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

up early. She still leaves it as late as she can and rushes into work at the last minute. And she’d drunk all the wine – never even offered me a glass with my dinner.’

Barry raised his eyebrows and shook his head slightly.

‘Anyway, I’d packed my bag last night and I crept down the stairs only to find she’d locked the front door! I had to climb out of the kitchen window. It was awful – my knickers got caught on one of the – you know, the whatsitsnames – taps and I thought I’d be stuck there when she came down for breakfast, but I managed to wrangle myself free and half fell into the flower bed.’

‘Mother – Mum – that was dangerous. Did you hurt yourself?’ Barry looked her over. ‘Is that a bruise on your jaw? Did she do that?’

Iris thought she’d covered it with make-up. ‘No, she didn’t touch me. I bumped into the wall as I fell.’ Her hand went to her jawline. It still felt tender.

Barry started to say something but she waved away his concern. ‘It would have been more dangerous to stay. So I got myself to the station and onto a train.’ She paused, remembering waiting at the bus stop hoping it wasn’t too early for a bus to the station, the fear she’d felt that Laura would come after her. ‘The train stopped somewhere between Milton Keynes and London, and for a moment I thought she’d found out I was on it and managed to get it stopped, but it was a suicide. I know it sounds awful but I was relieved – at first anyway. And I got talking to such a nice young girl, a socialist worker she was.’

‘Do you mean social worker?’

‘That’s what I said.’

Barry smiled. ‘Did you tell her what had happened to you – she might be able to help?’

‘Oh, no. I didn’t tell her. I didn’t want to talk about it to anyone. Anyway, she had enough on her plate with her own parents.’

Barry sighed. ‘Picking up lame ducks again?’

Iris chuckled. ‘No, not this time. She was sad but she was strong. She’ll be all right. I think she put her number in my phone. She thought I was a Tyrannosaurus for using an old-fashioned address book. Maybe I should give her a call.’

‘I think the term you’re looking for is dinosaur.’

‘That’s what I said, isn’t it? I think you need your hearing checked.’

Barry laughed. ‘Okay, whatever you say. Perhaps I could talk to her. I don’t know much about these things but I promise you, I won’t let Laura sell your house out from under you. And perhaps we should get you some advice from a solicitor.’

Iris took his hand, gripping it hard, wanting him to know how relieved she was that she wasn’t having to face all this on her own.

‘Should we ask her about getting help for Laura too? She’s obviously not happy.’

‘She hardly deserves it but you’re right, she does need help. I’ll see what I can do – perhaps we can get your social worker on to her too.’

She started trying to tell him how grateful she was, but Luke came in and sat opposite them in the tasteful cream armchair. ‘Am I missing something?’

‘I was just telling Barry how like his father he is – kind and thoughtful. Good at solving life’s problems. And how happy I am we’re all here together.’

Barry raised his cup.

‘I’ll drink to that,’ he said, and smiled at his mother.

8

Lawrence

The ear-piercing screech of brakes competed with a crackly voice over the loudspeaker, urging passengers to brace themselves and stay calm. The train was performing an emergency stop.

Lawrence, his feet already pressed firmly into the floor forcing his buttocks back into the seat, held on to the table with a grip that made his knuckles ache. If his jaw hadn’t been so tightly clenched, he would have laughed at the redundancy of the message.

He had to admit to welcoming the delay, although he shuddered at the reason for it. Trains didn’t stop like that for nothing. There must have been something on the line. Maybe young thugs chucking stuff onto the tracks. Possibly a suicide. Bloody selfish thing to do either way. Not only did it inconvenience a lot of people, it traumatised the driver. If it was hooligans, Lawrence hoped they were found, locked up and the key dropped down the nearest well. And suicide – which seemed more likely – Lawrence thought was a coward’s way out. It showed lack of moral fibre. But he could also think of a few people he wished would swallow a bottle of pills and put everyone out of their misery. His mother-in-law came to mind. And several members of the Labour Party.

He looked around the first-class carriage briefly as the train came to a halt. The woman diagonally opposite him on the other side of the aisle had taken a shoe off and was rubbing her foot. Such a mundane act in the circumstances. But everything was mundane compared to a suicide he supposed. Someone taking their own life made every other act seem somehow insignificant, however important it had felt the moment before. Lawrence shuffled in his seat, straightened his tie and cleared his throat. He snuck a quick glance in the window to make sure his hair was still neat and tidy, glad he couldn’t see the telltale silvering in his sideburns. He was proud of his hair – fifty-seven years old and he had a full head of hair only just beginning to go grey. Many of his colleagues had been dying their hair for years. Mainly the females, of course. He stared over at the woman for a moment, at the shoe in one hand, the other massaging her foot. They were nice hands, long-fingered. He wondered what they’d feel like round his cock. He sighed and got back to his perusal of the news. A minute later he saw