The Train

by Sarah Bourne

  Barry cleared his throat, bringing her back to the present.

  ‘You used to love each other,’ she said sadly.

  ‘Yes, we were close until we got into our teens, I suppose. But you’re not here to talk about the past. Something’s happened. What is it?’

  Iris took a deep breath. Where to begin? She looked at the hanky clutched in her hand.

  ‘She invited me to stay for a few days last week. I go every now and then, you know. I don’t like leaving Charlie, but Doreen goes in and walks him and feeds him. As long as I don’t go for too long, he’s all right.’

  ‘Mother–’

  ‘Sorry. I’ll try and get to the point.’ She stroked the back of his hand. He had a couple of age spots. ‘So, I went last Friday. Have you been to her house in Milton Keynes? It’s terribly small and damp.’

  ‘Mother!’

  Iris shrugged and drew her lips in. ‘I know I talk too much when I’m in company. I spend too much time on my own these days.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Barry.

  ‘No, no, it’s all right. I wasn’t getting at you. Anyway, Laura collected me from the station on her way home from work. She’d made an effort to make things nice – there were flowers by my bed and she’d got something nice in for dinner. I asked where John was and she said he was on a business trip. I wondered about it at the time, about why a fish and chip shop owner would be on a business trip – they don’t do that sort of thing, do they?’

  Barry shrugged. ‘Sounds a bit fishy – no pun intended.’

  Iris smiled.

  ‘Go on, Mother, you were saying John was away and you were having dinner.’

  ‘Yes, well it all started normally. She told me about her work at the pharmacy, I told her what I was doing – you know, my bridge club and bowls and so on. And how I always take Charlie for a good walk every day even when it’s raining.’

  Barry smiled and shook his head.

  ‘Sorry. Your father always said I told a terrible story. Or a good story badly.’ Iris laughed. ‘Anyway, she didn’t seem terribly interested in what I was up to, but she never has. After dinner, she sat me in the sitting room and took her position on the other side of the coffee table and she got out all these brochures.’ Iris felt her eyes filling with tears again. ‘Nursing home brochures.’ She blew her nose.

  ‘She told me she was worried about me living on my own so far away from her. She said you’d never lift a finger to help me so it was left to her. She wanted me to sell my house and move to a home near her. She’d even called an estate agent to give her an estimate of how much my house is worth.’ Iris wiped her eyes.

  ‘That’s terrible. But you know, she can’t force you out if you don’t want to go – it’s your house.’ Barry frowned.

  ‘She threatened to call social services and have me committed. She wants to take early retirement and was going on about all the things she’d do if only she could afford to.’ Iris suddenly felt calm. Sitting here telling Barry about it, she felt that everything would be all right. She’d been silly to work herself into a lather about it.

  ‘She’ll do no such thing,’ said Barry. ‘But do you need anything – I mean help around the house, that sort of thing?’

  Iris looked at him and a tremor started ascending her spine. It had been the same with Laura:

  ‘Mother, you can’t live on your own, you need help, what if you have a fall? What if you have a heart attack and nobody knows?’

  That had been her reasoning. Malice dressed as concern. Cruelty masquerading as kindness. Iris straightened her spine and stared into her son’s eyes.

  ‘I need about as much help as you do. I can still cook for myself.’ She thought of her TV dinners and decided not to mention them to Barry. ‘I can clean my house.’ Although she had started noticing that she missed places sometimes when she was dusting and couldn’t be bothered going back over them. ‘I can get myself up, dressed and washed, and out to my appointments. I’m fine.’

  She didn’t want help, she didn’t want charity, she didn’t want people feeling sorry for her and she certainly didn’t want people telling her what to do. What she wanted was to stay in her house.

  ‘Well,’ said Barry, ‘if you’re sure, that’s that. Perhaps you could come over for a meal with us more often – make it a regular family dinner. And if anything needs fixing, Luke and I are quite good at that sort of thing.’

  Iris smiled at him. ‘And maybe you could call me Mum rather than Mother. I like it better.’

  Barry laughed. ‘That’s taking it a bit too far!’

  He grew serious again. ‘It’s more than Laura wanting you out of your house, though, isn’t it?’

  He’d always been perceptive, Iris thought. As a child he’d been the sort to watch and take things in. It had unnerved her on occasion when he was a youngster. One time when he was about seven or eight he’d asked her why her friend, June, had made a face at her and a rude sign with her fingers as soon as Iris turned away.

  ‘I don’t think she likes you, Mummy,’ he’d said. ‘I think she’s just pretending.’

  Iris had dismissed it as a fancy. She and June had known each other for years – they’d looked after each other’s children and cried on each other’s shoulders when their parents had died. But a week after Barry had made his comment, June and she had a fight, their first ever. June accused her of changing, of becoming selfish and hoity-toity because she’d said she couldn’t look after June’s twins for the night so June could go out dancing with her new fancy man. Iris had been so surprised she hadn’t been able to say anything. June had left and they had never seen each other again; Iris’s attempts to talk to her had gone unanswered. She’d read her obituary in the local newspaper a few years later and hadn’t known how to sort out her feelings – she was sad but she was also angry, disappointed and confused.

  ‘Are you going to tell me?’

  ‘Oh sorry, dear. I was miles away thinking about June. Do you remember her?’

  ‘We were talking about Laura.’

  ‘Oh, yes. What was the question?’

  ‘I asked what else happened.’

  ‘Well, more of the same really. She said she couldn’t let me go home, that I had to stay with her until everything was sorted out. I didn’t know what to do so I said I’d think about it and went to bed but I couldn’t sleep. I heard Laura come upstairs and I was terrified she was going to come in and keep at me, but she went into her room. Hours later I needed to use the bathroom. Her bedroom door was open and I heard funny chirpy noises – you know how sound carries in those ticky-tacky houses – so I peeped in. She was sitting at her desk, a nearly empty bottle of wine next to her, playing a card game on the computer. That pokie game, I think.’

  Barry took a deep breath. ‘Poker. You think she’s gambling?’

  Iris nodded. ‘That’s what I said. And yes, she is gambling. She must have heard me and caught me watching her. You’d have thought I was the one doing something wrong the way she shouted at me. She said it was my fault she had to do it, that I’d always been mean with money and I’d never helped her when she’d asked for a loan in the past. Which isn’t true, by the way – I’ve given her money and never been paid back. Anyway, she called me every name under the sun, threatened to call the police to have me committed and accused me of making her life a misery. She said John wasn’t on a business trip but had left her because she never seemed to think he was good enough and she’s up to her ears in debt and can’t wait until I’m dead for her share of her inheritance.’

  Barry raised his eyebrows. ‘She actually said those words?’

  Iris nodded. ‘Exactly those words. Her share of the house. She said that if I transfer it to her now and live another seven years there’ll be no death duty. She said she wouldn’t want to waste money on that.’

  Barry put his arm around his mother’s shoulders and drew her close. ‘That’s awful. Sounds like Laura’s the one who needs help, not you.’

 
Iris shuddered. ‘I didn’t know what to do so I set my alarm for six o’clock this morning, just in case I fell asleep, although there was no way I was going to after that. I knew she’d still be snoring away – your sister’s always hated getting 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 the woman out of the corner of his eye as she slipped her shoe back on and looked around. Their eyes met, briefly, then she looked away.

  He took a deep breath. He wasn’t looking forward to the day. It wasn’t just this awful case he was working on and the client meeting he had later; he felt burnt out and wanted to retire. What he really wanted to do was go off on his motorbike. Just him, a credit card and the open road. His wife had called it his mid-life crisis – a BMW R 1200 GS, a great roaring beast that throbbed under him. He’d got a hard-on when he took it out for a test drive. He bought it on a whim, and had barely ridden it, but he could ride from Alaska to Tierra del Fuego, or around the coast of Australia. Even Land’s End to John O’Groats would do. Or he could buy a boat and sail solo round the world, no one expecting anything of him, no one relying on him. He could afford it but it just wasn’t done, to go off and leave a wife at home like that. Especially now. Damn her and that bloody horse.

  He closed his eyes for a moment. As if he didn’t have enough to deal with already, today he had the added problem of Liam. He clenched his jaw and took his paper out, trying to shake off any thought of his son. He attempted to concentrate on the news but in the lead up to the referendum, he was bored with the whole thing. There was no way the UK was going to vote itself out of Europe, no one was that crazy even with the fool Farage whipping people into a frenzy with his xenophobia, and Boris Johnson standing there and saying we’d all be better off and the NHS would be saved. What rubbish.

  He looked at his watch and at the police cars in the field, glad he wasn’t in court today at least.

  The carriage door opened and in came the guard. He was about the same age as Liam, and Lawrence felt the surge of anger that always accompanied thoughts of his son these days. Bloody young fool. Why couldn’t he get a job and settle down – he’d had a far better education than this lad but he wouldn’t even get a job on the trains the way he was going.

  He got his season ticket out and flashed it.

  ‘Suicide?’ he asked.

  The guard’s lips tightened for a moment and he didn’t make eye contact.

  ‘I’m not at liberty to say anything at the moment, I’m afraid.’

  Which, as far as Lawrence was concerned, meant, Yes, suicide. ‘Is the driver all right?’ he asked.r />
  The conductor looked surprised.

  ‘What I mean is, will he be looked after? My grandfather drove a train and it happened to him once. He never got into the driving cab again.’

  ‘He’ll have his sick leave and that,’ said the conductor.

  Lawrence drew a card out of his wallet. ‘If he has any trouble, call me. I can put him on to the right lawyer if he needs one.’

  When the young man had gone, Lawrence smiled to himself. He might be pissed off with his son, but he was still a decent sort. Giving the guard his card had been a magnanimous gesture. He was unlikely to use it.

  He closed his eyes and thought about his grandfather. He remembered him as a humourless man who had made a fortune when he was still quite young and let it go to his head.

  He’d been a train driver – steam trains, of course – before he’d invented the gadget that had made him rich. An addition to the braking system that made it more efficient, and had started him on the road to making his fortune. No one had been more surprised than him, but he’d had the foresight to patent his invention and was able to raise some capital. He left the railways to start an engineering company manufacturing his gadget and others and eventually settled into the life of the wealthy – ‘hunting, shooting and fishing’. Although there was no fishing for him, he said it was too passive. He liked the thrill of the chase. He’d bought an estate near Northampton from a man whose gambling and womanising was running it into the ground. Lawrence smiled to himself. He loved the house and gardens, had wonderful memories of playing there with his cousin, Jeff, when they were children. Then there’d been the terrible falling out in the mid-seventies over his grandfather’s will, in which he left the entire estate to Jeff’s father, and not a penny to his own. Lawrence didn’t know what it was all about, but his anal sphincter still clenched when he thought of it, the injustice of it all. His grandfather may have had an issue with Lawrence’s father, but that was no reason to cut his grandchildren out of the will. If he’d been a lawyer then he’d have contested it, but he’d only been a powerless teenager. His father had refused to talk about it and had never spoken to his brother again. Lawrence was just glad he and Jeff hadn’t allowed it to mar their relationship.