by Jenny Plumb
Broderick checked his phone. “Yeah, why not? I can’t stay long, though, got a train to catch.”
The pub heaved with Christmas revellers just freed from their workplaces. Broderick propped up the far wall with his bags, while Tim elbowed his way through the crowd. He returned, precariously balancing two foaming pints, somehow managing not to spill a drop.
“Here,” he said, passing a pint to Broderick. “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas.” Broderick took a gulp. Nectar. Great way to wind down before catching the train.
“So where you off to?” Tim asked.
“Cottage in Norfolk, with a few mates. Hey, you’ll know one of them – remember Lachie from uni?”
“Wore glasses? Did accountancy?”
“That’s the one. He’s been working over here for four years now.”
They talked about Lachie, about other old friends, then caught up on their own adventures since uni. Tim had been with his partner Daisy for three years.
“Sounds serious, mate,” said Broderick. “You’ll be having kids next.” He checked his phone; there was time for another beer. He flourished his empty glass. “Another one?”
“What about you?” Tim asked when Broderick returned with their second pint. “Are you married or anything?”
“No. Not now. I lived with my last girlfriend for six years. Kat died last January. Some bastard speeding car driver knocked her off her bike. She died instantly. He didn’t even stop.”
“Oh, mate. I’m sorry.”
Broderick felt tears prick at his eyelids and made a pretence of studying his beer. He cleared his throat. “Yeah. That’s why I came over here for six months. I just couldn’t handle being in Melbourne, all those reminders of her. I’ll have to go back in May, hope that time really is the great healer everybody says it is.”
“There’s been no one since?”
Broderick hesitated.
“There is, isn’t there?”
“There’s been no one,” Broderick said firmly. “Not even a one night stand.” Especially not a one night stand. He knew guys who’d have gone down that road, but it wasn’t for him. He’d always been a one-woman man.
“But there’s someone you like?”
Broderick flushed, grinned, hid his embarrassment with a slug of beer.
Tim grinned. “You’ve answered my question. So why aren’t you spending Christmas wooing her instead of opening a six-pack with Lachie?”
“She doesn’t like me.”
“Ah, well, yes, that is a problem.”
“I got the job she wanted. She’s not going to forgive me for that.”
“Probably for the best then. Office relationships can be awkward, especially when they come to an end.”
They changed the subject then, discussing Australia’s excellent chances in cricket against England in the Test match starting on Boxing Day. Engrossed in the topic, Broderick suddenly realised he was running late.
“Hell, I’ve got to go,” he said. “I’ve got to get to Liverpool Street.”
“Get a cab.”
“I’ll have to.” He thumped Tim’s shoulder. “Have a good Christmas.”
“Yeah, you too. Hey, here’s my card. Get in touch when you’re back, okay? We’ll have another beer before I go back to Melbourne.”
Out in the street there was no taxi in sight. Broderick tried to call a cab but the lines were engaged. Uber? Or would it be quicker just to get on the tube and start heading in the right direction? There was still enough time as long as everything went right. He hurried down to the tube station, jumped onto the crowded tube train, got off at the next stop, Holborn, and changed to the eastbound Circle Line. He checked his phone again. He’d make it, with only five minutes to spare, but he’d be okay.
The tube hurtled through the tunnels, only four stops till Liverpool Street. All went well till the tube suddenly stopped abruptly between St Paul’s and Bank stations, for no apparent reason. Broderick muttered a curse, looked at his phone. He knew he should have tried Uber. He was going to struggle to make it to the station in time. He shouldn’t have had that second drink. He probably shouldn’t have stopped for a drink at all. He should have taken Tim’s card, caught up with him after Christmas.
Come on, he silently urged the train, move.
At last it jolted into action. Broderick felt increasingly tense as it stopped at Bank, then rattled through the tunnel again. Finally it reached Liverpool Street. Broderick tore up the escalator, sprinted in the direction of the mainline rail station, checked the platform number on the board.
The train left at 2.30 and it was 2.30 now.
But trains always left late, they always had. He’d never known one be on time in the six weeks he’d been in England.
But there was always a first time and this was it.
He sprinted towards the platform gate and got there in time to see his train pulling out.
Cursing the railways, furious with himself, he joined the queue at a ticket booth to see if he could get on the next train.
“Sorry, there are no more tickets. All today’s trains are full.”
“But I have to get to Norfolk for Christmas.”
“And so do lots of other people, mate,” the ticket seller said. “Sorry. Now, d’you want one for Boxing Day?”
“No thanks.” Broderick walked away, fuming. Christmas was stuffed unless he could get an Uber ride. He settled at one of the station cafes, bought himself a coffee while he tried to organise something. But it was no use. Everybody’s Christmas plans had been laid weeks before. He could get nothing today and he couldn’t imagine there’d be rides anywhere tomorrow.
He was stuck with spending Christmas in London on his own.
Chapter 5
Okay, girl, time to make plans.
Lucinda walked up to the house from the tube station, determined to keep herself busy and not give in and head off to the supermarket with its tempting Christmas treats. She had her fruit and crispbreads, there was plenty of tea and coffee – she’d be fine. So… Love Actually when she got home, a fun festive treat for the afternoon. Then fruit and crispbread, followed by It’s A Wonderful Life.
But as soon as she stepped indoors, loneliness engulfed her. Everybody else in the world was having a good time, and she was on her own with DVDs. The living room decorations looked ridiculous now the house was empty. She wished Broderick and Morag were still here, that the three of them were chucking fake snowballs at one another.
“You’ve brought this on yourself,” she told herself sternly. “You should never have lied to Mum and Dad. Man up!”
She grabbed the DVD from her bedroom, and checked out the contents of the fridge. There was some wine left over from the other night. She filled a glass, and went on the hunt for food. Nothing in the cupboard unless she wanted to do something clever with Broderick’s herbs and spices or eat a bowl of Morag’s canned soup. She opened the freezer and spotted a bundle of mince pies wrapped in plastic bags.
Well, they’d do! A couple with a glass of wine while watching Colin Firth and Hugh Grant on the telly. They were the mince pies Broderick had made last night, he must have forgotten to take them, but he wouldn’t mind her having a couple. She’d pretend she’d got back early the day after Boxing Day, that Aurora or Sophie had been round.
She heated the pies in the microwave and carried them and the wine into the living room. She settled down to watch Billy Mack stuffing up the lyrics of his Christmas hit.
The mince pies were delicious. The pastry melted in her mouth, the sweet icing sugar complementing the spicy fruit mince.
When she’d finished the two, she wanted another.
One more wouldn’t matter, she told herself. She’d barely eaten for days, and she’d have nothing else tonight and go back to crispbread tomorrow. She’d tell Broderick her friend had accepted a second mince pie.
In the kitchen, she put a mince pie on her empty plate, hesitated, then added another. Stuff it, she�
�d tell Broderick she and her friend ate two each.
She wolfed down the pies, but still craved more. Could she eat another two, claim two friends had been around?
No. If she wasn’t careful, she’d scoff the lot, and then what would she tell Broderick?
“Stop this now,” she told herself sternly. “You haven’t decided to spend Christmas on your own to get fatter than you would have done if you’d gone home.”
She turned off the DVD, took the plate and empty wine glass into the kitchen and shoved them in the dishwasher. Upstairs, she changed into tracksuit pants and tee shirt. She’d go out for a run, burn off those calories. Once she’d exercised she’d feel much better, less guilty, and she would stick to her damn diet.
“Not going home for Christmas, love?”
Their neighbour Josie was in the front garden, carrying shopping bags from her car. She and her husband Martin were in their forties; they had a couple of young kids.
“Not just yet,” Lucinda said. She didn’t want Josie knowing she was here alone – what if she said something after Christmas to Broderick or Morag?
“You don’t want to wait too long to head off. I just checked the forecast – snow’s definitely on the way, a lot of it.”
“Yeah, I heard we’re in for a white Christmas.”
Josie grinned. “My kids are so excited – snow and Santa. It’s making everything even more exciting.”
“Yeah, Broderick – the Aussie who lives here – is excited as well,” Lucinda said. “He hasn’t seen snow since he was a kid.” She wished he were spending Christmas here with her, throwing snowballs at each other in the garden, the way they’d hurled the fake ones around the other night. “Well, have a great Christmas,” she said to Josie, and headed off, down the road, round the corner, up to the main street. It was already dark, but the street lamps were on and most of the windows were lit up with festive lights. Three laps of the block, she thought, would be enough to burn off those mince pies.
Broderick reluctantly caught the tube to Turnpike Lane, constantly checking his phone to see if he could find a ride on Uber. He caught sight of the news about impending snow and cursed himself again for missing the train. How perfect would it have been – a white Christmas in a cottage in the English countryside, with a roaring log fire?
“There’ll be other years,” he told himself. “And you might still get down there.”
But it was looking increasingly unlikely, especially with a dump of snow on the way.
Just one stop from home, he was still fruitlessly searching for last-minute rides or tickets to Norwich when he spotted the BBC’s breaking news: DEADLY TRAIN CRASH. FIVE REPORTED DEAD, DOZENS INJURED. How terrible, he thought. And on Christmas Eve too. He tapped on the story to find out where it was.
It had been the 2.30 from Liverpool Street to Norwich, in a head-on with another train just outside Colchester.
Broderick’s heart raced and his hands started shaking. He should have been on that train, should have been among the injured, maybe even among the dead. He checked his seat number, and it had been in the second carriage – he’d definitely have been injured. For a moment, he felt dizzy, disoriented. If he’d left work just one minute earlier or later, if he hadn’t run into Tim…
“Are you okay?”
The voice was reedy, and he opened his eyes to see the old lady next to him on the tube. She’d turned towards him, her eyes full of concern. “Are you all right, love? You suddenly changed colour. Too much to drink, is it?”
“There’s been a train crash.” He showed her the story on his screen, aware his voice was shaking. “I missed the train only by seconds.”
“Lucky for you, then,” she said.
His phone rang – Lachie to make sure he was still alive.
“I missed the train.”
“Well, thank God for that. Geez, mate, I was worried when I heard the train you were supposed to be on had crashed.”
“I don’t think I’ll be able to get down there for Christmas.”
“No, there’ll be no more trains today, and the roads are chaos, especially now it’s started snowing. Anyway, the main thing is you’re okay.”
“Yeah. Thanks for calling, Lachie. I appreciate it.”
“I’ll let the others know.”
“Thanks.”
He’d better contact his family too, Broderick thought. A major train disaster like this on Christmas Eve would be headline news around the world. He messaged his mum, his brother and his sister. As soon as they got up, in a few hours’ time, they’d know he was safe before they even heard about the crash.
He couldn’t stop checking the breaking news as he walked home from the tube station. Every couple of minutes, more people were confirmed dead. Hundreds were now believed to be injured. Thank God he’d run into Tim, ended up being late.
He noticed a poster for Christmas services outside the church a couple of blocks from the house. There was a carol service at nine o’clock. He’d go along to it, he decided. He wasn’t really a believer, but it wouldn’t hurt to give thanks for still being alive. And he’d always gone to the carols at Christmas at home, it was a traditional thing. Anyway, it would give him something to do this evening.
He could hear a phone ringing as he let himself in. It had stopped, though, before he traced it to the kitchen table – Lucinda’s phone. She must have left it behind. Yet he was sure he’d seen her fiddling with her phone at work this morning, checking something on her Facebook. Perhaps it was Morag’s; no, her phone was green, not turquoise.
He picked it up. The screen declared two missed calls and three unseen messages.
Call as soon as you can. We’re so worried.
Are you okay? Let us know ASAP.
Just heard about the crash. Hoping and praying you’re okay.
Weird, Lucinda’s family lived on the south coast – her train trip home took her nowhere near Colchester. Perhaps the initial breaking news hadn’t been specific about where the head-on had taken place. He was about to put the phone back on the table when it started ringing again. ‘Mum calling’ the screen told him.
He’d better answer it, set Lucinda’s mum’s mind at rest. And tell her to let Lucinda know she’d left her phone at home.
“Hello, Lucinda’s phone. This is Broderick speaking.”
“Oh, my God, where’s Lucinda, has something happened to Lucinda?” The woman sounded on the verge of hysteria.
“No, no, Lucinda’s fine,” he assured her. “She wasn’t on the train that crashed.”
“Oh, thank God,” she said. He heard her sob and speak to someone in the background. “She’s alive, Tom. Thank God.”
He heard a man start crying too.
“Is she there? Can I speak to her?” Lucinda’s mum asked.
“Well, actually I—”
“But she is all right, isn’t she? Oh, no – oh, no, she’s injured, isn’t she?” The panic had erupted again, and Broderick swiftly reassured her.
“No, she’s not injured. She’s absolutely fine.”
“Oh, I’ve been so worried. She’d told me, you see, that she and her friends from work were catching the 2.30 from Liverpool Street. When I heard it had crashed…” She started crying again.
What the hell?
So Lucinda hadn’t gone back to her parents’ for Christmas. She’d pretended to be going to Norfolk.
But why had she lied? And where was she now?
Probably not very far away, given her phone was on the kitchen table.
“I’ll get her to call you as soon as possible,” he told her mother. “But please, don’t worry at all. Like I said, she wasn’t even on the train. I wasn’t either. We missed it.”
“Oh, that’s so…” Lucinda’s mum’s voice trembled. “So lucky. I’m so thankful. I don’t know what we’d do if anything happened to Lucinda.”
He heard a key in the lock.
“I’ve got to go now,” he said, “but I’ll get her to call you soon as, okay
? And have a good Christmas.”
“I will now,” she said. “You too.”
He ended the call and put the phone down on the table. He sat down heavily on one of the chairs, waiting for Lucinda to come in. He heard her footsteps on the stairs and called out to her. Stuff waiting, he was having this out with her now.
Lucinda spotted Broderick’s bags in the hallway as soon as she opened the door. She froze, horrified at being caught out. What the hell was he doing back here? And what was she going to tell him she was doing here? She closed the door quietly, headed upstairs.
“Lucinda, could you come through here, please?”
It was definitely an order. And no way was she obeying it. He might be her boss at work, but she wasn’t doing as he told her here.
“Just came back to get something,” she called out, her tone deliberately light.
“Lucinda, I said could you come through here, please.” This time there was a real edge to his voice; he sounded very stern. “Something’s happened you need to know about.”
What the hell? Was it her dad? Had he become ill and her mum had called the landline? No, Mum would have called her mobile first. She remembered she’d left it in the kitchen and groaned.
She steeled herself and walked into the kitchen. She could feel embarrassment burning her cheeks, but she looked him squarely in the eye and said, “What’s up? Has something happened to Dad?”
Her phone was on the table, in front of Broderick. He pointed to it. “You need to make a phone call.”
“Is it Dad?” she demanded, anxious now. She grabbed her phone, saw the messages, the missed calls on screen. Oh. My. God. What the hell had happened?
“There’s been a train crash,” he told her curtly. “People are dead, badly injured. The train I should have been on, but missed; the train you told your parents you’d be on, the 2.30 to Norwich.”
Lucinda felt dizzy. Oh, god, if her mother had believed she was on that train, she’d be frantic. She panicked if trains were late, let alone something like this.
“I’ve covered for you,” he told her. “I ended up missing the train, and I told her you had too. But she needs to hear your voice, know that you’re alive and well.”
