Fractured(25)

The rhythm of the train was soporific and before long I lowered my magazine, settled my head more comfortably against the headrest and closed my eyes. It felt strange to be going back home; even stranger to be meeting up with friends I had not seen in years. It was impossible not to feel guilty when I realised the vows we had all made to keep in touch had been empty promises, full of more good intentions than actual resolve.

It had been easy to stay in touch during our student days, returning as we did to our families at the end of each term. Not so easy now though, when we were scattered the length and breadth of the country with only one or two people still remaining in the Great Bishopsford area. For most of us, our old home town had been too small to hold us when careers and relationships began to tug us away.

Pursuing my own career in journalism had made my move to London an inevitable one. The same applied to Matt, who had needed to be based in the capital for his business since taking over from his parents after their retirement to Spain. I still saw Sarah whenever I could, of course; some friendships would always manage to endure any distance of separation or neglect. But there were people I had thought I would always have in my life; important people, who had somehow just faded away.

I had been looking forward to the evening ahead and was disappointed that my work commitments had meant the reunion   would already be several hours old by the time I arrived. More than anything I was curious to see if the threads of our friendship were still there, or if the unravelling of the old group was sadly irreversible.

The man, whose unwanted attention had so disturbed the beginning of my journey, never returned to the carriage. And while this should have quietened my fears, I couldn’t stop myself from checking the commuters who disembarked the train at the various stations, my eyes scouring the darkness, hoping to catch sight of a shabby tan jacket. I didn’t see him. Knowing he was most likely still on the train did very little to calm me. At one of the major stations the train had emptied dramatically and it had been impossible to check for him among the throng of commuters on the platform. There were only a handful of stations left until we reached Great Bishopsford and even fewer on the line beyond that. What were the chances of him alighting at the same stop as me? Greater now than they had been, I supposed. The ice cube down my spine was back.

From the station I intended to catch a cab across town and go directly to the restaurant. It was a shame there wasn’t time to go to the hotel and change first but I was going to be ridiculously late as it was. I regretted now not asking Matt to meet me at the station but it had seemed selfish to drag him away halfway through the evening. Grabbing a cab had seemed the best option. I only hoped there would be one ready and waiting at the rank.

With only ten minutes until my stop, I delved into my large handbag and extracted a compact and comb. As I was, by then, one of only three people left in the carriage, it didn’t seem too inappropriate to reapply some make-up on the train. And while the overhead fluorescent light wasn’t exactly flattering, it did at least allow me to tidy up some of the ravages of the day. I applied powder, touched up my eyeshadow and streaked a smooth layer of gloss across my lips. Unfortunately the size of the compact made it impossible to view the overall effect. I tried angling the mirror both up and down in an attempt to get a better look, which wasn’t very effective, and I was on the point of snapping shut the compact when in the corner of the mirror I caught a fleeting glimpse of tan reflecting in the tiny glass.

I spun around in my seat as though electrocuted, imagining the strange man from earlier to be standing directly behind me. There was no one there. The carriage held only myself and two other occupants, both of whom appeared to be asleep. Cautiously I stepped away from my seat, terrified the bald man was somehow lying in wait behind one of the banquettes. As I hesitantly moved down the gangway, I kept my eyes firmly aware of the location of the nearest emergency cord. Screw the £250 fine for misuse, if anyone had so much as said ‘boo’ to me at that moment, I was ready to bring the train to a halt in an instant.

Of course there was no one there. And by the time I was halfway down the carriage I had already begun to feel more than a little ridiculous. I had already managed to convince myself that what I thought I had seen in the mirror was most likely a flash of orange reflection from a passing street lamp. It was just my over-active imagination that had made a quantum leap to the wrong conclusion. No one was lying in wait and unless I intended to search every last carriage on the train – which I most certainly did not – I just had to let go of the crazed-stalker notion.