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

Iris was unsure how the conversation had got to this point, but it certainly wasn’t the first time it had happened. The ability she had to put people at ease often led to strangers telling her their life stories. She was a good talker, but a better listener, and enjoyed hearing about lives and ideas that were often – usually – so different from her own. Reg used to say MI6 should employ her because everyone told her their secrets, and she would never have to resort to torture. She just waited and listened. Fully. Completely.

‘What do you do, dear?’ she asked.

‘I’m a social worker in a mental health unit part time, and a counsellor in a private practice,’ said Mei-Ling turning back to her. ‘Although you wouldn’t know it, would you, when you hear me go on.’ She smiled, showing slightly crooked teeth. ‘I’m meant to be the one who does the helping, not the one who needs help.’

‘Everyone needs to talk sometimes, dear. It’s human nature. And sometimes talking to a stranger is easier than talking to your best friend. And certainly better than talking to your family.’ She shuddered involuntarily.

‘Not so good for you, either?’ asked Mei-Ling.

‘Not so good, no.’ Iris still wasn’t sure exactly when things had gone wrong with her daughter, but they had certainly gone from bad to worse on this visit.

‘You don’t have a Chinese accent,’ she said, not wanting to talk about her family troubles.

Mei-Ling smiled. ‘When I started school I didn’t speak a word of English. There were other immigrant kids there too, but we all wanted to be normal, to be seen as white, I suppose. So within the first term, most of us were speaking English with English accents. Those who didn’t were the ones who got picked on. I sometimes felt guilty when I saw them being bullied, but I also thought they were stupid and pig-headed for not trying to fit in. Later, I felt guilty I did nothing to defend them.’

‘What could you have done? You were a child yourself.’ Iris thought how sad it was that children could be so cruel. She was also glad Mei-Ling didn’t have an accent; she had a hard time understanding the Chinese woman who ran the shop at the end of her street. Or was she Vietnamese?

They fell silent for a while. Iris started thinking about what Mei-Ling had said about her circumstances. She studied her new friend as the younger woman searched for something in her bag.

‘My son’s gay,’ said Iris. ‘He hasn’t admitted it, but he lives with his partner. He must think I’m blind or stupid. Or maybe naïve. When I go over there there’s two toothbrushes in the bathroom, one big double bed in the main bedroom, narrow little singles in the other two rooms, no personal belongings in either. Why can’t he just be honest? I like his friend, Luke. He’s an interesting man, and very caring. Always cooks my favourite dinner when I go. Barry – that’s my son – he pretends Luke just happened to be over, and Luke goes along with it.’

Mei-Ling nodded. ‘Perhaps he thinks you would be shocked, or reject him.’

‘Is that what your parents would do if you told them? Is that why you’re concerned about their reaction to the baby?’ Iris looked at her closely.

Mei-Ling took a deep breath but didn’t look away. ‘I’m not–’ but she didn’t go on. Then her face relaxed. ‘How did you know?’

‘I have a Gaydar – isn’t that what they call it these days?’ Iris laughed. ‘Gaydar, what a silly word. Anyway, you didn’t do anything to give it away, so don’t worry, I’m sure your mother and father won’t have guessed. As a rule, parents are very good at not seeing what they don’t want to in their children.’ Iris patted Mei-Ling’s hand. In fact, when her own children were younger she’d prided herself on intuiting what was going on in their lives. Now she wondered when she had stopped being able to read her daughter. Or had Laura just got better at keeping things from her?

Mei-Ling shook her head. ‘I hope you’re right. I don’t think my parents will ever accept that Jenny and I are together.’

‘There’s another thing people are too good at, if you ask me – concentrating on the things they don’t like rather than all the other things. Too much hate in the world these days.’ Iris sighed.

Once again they lapsed into silence.

Iris watched all the police who had arrived in the field. Most of them were standing around doing nothing. There were no people to direct, no crowd to contain. Just a train full of commuters, all behaving calmly and quietly, following a set of rules not written anywhere but which everyone abided by. She wondered if the same number of police would attend if she killed herself. She’d thought about it often enough after Reg died and day after day she felt like a vice was squeezing her lungs so each breath was a gasp, and every memory was a punishment. No, there would have been no police. She would have died in her bed having taken the pills she stockpiled. Only the thought of a neighbour finding her had stopped her. And then, after months of feeling like she was living underwater, she’d noticed the lady in the corner shop smiling at her as she gave Iris her change, and Iris had smiled back. The next day she’d noticed that her breath was a little easier. And a while after that, Charlie had come into her life.

Charlie! She rummaged in her handbag. ‘I can’t seem to find my address book,’ she said.

‘Do you need it right now?’ asked Mei-Ling.

‘I should let the neighbours know what’s happening. And check on Charlie.’

Mei-Ling nodded. ‘Are you sure it’s in your handbag? Maybe you put it in your overnight case.’ She pointed to