London

“Are you okay?”

The man in the berth below had a note of real concern in his voice. He waited for Iain’s answer, but he didn’t reply. Iain’s mind was elsewhere, far away from the cramped, two-berthed compartment of the train hauling itself out of Euston station. There was urgency now in the man’s voice, genuine worry. It was a long way to Carlisle, so he repeated the question.

“Aye, I’ll be fine,” Iain replied. “I just had to say goodbye to someone.” His eyes began to smart again and he swallowed hard.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I think so.” He lied.

“The name’s Adam, by the way. I’m here if you’d like to speak about it. Let me know if you want the light on.”

A long, pregnant silence followed. Iain didn’t speak again until the lights of Euston station had been left behind, and now the words came a little easier.

“I’m sorry about that, I think I’ve left my head somewhere. Thanks for asking after me, I just had a great time in London. My first visit in fact.” As he recalled the last few hours, a slight smile creased the corners of his mouth. “Now that I think about it, I don’t think that I’ve been happier in my life.”

Adam seemed unconvinced. “You’ll forgive my scepticism, but given the state you’re in…” His voice trailed off for a few seconds. Although he didn’t want to appear intrusive, Adam’s curiosity had been awakened. He tried to offer some comfort, the advice of a more experienced man, but not wanting it to sound as glib as it perhaps did.

“Well, whatever has happened to you, I’m sure you’ll soon get over it.”

Iain smiled grimly, keeping his counsel for a few moments until he let it go, almost tearing his confession from his own throat. “I just spent two days with the most special woman I’ve met, but I’m never going to see her again.”

“Never?” Adam fidgeted in the darkness, propping his head against the pitiful excuses for pillows he had been given, trying to make himself comfortable for the long journey north. “Why don’t you tell me about it. I’m a psychologist, you know, and I don’t charge much.” He chuckled, a low throaty laugh that seemed to come from his feet. Iain wondered to himself, tempted to let the fog of sleep overwhelm him and allow him to forget, for a few hours at least. Against his own better judgement, he found his voice, low and cracked though it was.

“Everything started a few months ago,” Iain began with great effort. “One Saturday evening in the middle of July. I remember it very well, such a beautiful day, warm and sultry, not like Aberdeen at all. The kind of heat that makes you sweat just standing still.” Iain shifted to make himself more comfortable. “It’s the little things about the day that stick in my mind, strangely enough. My boss and I at work were bored out of our minds because there was so little work to be done and I had sat in the sunshine on the roof while I had lunch. Looking back now, it’s the chain of coincidences that stagger me more than anything.”

Adam shifted slightly and sipped quietly from a bottle of water. “How do you mean?” he asked gently, as the train picked up speed as it left the outskirts of London. Iain could almost feel the distance grow with every passing moment. He felt detached, like something vital was missing.

“There were so many things that should have stopped us stumbling across each other”, Iain said, laughing slightly. “I have these random memories of that day, like I had to run for the last bus home, or that I couldn’t be bothered taking time to cook something. Little things, like I say. Like watching the soft light of the evening sun drain away over the city skyline, or the breeze tickling my face…”

Iain went quiet again for a few minutes, forgetting the presence of his berth-mate. Adam prompted him again with a further question. “So where did you meet? Did you head out that evening?”

Grinning to himself, Iain stifled a little laugh. “Not really. She was in Boston that night, you see.” Adam was about to ask what he meant, but Iain interrupted him. “You’re going to have to promise me now not to laugh, because we met in somewhat, ah … strange circumstances.”

“Strange?”

“Well, unconventional is probably a better description…”



Waterloo Station

It was a conspiracy. The Northern Line had ground to a halt that night, separating them before they could say goodbye properly. They weren’t even given a chance. One sweet, lingering kiss and Iain had to go, and take the last available train to Euston. Frida climbed the stairs, looking back just the once, while he fumbled blindly to get onto the Tube. She didn’t know what to think now as she boarded the train for Southampton, sitting down quietly and gazing out of the window at nothing in particular, wondering why she felt like she did.

Was it all a dream? She wondered as her eyes dampened. Did all that really happen? She could only recall lying alongside him in the hotel room while they stared at each other in disbelief. He was very quiet then, unsure of what to say. They were both well aware of time as it mercilessly ran away from them, until the moment came when they had to part.

Frida had hoped for a quiet journey home and to be left to her thoughts but the train now started to fill up, businessmen working late and on their way home mostly, but one woman sat opposite Frida. She looked at Frida every now and again as the journey got underway, a covert glance every minute or so. Frida’s position hadn’t changed. She remained motionless, quietly looking out of the window into the darkness, wondering why her thoughts didn’t seem to be her own. Not even the drinks trolley rattling to a stop next to her seat stirred Frida. The woman bought a cup of tea for herself, and leaned across to Frida.

“Would you like a cup of tea? You look like you could do with one.” Her voice was soothing, warm as caramel, and Frida found it strangely comforting.

“Well, I hope whatever has happened to you will be resolved soon. Nothing is as bad as it seems, believe me,” she said, removing the plastic lid from the cup of tea. As the tendrils of steam evaporated into the air, she offered Frida her warmest smile.

Frida took notice of her companion’s efforts to comfort her and after a few seconds of hesitation, she decided to accept the woman’s silent invitation and share her story with her. Frida knew all too well that she would not have another chance to share her experience with anyone. No one could be allowed to know her secret; it would have to remain hidden, buried from everybody else.

“It is complicated,” Frida finally said, looking at the table.

“I’m sure it is.”

Frida shuddered a little. The woman sounded so much like her mother, and she could feel an immense melancholy settling over her again.

“I just spent one night with someone very special and I am afraid we will never meet again. He is gone, leaving London, and my life, as we speak. And there is nothing I can do about it, absolutely nothing.”

As she finished speaking, Frida caught sight of her reflection in the window. She wondered whether she would be able to cope with the sadness of those memories. Even thinking about him hurt because she knew they were never going to see each other again. Maybe it would be better not to think, just file away the experience in her memory and let the train take her back to Southampton and rest.

Tomorrow will be different. I can deal with it then, like I do everything else. Everything will be fine then, he’ll be far away and gone, and the pain will go.


“Where did you meet him?” Frida found her thoughts interrupted by the woman.

“Pardon?” Frida slowly returned to her senses, as the woman smiled back.

“Is he a Londoner?”

Frida smiled for the first time in over an hour. “Oh no, he’s not. He’s Scottish and travelled all the way down from Aberdeen just to see me. Isn’t that romantic?”

Of course it is! It was the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me, and I don’t need a stranger to tell me that I’m right.

“He looks like a Scotsman as well, you know.” Frida added a little more information to help her companion create a more honest and complete picture of Iain in her mind. And because she loved it.

“Is he ginger?”

“I’m afraid so,” Frida replied, flashing a smile at her companion. Both women laughed, until Frida resumed her story. “As I said, it is complicated. It has been since the day we met.” Frida stopped herself for a few seconds from blurting it all out. She wanted to collect her thoughts to try and convey to the woman just how accidental and overwhelming their meeting was.

“Go on darling. You’ve got me intrigued!”

“Well, it was all so unexpected. I met him last July while I was in Boston teaching. It was the day before I had to fly back to England, and I remember it being terribly hot. I was feeing happy, I had done well in those three weeks, so I decided to book myself into a hotel near the airport rather than staying in the dorm room at the university for one more night.”

Frida’s mind wandered while she described the hotel to her new friend. She was back there, struggling up the stairs with her case and cursing silently when the door failed to open at the first few attempts. But she was soon inside the big, bright room, so much more welcoming than the dorm she had found herself in over the last few weeks. She was particularly pleased by the king-sized bed – or was it a queen? Breaking from her day-dream she found herself looking at the roof of the train, half-expecting the answer to drop from the sky. She was annoyed she couldn’t remember that little detail, as though she couldn’t progress without recalling it. The woman was looking at her quizzically now and Frida shook her head gently, driving the cobwebs away.

“Oh well, it doesn’t matter”, she declared, making herself comfortable in her seat. “The most important thing was that the wireless was free and working okay.”