The Wind from the Sea

by Mark Neilson

  She couldn’t stay here, whatever happened. Not now. Once Buckie had been her home. Now, she had no home. Her heart ached.

  Mary looked down at her small case, which held much less than her kitbag as a gutter quine had done. Like Dick Whittington: she was travelling with little more than he had carried at the end of a stick, when he set out to make his fortune. The thought brought a wry smile. No bells for her.

  With a hiss of steam and clank of metal wheels, the train slid into the station platform. Her hand on the door handle of an empty compartment, she took one last look around. People entering their compartments, shaking water from their folded umbrellas. A young couple: she leaning out through the open compartment window, he straining up to her for one last kiss. She hoped life would be kind to them.

  She should have dropped in on Gus, to say goodbye: but she didn’t have another goodbye left in her – and she could only hope that Aggie would understand. She would miss her strength, her lively sense of humour.

  Mary opened the compartment door and climbed in. Closing the door, she lifted her case onto the string cradle of the luggage rack, and sat down beside the window. Steam hissed out around her feet, bringing sooty-smelling heating to the carriage.

  Outside, the guard’s whistle shrilled. Mary half rose to let the window down, for one last look. At the town, of course, but also at the empty platform, hoping for the miracle that would never happen: the sight of him coming at the last minute to bring her home. She made herself sit down.

  The carriage jolted, then moved, amid dense clouds of steam. Far in front, she could hear the chug of the engine, the metallic scream of its wheels spinning, as they fought for traction. Through the drifting steam, the platform passed quicker and quicker.

  Then the figure of a man came running; looking into each compartment window in turn. Her door was wrenched open. A kitbag sailed in across the dirty floor, then the man came hurtling through behind it, landing on all fours, rolling across her feet. Outside, a stream of invective as the stationmaster cursed, then slammed the door closed as it passed him.

  Neil looked up, soot smudged across his face.

  ‘You took your time,’ she said. Her heart racing.

  ‘I couldn’t find my pencils. I’ve had to leave them all behind.’

  He reached up a hand, and she braced herself, nurse-style, to help haul him to his feet. ‘Did you change your mind?’ she asked.

  ‘About coming, yes. About you, no. Never.’

  His hand turned, until their fingers were gently laced together.

  First the town, then the countryside, sped past. She couldn’t speak.

  ‘Somebody had to see you off,’ he said at last. ‘Make sure you caught the proper train in Aberdeen. Make sure you found yourself some decent digs, in Edinburgh. Then make sure that there’s food on the table, for you coming home at night. Unless I’m drawing, and forget about everything else.’

  ‘For how long?’ she asked breathlessly.

  ‘For as long as it takes.’

  ‘What if we starve?’

  ‘Then we starve together. Only, we won’t. I’ll find a job, to put you through the college. And put food on our table.’

  ‘What if it takes seven years for me to be a doctor?’

  ‘It will take six, part-time, for me to become an artist. Maybe longer.’

  ‘Race you,’ she said, her heart singing, bursting with joy. ‘Like we used to race as kids, from boat to boat, across the harbour.’

  ‘You always won. I let you win.’

  ‘You never did!’

  ‘I stayed behind you, in case you fell into the water.’

  Somehow, in the rocking carriage, they were in each other’s arms.

  ‘What did your dad say? And Andy?’ she asked breathlessly.

  ‘I didn’t have time to tell them.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because I wasn’t coming. Right up until I saw your engine at the water tower. And knew that in ten minutes time, you would be travelling out of my life forever. I couldn’t bear the thought. So I just followed my heart and my feet, raced home, threw some clothes and my sketch pads into my bag, and ran for the station. I nearly didn’t make it.’

  She hugged him tightly. ‘And I was crying,’ she said. ‘It felt as if my heart was breaking. I think I would just have got out of the carriage at the next station, and caught the first train home.’

  He kissed her fiercely. ‘Waste of a ticket, that,’ he said. ‘See? I’ve saved you some money already …’