by Dawson, H A
‘It’s from Teresa,’ she said, ‘she wants to meet me at the station.’
‘That’s good.’
Leanne’s face dropped. She looked at the clock – 15:25 – she saw a bridge, she heard the screeching of brakes, she saw the pool of blood. ‘Oh no!’
‘What is it?’
She hurried out of the room, threw her arms into her coat, and flung aside her heels. They all stared, mystified, as she stuffed her feet into her boots.
‘Come on,’ she said, ‘we haven’t much time.’
‘What’s going on?’ Luke asked.
‘I had a dream . . . a premonition. There’s going to be an accident at the station at 15:37.’
Steven grabbed her arm. ‘It could be you.’
‘No . . . no, I don’t think so.’
‘But she wants you there. I don’t know what she’s capable of anymore.’
‘I can’t just ignore it.’
He glanced to Luke. ‘You stay, we’ll go.’
‘No. We’ll all go.’
She rushed to the outer door, urging them outside. Ignoring Steven’s hesitation and unease, she locked the door.
Maintaining rhythm and speed, Teresa turned the corner that led to the station and saw Queenie hovering near the entrance. Her pulse raced and her hands twitched, and systematically she reached for each finger. Queenie was staring, emotionless.
Gaining courage from a vision of her daughter, Teresa dropped her hand in her pocket, clutched the soft fabric, and stared at the podgy wrinkled woman that had become her enemy. She was puffing on her cigarette with a vile abandon. There was no sign of regret and no hint of shame or remorse.
Teresa unzipped her bag. ‘I’ve brought drinks. Let’s go to the bridge.’
‘What’s wrong with over there,’ she said, pointing to a bench.
‘It used to be our favourite spot.’
‘What are you after?’
‘We should be helping each other, not fighting. We always used to do things together.’
‘I thought we agreed,’ Queenie said, ‘you stay out of my way, I’ll stay out of yours.’
‘We’re both on the same side. We both know what happened.’
Queenie turned and walked away.
‘You agreed to listen.’
‘Just stay away from her.’
‘I’ve had some bloke onto me.’
Queenie stopped and stared. ‘What did you say?’
‘Nothing, but he’ll be back. We need to agree on a plan.’ She reached into her bag and offered her a bottle. ‘Come on, what harm will it do?’
She accepted the bottle and removed the swing top. Peering out of her eye corner, Teresa could see her companion’s shadowy steps and smiled to herself as she led the way around the perimeter of a small deserted building. Through the other side, they followed a familiar track that ran adjacent to the railway line, and climbed a small hill, walking alongside dense shrubbery and evergreens. The solitude was beautiful, the privacy perfect. Shuffling through crunchy leaves, she scanned the treetops and looked to the village. Only the rooftops were visible. She reminded herself of her daughter’s beautiful face, laughing with a natural innocence as she scattered her building blocks.
They reached the steps to the bridge and puffed a little as they climbed to the top, but rather than passing along the steel structure they weaved around the edge and climbed onto some rocks that overhung the line. Teresa gazed down to the track and to the old abandoned station and then peered out of her eye corner to Queenie. She was three-quarters through the bottle and her cheeks were red.
‘Remember when we brought Allan and Dave up here? Teresa said.
‘And Allan puked up on Dave.’
‘I wet myself. It was so funny.’
‘No one believed you. It was just an excuse to take your knickers off.’
‘The cool air was stimulating.’
‘Dave thought so too.’
‘It’s a pity it had to end . . . those were the days.’
She took another swig of lager. ‘And what about the time you came out in that long coat.’
Teresa grinned. ‘The long pink one.’
‘Have you still got it?’
‘Probably, somewhere.’
‘I can still see Dave’s face when he suggested you take it off. Did you have anything on?’
‘No. I must have been frozen. It was a cold night. In fact, when I got home, Dad was in a mood and he insisted I took it off. He hated the colour.’
Queenie chuckled. ‘What did you say to him?’
‘I told him that I hadn’t anything else on. He did his nut.’
‘He believed you?’
‘I don’t know. I lifted the fabric at the bottom. He screamed when he saw my bare legs.’
They sat in silence.
Teresa’s heart was beating faster and her skin was hot and itchy. She urged calmness and breathed slower. Queenie was almost touching her, standing by her side and gazing into the distance. They were near the edge and overlooking a drop. Her excitement surged.
Queenie swallowed the remains in the bottle. ‘You should have come with us all to Northampton. It was a hoot.’
‘I’d met Geoff.’
‘Yes . . . Geoff.’ She turned, gave her a suspicious look. ‘Why are we here?’
‘To forgive and forget.’
‘And you’ve no intention of speaking to Leanne.’
‘No, none at all. You?’
‘Not if I can help it.’
‘Wise.’
‘I’ve seen you together,’ Queenie said.
‘Not recently. We have what we wanted.’
‘What’s that?’
‘A payment. Another bottle?’
Queenie nodded.
‘My legs are aching,’ Teresa said, ‘I’m going to sit down.’
‘Good idea.’
They crouched down, slipped onto the cold stone, and dangled their legs down the steep embankment. They clinked bottles.
‘Remember Stuart?’ Teresa said.
‘He was something else. I had him once, you know.’
‘Doesn’t surprise me. What was he like?’
‘Not that good. I’d had better. He liked it rough.’
‘And you didn’t?’
‘It was too much.’
‘Did you have your favourite spots?’
‘Not far from here. You?’
‘Anywhere and everywhere.’
‘You tart!
Teresa grinned.
‘This is good isn’t it,’ Queenie said, gazing down to the line. ‘I feel deliriously happy. We should have done this a long time ago.’
She turned away, hiding a lopsided smile. ‘You’re right, we should.’
Chapter 37
Leanne was leaning forward in the rear of the car and staring out of the windscreen. The seat belt restricted, pressing against her breast and across her middle. She eased it forward.
‘How far is it?’
‘Turn left at the end,’ Steven said. ‘It’s at the bottom of the hill.’
Along each side were semi-detached houses of a uniform design with square bay windows, pebble-dashed fronts and small gardens. A car pulled out of a drive. They all surged forward.
15:29. They would never arrive in time.
The car in front, a silver Volkswagen, ambled along at a snail’s pace. Her impatience grew. ‘Can we go another way?’
‘No, it’ll take longer,’ Steven said, ‘we’re nearly there.’
The Volkswagen stopped. Something up ahead was preventing them moving forward.
‘What’s going on?’ Leanne asked.
Imogen turned her head. ‘A dog shot out of the garden. A little girl is trying to catch it.’
Leanne unbuckled her seatbelt and reached for the door handle. ‘I’m going to walk, it’ll be quicker.’
Steven grabbed her arm. ‘No. Look, we’re moving.’
The small dog was in her arms, its legs kicking out. She d
ropped it over a short wall, encouraged it into the garden, and raced to the gate.
15:32. Leanne silently urged them forward.
The car in front arrived at the t-junction and turned right, and a weight lifted. Freed of the encumbrance, they surged down the hill and turned into a small car park surrounded by trees and dense shrubbery. A woman and three children were moving towards the building; the girls were skipping, and the boy, a little younger, was clutching the woman’s hand. They all expressed delight, chatting enthusiastically. The woman ushered them through the door.
The car stopped. Leanne flung open the door, banged it shut, and hurried down the slight hill. Just as she arrived at the doorway, it swung open and a group of people sauntered outside, heading away. There was a man in a suit, four teenage girls, and an aged woman wearing a long thin coat and carrying a large shopping bag. She stepped inside.
There was a counter for tickets, a guardsman on duty, and an electronic board displaying train times. Teresa was not there.
The door opened. She spun around. It was Steven.
‘She’s not here.’
Leanne peered around a partition and scampered to the door onto the platform. It was 15:34.
Her body tensed and her blood drained.
She rushed to the outer door. Luke and Imogen were talking to two elderly women. Scowling, she turned to Steven. ‘Where is she?’
He shook his head. ‘What exactly did she say?’
‘That I had to meet her at the station.’
Leanne clicked open her phone and accessed the message. ‘Oh no, it says: “meet me at the old station by the bridge”.’
‘The old station? That was abandoned years ago.’
‘Where is it?’
‘A few hundred metres that way.’ Steven pointed to a patch of woodland.
‘Is there a path?’
‘There used to be.’
She trotted to the car park. ‘There’s a stile.’
‘I’ll catch you up.’
Leanne peered over her shoulder at Steven who was striding towards Luke and Imogen. She started to jog, pounding the tarmac left and right, left and right, rhythmical and determined, and soon found herself fighting for air and urging her rapidly tiring limbs to carry her forward. Sweat gathered under her clothes and on her face, and she was slimy, cool and sticky. Her eyes were swimming and her chest taut, rising and falling at twice the speed of her steps.
The woodland was eerily still and silent and she had only her hammering heartbeat and heavy breaths for company. She stepped over the tussocks and weaved around the waist-high nettles. Her legs were giving way, weakening at her knees, and her lungs seemed to be shrinking. Gasping and with red-hot skin, she leaned over, resting her hand on a boulder for support, and felt the trickles of moisture slip from her nose.
‘Come on, we’re nearly there.’
Puffing, she peered at Steven’s legs, wiped the moisture from her face, and levered herself upright.
He grinned. He looked as though he had just stepped out of an ice-bath. ‘I’m sure she’ll wait for you.’
Leanne glanced back along the path. The absence of Luke and Imogen and their apparently casual attitude niggled, but she had too little energy to voice her irritations, and single-minded she hurried on. Steven kept in time, striding effortlessly.
The end of the path was in sight and her energies lifted. They marched along a pebbled track with a handrail, which veered off to her left, and stepped out of the woodland and onto a road riddled with cracks and potholes. To her left was the disused station and above the door was a digital clock, displaying 15:37.
Leanne’s steps faltered. ‘It’s too late.’
Steven gave her a curious glance.
‘That’s when it happened.’
He looked at his watch. ‘It’s stopped . . . probably been like that for months.’
Ignited by a new spark of energy, she scurried to the building. ‘Which way to the bridge?’
‘I don’t know.’
She gawked.
‘There must be a path by the railway line.’
Pacing back and forth, she scanned the dense foliage for a gap. Wide-eyed, she turned to Steven. ‘I can’t see one.’
A car rumbled down the hill. It was Luke and Imogen.
Finally, she thought and reached into her pocket for her phone. It hovered over Teresa’s number.
‘Found it,’ he yelled. He disappeared around the rear of the building. ‘I can see a bridge.’
She dropped her phone into her pocket. The slamming of a car door reverberated through her ears.
‘We think we know who Karen is.’ Luke called.
Leanne spun around.
‘It’s Queenie.’ He trotted towards her, breathless with excitement. ‘Those women told me. We’d met her earlier in the café. I knew she was listening in,’ he glimpsed at Imogen, ‘she said Karen changed her name to Queenie years ago.’
‘That can’t be right. She said they were friends.’
‘She was adamant. Her friend was too. I guess there’s only one way to find out.’
Leanne was dumbstruck. Queenie was her mother; her mother was a drunk.
‘She also said she saw her walking this way about half an hour ago.’
Her face scrunched. ‘She’s meeting Teresa?’
‘Apparently so.’
‘We have to hurry.’
He hesitated. ‘You go ahead. I have a quick call to make.’
She trotted around the back of the building and bumped straight into Steven. Her expression drifted between a smile and a grimace.
‘What it is?’ he asked.
‘Queenie is my mother. She’s Karen.’
A creeping bramble caught on her jeans. She tugged herself free, and then with the flat of her hands encouraged Steven to continue along the path.
He looked to her, sheepish. ‘That day she met me for a drink she talked endlessly about Karen . . . knew everything about her, her innermost feelings, everywhere she’d been, all her jobs. I should have realised.’
They followed the narrow track, treading wilting weeds and trampling decaying leaves.
‘I believed her when she told me they were friends,’ Leanne said, ‘it was a reasonable thing to say. Do you think she would have told me eventually?’
‘Maybe. Don’t be too harsh on her.’
‘Why not?’
‘You should let her explain first.’
She pulled back a stray branch, dipped underneath the tree, and released it. It swung back and forth. ‘I don’t know what I’ll say to her anyway. Should I be blunt?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe Teresa is planning on reintroducing you?’
The premonition rushed into her mind with such an overwhelming urgency that she jerked forward. There was not going to be a happy reunion, at all. She started to trot. ‘Come on, we should hurry.’
They reached a junction where the path split; the one that headed slightly left was uphill, the other one descended.
‘Which way?’ Leanne asked.
‘Straight on. It stays closer to the line.’
Breathless and panting, she took his suggested route.
‘Look,’ he said, ‘there’s the bridge.’
‘Can you see them?’
‘No.’
‘They must be here somewhere.’
The path was almost adjacent to the line and there was a bridge a few metres overhead.
Leanne’s tone filled with panic. ‘Where are they?’
They stopped. They scanned the railway line and looked across at the grasses, shrubbery, and the yellowing leaves on the trees. Cackling laughter filled the air. Up above, perched on overhanging rocks were Teresa and Queenie.
Leanne could not help but look at Queenie through new eyes. The woman was a helpless drunk and now was no exception. Even a short distance away, she could see her eyes drooping and her cheeks a shiny red. Her makeup, too, was more pronounced. She looked terrible, far older than her sixt
y or so years.
‘Leanne,’ Teresa called. ‘Come up and join the party.’
‘What are you doing up there?’
‘Reminiscing. I have a surprise for you.’
Leanne was stony-faced. ‘We know who you are, both of you.’
‘Do you, do you really?’
She held her tongue.
‘Aw well, that was only part of the surprise. Leanne, meet Karen.’
Queenie was leaning into the trunk of a tree. She looked to Teresa. ‘Am I Karen?’
‘Say hello to your daughter,’ Teresa said.
She lifted her arm, giving a feeble wave, and reached in a bag for another bottle.
‘Please come down,’ Leanne called. ‘We should talk.’
‘All in good time,’ Teresa said. ‘You should come up here. The view is fantastic and the vibrations from the train send shivers up your spine.’
‘What is it you want?’
‘I want to see you happy.’
‘So why rip me off. I want my money back.’
‘Money? What money?’
‘You know what money. The forty thousand I gave Geoff.’
‘You poor thing. You never gave him any money. You backed out first, remember?’
She clenched her jaw. ‘Why are you doing this?’
Teresa grinned. ‘Like I said, I want to see you happy.’
‘Taking my money is not making me happy.’
‘Aw, you’re confused. You don’t know what’s good for you, but I do. I know what’s good for both of you.’ She turned to Queenie. ‘We’ve voted for a happy future, remember?’
Queenie chortled and thrust out her bottle. ‘To a happy future.’
Teresa sneered. ‘Remember how happy we were? When we both had little girls?’
‘I had a little girl? Only . . . only . . .’
Her tone hardened. ‘Go on, say it.’
Queenie was silent.
‘You wanted rid, remember?’
‘I did?’ Queenie frowned. ‘No, that’s not right.’
‘Tell her what you did.’
‘No, that was Karen.’
‘You are Karen.’
‘No, I’m Queenie.’
‘Say you’re sorry.’
Their eyes locked and Teresa’s determination remained.
