother filling in the rest of it. I didn’t tell him what happened immediately afterwards.’
She’s staring at me uncomprehendingly. ‘Why not? Why didn’t you correct him?’
