The Train, Sarah Bourne [dark books to read .txt] 📗

at the TV. He called her name and she spun round, her face lighting up and making his heart skip a beat, just like they said it did in books when you saw the one you loved.

‘Shit, you’re beautiful,’ he heard himself say and she laughed and came and put her arms around him. He hoped the people in the waiting room saw this gorgeous woman was there for him and then he lost himself in her perfume, the touch of her skin, the softness of her lips.

4

Ray

Ray couldn’t concentrate on the newspaper. He rarely read them these days, but not being a regular commuter, it had seemed like the thing to do at the station. Buy a paper to read on the train. It was almost a conditioned response. Maybe it was all that kept print media going, all those sheep who did the same thing, day in, day out, not because it was desired, but because they didn’t think. He preferred to get his information from the BBC news when he got in from work, opened a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc, poured a glass for himself and Russell and sipped his wine as he prepared a plate of cheese and crackers.

Russell always got in a few minutes after him. They’d kiss hello, Russell would move through the flat like a tornado, throwing his briefcase into a corner in the bedroom, opening windows, peeling off suit and tie, pulling on jeans and T-shirt. It was funny, thought Ray, how he didn’t feel like he was home until Russell had cluttered the place up and flopped down in front of the TV in his loose-limbed way, remote in hand. Only then did Ray feel like he could breathe properly, that his world had taken its proper shape. In spite of Russell’s untidiness and his inability to talk about his feelings, Ray loved him completely and still couldn’t believe Russell, ten years younger than him and a hundred times better-looking, loved him back.

He stared at the headlines. It was all about the EU referendum. Remain or leave. Ray was firmly in the Remain camp. Britain was no longer the centre of an empire with markets hungry for its goods and resources in colonies around the world to plunder. They needed the EU even if it meant more rules and regulations than you could poke a stick at and the sense, sometimes, that the whole thing was like a juggernaut with a slightly defective gearbox.

The train lurched and came to an abrupt stop with a screeching of locked wheels. Ray grasped hold of the window ledge, pressed his feet into the floor and held his breath. They came to a halt amidst newspapers littering the floor and eyebrows being raised but no one said a thing. All eyes turned towards the windows as if the answer to the question no one had voiced would appear on the grimy glass.

Ray, who had somehow held on to it, put his paper down on his lap and wiped his hands on his hanky. He folded it carefully and put it back in his pocket, took out his glasses case and the special little cloth and cleaned his glasses which he had recently had to start wearing. It made him feel old, needing glasses, but Russell had helped him choose the frames – heavy and dark – and said he thought Ray looked distinguished and sexy, had even asked him to wear them when they made love.

He fiddled with his ring, rolling it round and round on his finger. The ring Russell had given him last winter as a token of his commitment. It was a silver Claddagh ring, two hands holding a heart. Ray had given Russell a plain gold band inscribed on the inside with Ray <3 Russell. It was a bit corny but it was all that would fit. Ray had actually wanted to write that Russell was the best thing that had ever happened to him and he hoped they would grow old together.

A click and a scratchy sound preceded a tinny voice. ‘We are sorry for the delay which is due to unforeseen circumstances. At this time we cannot say how long it will be. We will keep you posted. Sorry for any inconvenience.’

The woman sitting across the aisle from him looked at the man opposite her. ‘Body on the line, I suspect. Wonder how long we’ll be stuck here?’

The man to whom the comment was addressed looked at her but made no comment.

‘Poor bugger,’ she added, too late.

The man still offered no response and the woman shrugged and got back to her book.

Ray’s heart was beating fast. A body – really? His first thought was that it was so early. He’d always imagined people desperate enough to kill themselves would wait until later in the day. After dark even, when things can sometimes look worse than they are. The lonely time when you imagine everyone else is at home with a partner or their family, tucking in to a home-cooked meal instead of something picked up from M&S on the way home and heated in the microwave, eaten alone with too many glasses of wine. His next thought was that it might make him late for his doctor’s appointment. He was about to look at his watch when he bit his lip and let his hand fall back into his lap. What a callous thing to think, he chided himself. If it was a body (he shuddered at the idea), it was the desperate act of a person grappling with their demons. Someone who could no longer see a way out of their predicament, no path back to the light. He wasn’t a religious person but he found himself, in the absence of anything more useful to do, repeating the Lord’s Prayer to himself. It was the only thing he could remember from Sunday school all those years ago apart from the hardness of the pew under his non-existent