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

graveyard or whether it would be condemned to dwell forever away from God’s grace, in unconsecrated ground. And was it a body anyway – what did the remains of someone look like when hundreds of tons of train had run into them? He shifted in his seat and bowed his head again. This time he was praying for the driver, the last man to look into the eyes of the deceased. Sandeep prayed he would find comfort in God’s loving care and forgiveness.

Raising his head, he gazed out into the field and thought how much Abby would like wherever it was they were. She’d talked about maybe moving out of Milton Keynes to the countryside when they were married. She’d been raised on a farm and was used to helping with the animals and baling the hay or whatever they did with it. The idea made his blood curdle. He may have been born in a village in India but his parents had transplanted him to another country, to the greatest city in the world and he could not countenance the idea of a backward step, for that’s what it would be. It had been bad enough having to move to Milton Keynes for his previous job and now not being able to afford to buy a house back in London.

The girl in the oversized coat was reading, her cheeks red. He hoped she was all right – one casualty was enough for one day. The man next to her cleared his throat and she glared at him and tried to shift further away from him although she was already crammed against the window. He wondered how the two of them would cope if ever they went to India, where the concept of personal space was so different – almost non-existent. Whole families lived in one or two rooms, or extended families built extra rooms onto existing houses so they could all be together. In his parents’ family home in the village, cousins and brothers and sisters had all shared one room, sleeping top to toe on the mattresses, arms and legs thrown over each other in sleep’s intimacy.

He sighed and got back to the problem of what to do about Abby. Or rather, how to tell her they would not be living the country idyll if he had a say. He loved her, of that there could be no doubt. He had met her when he started attending the church where she was also a parishioner. She’d been going there since she had moved to Milton Keynes four years previously and had taken him under her wing, him being a novice in the ways of Christianity. He’d only stumbled into the place because there wasn’t a temple nearby and he was lonely and wanted to meet people. And it was such a friendly congregation. At first, the singing and dancing had been rather confronting. He wasn’t used to people behaving in such a way in a place of worship. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but given the usual British stiff upper lip he hadn’t been prepared for the informality, the fun they were having. It took him a while to get used to it but in the end it was intoxicating. As was Abby with her wide hazel eyes and open smile. He would go home after the service and spend the rest of the day thinking about it. About her. They were one and the same to him, he realised. You couldn’t have one without the other. Abby and the church. His respite from the busyness of business. His sanctuary. As long as he put his foot down about moving to the country.

With a jerk and a bit of clanking the train started moving again. Sandeep checked his watch. He’d be two hours late to work. He’d rung his boss to let him know he was on his way, and the reason for his lateness, the words faltering on his lips. Normally if he was late, which he rarely was, he’d stay to make up the time but his mother had been adamant that he was to be there at six on the dot tonight for a special dinner she’d been preparing for one minor festival or another. He had stopped listening when she was telling him about it. He felt a pang of guilt. He should be a better son, a better Christian. He decided he’d get her a bunch of flowers and maybe a box of her favourite Indian sweets.

There was the question of introducing them to Abby as well. He hadn’t admitted to his parents he was even seeing her, let alone planning to marry her. The last time he and Abby had spoken about it she’d burst into tears, accusing him of being ashamed of her. That wasn’t it, as he’d been quick to reassure her. The truth was, he knew his parents would take it badly. Even now, with his baptism only weeks away, his mother still talked about arranging him a marriage. She said it was her right as a parent, his duty as a son.

‘Why did you leave the village if you just want to hold on to all the old customs, eh?’ Sandeep had asked on his last visit.

‘Because it is right. Look at your father and me. We are happy. Our parents chose for us. You are too young to know what you want and you work too hard to meet anyone. Are there even any Indians in MK?’

That was the other thing that counted against Abby – she was most decidedly not Indian. She had the palest skin he had ever seen and such beautiful, thick chestnut hair.

‘Of course there are, Mataji,’ he’d said, but she’d just harrumphed in the annoying way she had and somehow changed the subject.

Neither of them had dared mention the religion trump card. They had both backed off just before one of them hurt the other too deeply, although Sandeep certainly