Page 38 of The Last Train Home
I order the same thing I had with Abbie all those months ago, including the nuggets and extra fries.
‘That sounds like a lot of food,’ she says. ‘Do we need all that?’
‘The Happy Meals are kind of small, if you’re an adult,’ I reason.
‘So why are you buying them then?’
‘Er …’ I mumble something about the toy and then I stop. I can’t be bothered any more. I feel worn down. I’ve tried. Actually I haven’t tried, and that’s why we’re in here, having this passive-aggressive exchange at the counter in McDonald’s.
When the server lays it all out in bags and a cup holder, I pay and grab as much as I can. Samantha looks at the cup holder the same way she’s looked at me, as if she can’t fathom what’s going on, how we ended up in here on Valentine’s Day, which is fair enough, I guess.
‘Could you grab the drinks?’ I ask. I’m holding twenty-three red roses and all the food. I’ve got nothing left, both physically and mentally.
She sighs, her shoulders rising and falling visibly. She reaches forward and takes them.
‘Are we going back to yours to eat?’
I look down the road at St Paul’s Cathedral, where I’d sat with Abbie last autumn. It’s a Tuesday night in February and it’s bloody cold now, so much so that I think it’s going to snow. Perhaps this idea has no legs whatsoever. Besides, I don’t want to take Samantha there. It’s kind of sacred to me. I’m already trying to replicate something fun that I did spontaneously with Abbie, but to replicate the location too feels wrong.
‘Yeah, let’s go to mine. I’ve got a bottle of champagne in the fridge that I bought when I got my bonus. Let’s have McDonald’s and champagne. Might taste odd when we dip our chips in, but—’
‘I’m not drinking, remember?’
‘Yes, yes, I do now. Sorry.’How could I forget?
Back at my flat, the first thing I do is open the little toy that comes with my meal. They’ve obviously moved on from Beanie Babies, because it’s a plasticChicken Littletoy this time. I wonder how often they change the free toys. Weekly? Monthly? I’ve not seen the film yet, so I’ve no idea who this little fella is.
Samantha’s automatically switched on the TV and is picking through her chips. She’s taken one bite from her burger and decided it’s not for her. I offer her the nuggets, but she shakes her head, opens her bottle of water and drinks as if she’s cleansing herself. When she gathers up all her rubbish, I notice she’s included the toy as part of it. She didn’t even break it free from its plastic wrapper.
Chapter 26
Tom
15 February 2006
I’ve already got Abbie a drink when she arrives. And I’ve snagged a good table in the corner where the old Victorian windows swoop round to the side. I’m amazed she came, actually. It’s clear from yesterday that she’s angry with me. I give her a smile and she gives me one back as she walks towards me, but it doesn’t look real.
Abbie’s here, but I don’t think she wants to be. At least when she says ‘Hi’ to me it’s not snappy and angry, like her greeting yesterday morning.
‘How are you?’ I ask.
‘Good. You?’ she sips her wine. ‘Thanks for this.’
‘No problem.’
We both shift in our chairs. Why is this so awkward?
‘So why do you need a friend?’ she asks, getting straight to the point. She doesn’t let me answer. ‘I thought about that a lot yesterday.’
‘Did you?’
She nods, sips again. ‘It worried me.’
I don’t know how to answer that, so I don’t.
‘Why did you react the way you did in your flat? I have to know. What’s going on with you, Tom?’
I see the pain in her eyes as she reminds me how I treated her in my flat, how we almost …
