LITMIR.BIZ

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I allowed myself to think that maybe, just maybe, things had changed. He had changed.

      Now I know he had used the familiarity of an old film to get what he wanted. It had just been about sex, about primal need, and that sickened me. Still, at least he remembered I liked the old black and whites – surely that was something?

      I wondered where it had gone so wrong and why we couldn’t we have a life more like those old movies? The ones where people fell in love. The ones where there would be some problem facing that love, whether it was someone else trying to block it or a class division, but love would always win. People didn’t lie in the black and white movies. They didn’t cheat either.

      Thinking about them made me feel sad for their struggles and angry I was making my issues with John seem like the be-all and end-all.

      Squeezing myself into my tight jeans, the ones that hugged my figure and made me feel attractive at the beginning of the evening and repulsive at the end, I searched for the shoes I had kicked off as things heated up. Quietly swearing to myself when I realized one was on the floor, painfully close to the bed. Holding my breath, I crouched to pick it up, his deep breathing suggesting it didn’t matter if I was there or not.

      Taking one final look at his beautiful body, I knew there was no going back. Checking my train timetable app to see the next train home was just before midnight I knew I had a long wait, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t stay any longer. Putting on my cardigan and wrapping my scarf around my neck I walked towards the door, wanting to, but not daring to look back.

      I tried to keep my head held high, as if it would give me a little more dignity. Wondering how I could feel dignified sneaking out of an ex’s house in the middle of the night, and grabbing my bag I left, closing the heavy door behind me. Taking with me my shame and the tattered remains of our relationship in one quiet, unceremonious moment.

Chapter 3

      10.43 p.m. – March train station, England

      Four minutes.

      I paid the driver and stepped into the frigid wind, which carried a drizzling rain. The kind that soaked you without you knowing it was raining. As I shut the door I could hear him cough a little as he said goodbye but the door was already out of my hand and closing, cutting him off mid phrase.

      Pulling my cardigan over my chin I steadied myself. The cold air mixing with the red wine I had been drinking making me feel a little tipsy. I heard my phone ping from inside my bag. Stopping in the sheltered entrance of the train station I rifled through it, finding my iPhone. Pulling it out I tapped in my security code, 0311, the month and year I first met the man who’d made me feel so abandoned. Tapping the screen on the new message icon I saw it was from him.

       ‘I had fun tonight.’

      I read and reread the message, hoping to find some hidden meaning in its four words until the screen went blank, turning the dark glass of my iPhone into a mirror, one that showed a tired girl who had just been taken advantage of.

      I opened my banking app, punched in my security code and prayed. I knew there wouldn’t be much, but I hoped there was enough to pay for my ticket in case a train conductor was on board. The station didn’t have a ticket machine or a barrier; it still worked on a trust between passengers and the train company. One I’d abused too many times for someone in their late twenties. My account read £3.41. I scrolled to see what was in my savings. A sorrowful 6p. I’d have to jump the train and keep my fingers crossed.

      Dropping my phone back into my bag, I stepped into the tired station and saw a man standing close to the edge, looking out across the track towards the other platform. Oddly, he was barefoot. His shoes were carefully placed beside him like someone might do before they entered a mosque. I looked around to see if someone was there with him. Wondering for a moment if he was filming a media student’s project. Being near Cambridge there was always something of that nature happening. But he was alone, lost in his own thoughts.

      I looked at the floor trying not to establish any kind of eye contact, moving slower as I made my way to the bench. Strangely, I felt like I wasn’t allowed to be there. Out of the corner of my eye I could see him swaying a little, obviously drunk. Sitting down as quietly as I could, I hoped he wouldn’t turn around and notice me. The hairs on the back of my neck rose as I became aware that I was alone at a deserted train station with a drunk man close by.

      Looking up at the rusting station roof I thought about my evening and felt a sense of déjà vu. Before John there was Micky and before him, in my college days, there was Paul. Men I’d loved who had lied to me. My first two loves committing betrayal had been hard. I’d cried a lot, then slept with a few men, then hated myself for it and stopped dating until meeting the next one.

      But John was different. I was no longer in my teens or early twenties. I was nearly at an age where families and marriage would be a factor. And I had pictured that with him. And it was all a lie.

      I pulled out a packet of Marlboro Lights from my bag and opened them. It took four attempts to get my cigarette lit. Each strike of my lighter possibly alerting the man that I was there. Luckily for me they didn’t. I leaned forward and rubbed my temple with my free hand, glancing at the damp floor. The man hadn’t moved at all and, feeling confident I didn’t matter to him, I looked at him gently swaying. I looked at his shoes beside him, once smart but now scuffed and stained. A dark brown patch across the side of the right one. The black leather worn off the toes.

      My mum told me you could tell a lot about a person’s shoes. His told me that he was once someone who cared, and now didn’t. I thought he was too close to the edge of the platform for a man who was drunk. I should have told him to step back – I thought it. Almost articulated it. But stopped myself. He was an adult, able to look after himself. And besides. I didn’t want an act of kindness to be misread. As far as I was concerned he was like all men. But still, I watched. Curious as to whether my shoe assessment was in any way true.

      I could only see him from behind but could tell he was in good shape, his white shirt tight and damp across his shoulders and back, showing a strong muscular form. He looked down onto the track, his thoughts obviously back from wherever they had been. Thinking he would turn and look behind at me, I shifted my body. Closing myself off. Despite my curiosity about him, I didn’t want to talk to him. I just wanted to be left alone.

      ***

      Three minutes.

      Dying didn’t worry Chris; the only thing that did was the timing. Not just the date but the moment too. He wanted to not step in front of the train but under it. The idea of the driver having to see his death bothered him too much. He knew what it was like to watch a person die. It was something he wished on no one.

      If he waited for the train to pass and then stepped under one of the carriages, say, the twenty-fourth one, his outcome would be exactly the same, but no one would see it happen and therefore no one would be scarred.

      The 10.47 was a cargo-loaded train; there would be no passengers. With the timing of his suicide and the note he had placed under the bench, Chris was confident it would cause only a small amount of collateral damage. He knew that the driver would have to stop because someone died but he wouldn’t see it, he would be at least three hundred feet away in his carriage before Chris would step out. The emergency services were used to jumpers. This was his final redeeming act as a human being. The only thing he still had to offer.

      Looking at the picture that was crumpled into his palm, once more Chris focused on his wife’s eyes, the amber flecks like lightning bolts in her green eyes that seemed to move with fluidity. He focused on the way her smile was slightly higher on one side, giving her a mischievous glint. He kissed it and carefully put her in his shirt pocket. He wanted her close to his heart when the time came.

      ***

      I watched him kiss a picture out of the corner of my eye. Seeing him kiss it changed how I felt about him. It made me think of an old film I love. One where a man’s heart belonged in one place. And I realized

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