“What do you mean?”
“I know you think we screwed up and did it all wrong. But, Fliss, I don’t regret any of it. I’d do it all again exactly the same way to have you. And your dad wasn’t the worst thing to ever happen to me. It was as the years went on, we realised we were never truly meant for each other. There was never a spark. Nothing like you and this James boy. If you keep pushing people away who don’t meet your list of requirements because… What did you say was wrong with this one?”
“He’s too confident. He’s only motivated by money… although, he has a good reason for that. But he’s really annoying. Never sticks to plans. He comes up with these mad ideas without thinking them through and it makes my blood boil.”
Mum sniffs a laugh. “But you enjoy being with him?”
I think about how much I laughed in Scotland, despite the way we almost died. How he kept me safe and warm. How even in the worst moments he would find something funny to turn my mood around. How I felt safe enough, even when I wasn’t sure, to share serious discussions with him. It’s early days. Despite having worked with him for six years, we’re only just getting to know one another.
“Shit, I have to go after him,” I say, letting go of Mum and sprinting towards the door.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
My heart is beating frantically as I storm down the slabbed pavement towards the station. He won’t answer his phone. I’ve tried three times. But I guess that’s fair. I’ve basically ignored him for two days. I assume he’ll be taking the train. Obviously, I don’t actually know this. Or does he have a car? He lives in London. Why would he need a car? I shake my head. The train station is my best bet.
A woman in a pushchair gives me a funny look as I hop into the road to get around her. A horn blares as a car swerves past me.Idiot. He was nowhere near hitting me. Can’t he see I’m in emergency mode? Nobody goes running in jeans and a sweatshirt in early summer!
There are several thoughts swirling around my head. What if James isn’t at the station? Or, what if in my moment of stubborn hesitation, I’ve missed his train and he’s already on his way back to the city? My lungs slam against my chest. I can’t get enough air into them. I don’t ever run. It’s quite literally the worst thing I could do to myself. But I deserve it. What an idiot I’ve been! How could I not hear what he was trying to tell me? And oh god. His stories about heartbreaks and being left and abandoned by people. I’m no better than any of them. He at least deserves a chance. We both do.
The station comes into view up ahead. I can just catch the operator talking over the loudspeaker, something about “London” and “leaving”, and I can’t run fast enough. I don’t see James anywhere, and the staff behind the ticket kiosk give me a funny look as I sprint, red faced and sweaty, to the glass.
“Hi, hi. I just need to speak to a friend. They’re in the station. Can you let me through?”
“You need to buy a ticket,” a nasally voice responds.
“I’m not getting on a train,” I retort. “This isn’t the airport.”
“You need a ticket to go through the stiles.”
I laugh with frustration, then double over trying to recover from the run.Good lord, Fliss. It was only a minute run.
“Please,” I say once more, looking across the stiles at a train waiting, doors open.
When the man repeats himself for the third time, I remember what James said to me in Scotland. It’s not necessarily correct but his words play out in my head.Sometimes you can’t afford the things you need. You can’t afford to get on that train. But youneedto.
I stand up, give the man behind the kiosk a scowl, then bolt towards the stiles. I try to clear them entirely by placing my hands on the top middle part and jumping, but I’m far too short. I end up with my legs tangled, crying out in pain. The metal is hard as my shins smack across them. Finally, with a shuffle, I end up on my arse on the other side. Someone shouts at me.
I climb to my feet, looking around wildly for James. There’s still no sign of him, not on any of the benches or stood on the platform. Maybe he’s already boarded the train. A conductor is running towards me now, waving their hands and blowing a whistle. Oh, bloody hell. Who have I become? The train is about to leave, the doors sounding that high-pitched beeping. I only have a second to make up my mind, and because it says it’s going to London via Lewes, I leap forwards. Suddenly the doors close behind me, and an angry man is frowning at me from the platform behind the glass. I make asorryface, shrugging as the train moves away from the station.
“Fliss?”
I turn around to see James leaning around his chair to look at me. His face is a mix of shock and confusion.
“I don’t have a ticket,” I say.
He laughs. “Ok.”
“I just had to… I’m so sorry. I think I’ve projected some of my own issues on you and that’s incredibly unfair.”
“Alright.”
“I mean, you did hurt me. You should’ve told me from the start that the note from Michael was only meant for you.”
He nods, watching me.
Other people are sat on the carriage, some pretending to read their phones, others just outright watching our conversation as if it’s free entertainment. “Can we, um?” I nod behind me to the train loo. I frown because it’s not somewhere I want to go, but also, I don’t particularly want an audience for this discussion.
James climbs up from his seat, grabbing his bag and walking tentatively towards me. He points behind me, where there are some free seats that look relatively private. I nod, better than the loo.See, not all his ideas are terrible. We sit opposite each other as the South Downs whip by.
