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

the front door and was careful not to touch Abhi again as she passed him on her way out.

The night was mild, the clouds low. To the right was Hounslow, to the left, Heston, Norwood Green and the fields either side of the M4 he had played in as a boy. Osterley House and its grounds, where he used to take his first girlfriend for romantic picnics and frantic fumbles under a cedar tree, was straight ahead along Jersey Road past the posh houses.

Abhi turned in that direction and he followed. As they walked she asked more about the suicide he had told her about as he made the tea – or rather, his reaction to it. He considered her questions carefully, was as honest as he could be in his answers. The truth was, no one had ever questioned him so closely about anything nor seemed so attentive when he answered.

‘I am not surprised you can’t stop thinking about it,’ she said. ‘How awful to feel so desperate you’d want to end your life in that violent way. It’s quite horrible.’

It was exactly what Sandeep had thought, and yet he hadn’t said as much to her. He tucked it away, though, treating with caution the words she used to fool him into believing she was as good as she appeared to be. If he was quiet she’d trip up, make a mistake and reveal herself to be, as Abby would tell him, a She-Devil.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said when he didn’t respond. ‘I have asked too many questions. You must deal with it in whatever way is best for you. But if I can help, please say the word.’

The ground seemed to shake beneath Sandeep’s feet and he got the fizzy feeling in his legs again and in his stomach. But this was not adrenaline. He recognised it as the Fall. He’d felt it before. Twice. Once with Tracey and again with Karen. It was a giddy, flying sensation really, not a fall at all and he certainly, at this stage anyway, wasn’t scared of falling. He was soaring on the wings of love, of desire, of hope, and nothing could hold him down.

He didn’t dare look at Abhi in case she guessed what he was feeling and hated him for it. Or laughed at his adolescent crush. He knew his desire was written in the way his body leaned towards her, the expression on his face, the longing in his eyes.

Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to think of Abby, his fiancée. This was madness. He couldn’t love her as he did and be falling for another, surely? It must be a trial, a final test before they were joined forever in marriage. Strange, though, how he had never felt this way about Abby, had never had the sensation of being swept off his feet and into the limitless blue sky. Surely that meant theirs was a mature love, not the stuff of movies and teenage romance novels. He smiled, safe in this new insight. He made a promise to himself that when he got through this ordeal he would agree to anything, even living in the country if it was really what Abby wanted. He prayed silently for strength.

‘It’s getting late. We should turn back,’ he said after a few minutes during which neither of them had spoken.

Abhi looked up at the sky. A plane flew overhead, landing lights twinkling. ‘It’s a beautiful night, though, and I was hoping we might get as far as Osterley Park. I used to go there as a kid sometimes and dream about living in that beautiful house, wearing big dresses with bustles, all English-like, and having servants to bring me whatever I desired. Which was usually ice cream – real ice cream, not kulfi.’

Sandeep took a sharp breath. Had he not imagined the same things? Not the dresses, but carriages with horses and people calling him ‘sir’ and falling over themselves to fulfil his every desire? Bringing him English treats, accepting him as one of their own – even admiring and respecting him?

‘Are you okay?’ Abhi looked into his eyes.

‘Fine. Yes, fine.’ Sandeep planted his feet carefully to stop himself from taking her hand and running to the house and gardens that had been the setting for their childhood fantasies. Perhaps they had been there at the same time, had seen each other and smiled.

‘Once,’ he said, ‘when I was about ten, we went on a visit to India and my cousin had a jar full of fireflies. He used to shake it to make them fly and light up. It was cruel I suppose, but to a boy like me it was magical. He took me hunting for them so I could have my own firefly light and I cried when, after a few hours, they died. After we came home, I found a jar and begged my parents to take me to the gardens of Osterley House to hunt for fireflies again. My father told me they didn’t live in England, but I wouldn’t believe him.’ He looked at Abhi and laughed. He wasn’t sure why he’d told her that story. ‘Silly things boys do, eh?’

‘Not silly, no. I don’t think it’s ever silly to hope. It was a little piece of India, and a connection to your cousin.’

Sandeep felt her words gather round his heart. How did she know these things? It felt like she could see right into his soul and explain to him these feelings that had no name. Perhaps she would be able to help him make sense of his feelings for Abby too. He smiled at her, about to tell her about his finacée, even as he felt a pain in his heart at the thought of saying the words. Her beauty made them catch in his throat and they would not venture forth. He stood, lips slightly apart, silent.

‘So what do you think – can we make it to Osterley House?’ Abhi