The Train by Sarah Bourne (fiction books to read txt) 📕

‘How soon do you think I can leave without hurting Eugene’s feelings?’ Russell had asked.

Ray had looked at him, this tall, good-looking young man and his heart had all but stopped. ‘Oh, I think we should give it another half hour before we make a break for it,’ he said, and Russell had laughed.

For Ray it was love at first sight but he hadn’t dared hope it might be reciprocated. Especially when he discovered Russell was going out with a woman. Tall, elegant, aloof Lucy. He was happy enough to discover he and Russell had a common interest in architecture and they’d started visiting stately homes together and spending the evenings afterwards discussing them over dinner and a bottle of wine. There had been invitations to Russell’s house – he still lived with his parents in their enormous mansion – and social occasions with his family. Ray had been happy to be included, especially since his own family wanted little to do with him. Everything would be perfect if it wasn’t for this bloody cancer. If only Russell could man up about it and give him a bit of support instead of Ray looking after him and his feelings all the time.

No, that wasn’t fair. Russell looked after him in other ways, and his father had died of cancer, that’s why he couldn’t bear to see Ray going through it. Although Jeff, Russell’s father, had been a sixty-a-day smoker since he was a teenager; lighting a cigarette before he got out of bed. There was always a cigarette in his hand, and he drove his Bentley, cigarette in mouth. There were ashtrays in the toilets. So it shouldn’t have been a surprise when he got lung cancer, but it was. As if money and status should have protected him against something as pedestrian, as proletarian as lung cancer.

When Jeff had been diagnosed, Ray had stepped in to help. He made dinners, bought wine, walked the dogs. He needn’t have done any of it, they were wealthy and had a housekeeper for that sort of thing but he wanted to be useful, wanted to show his gratitude for their hospitality, for having him there for Christmases when he didn’t want to see his own relatives. Jeff’s whole family seemed to take a deep breath in when they heard the diagnosis and didn’t let it out again until he was dead six months later. They even moved differently, like they were gliding about underwater, and they avoided being in a room together, as if they wanted to give each other more space. God forbid they might actually touch and provide physical solace. And in those six months they were so polite to each other, as if saying anything more than ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ and ‘would you’ and ‘could I’ might open the floodgates to a torrent of feelings that hadn’t just been buried for years, but embalmed and set in concrete. Ray had never realised such a repressed group of people existed outside his own family. But when Jeff had died, Russell had let out a long-held breath and relaxed, talked to Ray about his fears. They weren’t yet lovers although Lucy had disappeared during Jeff’s illness. Ray was the shoulder waiting to be cried on, the supportive friend.

Ray let his head rest against the back of the seat and felt his lips lift into a smile as he remembered the moment when their relationship moved from friends to something more. The way Russell looked at him as if really seeing him for the first time. It was such a cliché, but exactly described how it had felt – that he, Ray – was suddenly being seen. And not just seen. Appreciated.

And not long after, That Night. Russell had looked at him over the table, the muscles at the corners of his eyes tightening slightly. Ray held his breath, felt the heat rise in his chest and hoped he wasn’t blushing like a thirteen-year-old virgin. He’d swallowed and forced himself to return Russell’s gaze. Thank God they were having dinner at Ray’s flat because suddenly Russell almost flew across the table and grabbed him, finding his mouth and kissing him deeply. Ray smiled at Russell’s hardness and his own and felt, for a moment, a profound gratitude. Then he was taken over by pure lust.

He opened his eyes, looked around guiltily and placed his newspaper over his lap to hide the bulge in his trousers, hoping no gasps of pleasure had escaped his lips as he remembered undressing Russell and seeing his beautiful body for the first time. And the sex that came after. Oh, the sex.

He was relieved to observe that everyone was behaving as usual – reading papers, checking phones, dozing, heads back, mouths open. He dabbed his forehead again and looked out the window.

If they didn’t get going soon he’d definitely be late for his appointment with the urologist. And after that he had to see his accountant. Barry had been doing his tax forever, since way before he’d moved out of London but Ray hadn’t seen him for quite a time and was rather behind in his accounts. He sighed and wished he’d kept his eyes shut and allowed himself to drift around in his memories longer, but now they were gone and he was once again taken over by anxiety, a sense of doom and dread.

He needed to move. He’d love to get off the train and walk through the dew-soaked grass, smell the sweet cow dung and feel the weak sun on his skin. Instead, he rose and stretched his arms over his head, tucked his shirt in again and started down the train, careful not to knock into the various arms, legs and bags spilling into the aisle.

A couple of seats along a hand touched his sleeve as he walked past. ‘Excuse me – are you going to find out when we might get going?’

Ray spun round to see who had spoken.