On a long train journey, two strangers meet. TW: suicide. 6 minute read.
The regular rhythm of the train moving over the track was almost soothing. The repetitive noise, the ca-clack, ca-clack, ca-clack was as predictable as a mother’s heartbeat in the womb. Harry was sure he would have fallen asleep if there was a place to put his head. Sadly, if he tried to rest against either the thick Perspex window or the cheap plastic table his head would rise and fall with the noise and bang into the tough surface. He sighed and wiggled in his seat again, hoping to find a more comfortable position. He unfocused his eyes and let the next few miles pass by.
The train had arrived at the grand Victorian station of Bristol Temple Meads five minutes early. It was 1.30pm on a Tuesday but a fair few people still boarded. Harry continued staring out of the window, in the hope that they wouldn’t sit next to him. It was then that he spotted a woman screaming along the platform for the train not to leave without her, clearly unaware that the train was early. Her long, ash blonde hair fanned out behind her like a cape, her multi-coloured skirt wrapped around her hand as she sprinted. It was an amusing spectacle. It was his carriage that she reached first, panting, relieved to have caught the train before it was too late. He forgot to stop smiling, so she made eye-contact and asked, ‘Is that seat free?’
‘Oh… Yes. Go ahead.’ He removed his feet from the seat opposite and cursed the polite etiquette that he couldn’t disobey. She sat down opposite him and rummaged through her bag - for a book, Harry hoped, something that would enable him to easily ignore her presence.
He stared out at the platform, waiting for the moment when the train would lurch forward again. She was older than he had thought when he saw her running akimbo along the platform. Her hair had large streaks of grey and the ligaments on her neck and hands stood out from her otherwise youthfully smooth skin.
Janet found her bottle of water at the bottom of her bag. She should really exercise more, she thought as she felt the moist line of sweat that had formed around her hairline. She looked across at the lad opposite her. His dark hair was mashed against the window and he looked resigned to an uncomfortable journey.
‘Where have you come from?’ she asked as the train got moving again, hoping to put him at ease. ‘It’s a horrible day to be travelling, isn’t it? Too sunny to be stuck on a train. I thought I’d spent a minute too long appreciating it! Nearly gave me a heart attack when I saw the train here already. I thought, Janet, you’re always doing this, head-in-the-clouds and buggering up all your plans!’
Harry swivelled a little in his seat to face her again. The sleeves of her cardigan were unravelling, the strap on her bag was held on by a safety pin and there was a piece of grass in her hair behind her left ear.
‘I’ve just come from Newport,’ he replied. Short, sharp, to-the-point. Now leave me alone.
She paused before she said carefully, ‘…Dwyt ti ddim yn… swnio’n cymraeg. Ers pryd wyt ti …wedi byw yn Newport?’ A man from Caernarfon sitting behind Janet raised his eyebrows and sighed.
‘I’m not Welsh, I was only visiting,’ Harry said hesitantly, thinking that his accent made that obvious.
Janet leaned forward. ‘You know, I can’t really speak Welsh myself. Not properly. I was convinced by my ex-husband that we needed to learn Welsh to go on holiday in North Wales, but in the end they asked me to speak in English because they couldn’t understand me.’ She smiled then, with a giggle behind her words, as if she was bringing up a secret party trick. ‘But why would you visit Newport? There really isn’t anything there, is there?’
If there was anyone from Newport nearby they didn’t stand up and disagree with her. Even so, it is an unwritten rule that you can only slag off a place if you live there yourself, Harry thought. She was certainly manipulating the conversation very cleverly. He found himself wanting to talk for once, but he wondered if it was wise.
‘Yes… I’ve heard that.’
‘You did?’
‘Hmm,’ he nodded.
‘Were you visiting family then?’
‘No.’ The answer slipped out quickly, painfully. But now he had thrust the bait into the water, he couldn’t reel it back in so easily.
‘Friends?’ Janet asked. But he only glared at her, as if the answer should be obvious. She frowned, puzzled. Best to be direct. ‘Then why did you go to Newport if you don’t live there and you weren’t visiting anyone?’ She expected him to be defensive, but instead he sighed and stared at the carriage ceiling.
‘Well…’ Harry hesitated. He wanted to tell, but at the same time he didn’t, or maybe he couldn’t. Maybe he was as incapable of that as of anything else. ‘I suppose - I suppose, I’m on a sort of alternative gap year… thing.’
‘Well,’ Janet announced, ‘that has to be the most original destination for a gap year that I have ever heard.’
Harry smiled in spite of himself, a smile of bitter humour directed inwards. Are you going to make up some hippie philosophy for her as well?
He plastered a dreamy look onto his face and opened his eyes wide, imitating the intonations of stoners. ‘Well, you know, I knew if I wanted to learn anything - anything, you know, proper, about LIFE it wasn’t going to be in any fancy pants city like Edinburgh, London or Winchester or an exotic tourist trap. I don’t get why you have to go and chant with monks in Tibet to find yourself, you know? Life…’ his voice breaking suddenly, cracking through his persona ‘…is in the gritty shit, and that’s what I wanted to see… you know?’ He withdrew again, focusing on a small tear in the bottom right hand corner of his bag.
‘…Did you find any answers in Newport?’ Janet asked tentatively.
‘No.’
Nothing. No answers, no revelations, no ideal spot. And there hadn’t been any last time either, not in Newport, not in Swindon, not in Trowbridge, not in Hull, not in Grimsby…
The train guard bustled through the doors at the end of the carriage. ‘Tickets from Bristol,’ he shouted, startling Janet. She grabbed her bag and sifted through the wrappers and tissues, searching for her purse.
Harry nodded at the guard whose large stomach made the buttons on his shirt look like they wanted to pop. Janet had finally untangled her purse and was trying to find the right ticket out of all of the old ones she hadn’t thrown away. The guard smiled at Harry, sharing a moment of amusement at the glimpses into people’s lives that you get on trains.
‘Swindon, Swindon, Swindon…’ she muttered as she tossed the unwanted tickets back into her bag.
Did he feel remotely better for telling a small morsel of the truth? No… he didn’t think so. He just felt blinded under the hot spotlight of her curiosity. Just like his mother’s eyes had been before she... It just brought back old pain that would never die, no matter how he tried to repress it. The best course of action would be to cut it off now. Save yourself the discomfort. He swung his bag over his shoulder and shuffled out of his seat. He went in search for the toilet. It was only another twenty minutes to Swindon.
He sat on the floor of the train toilet cubicle until they reached Swindon, trying to ignore the chemical smell. He held his bag between his knees and hugged his legs. It wouldn’t have helped. She wouldn’t have been able to help.
He had wandered through so many towns and cities, looking for a place that would be convenient. He didn’t want to be a trouble to anyone. Every time he thought he’d found a good bridge or alleyway he’d see someone in the distance and he’d be put off.
He just wanted to fade into obscurity, to stop hurting others and then maybe his pain would stop too. But meanwhile the train tumbled on and a woman bought a ticket to the end of the line, without knowing why.
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