Christopher Fowler - Personal Demons

The tea grew cold in her hand as she idly turned the pages. How many times so far this week? Six or seven at least. Soon, perhaps, it would only be once or twice. Perhaps his earnest face would only come to mind on rainy Thursday afternoons, describing a routine day at the hospital until the whistle for the boat train gave him pause. Sometimes she played a game, staring hard at the book until she was convinced that he would be standing there when she looked up. She played it now, closing the cover and wiping it dry with the back of her glove. Now she would look up and see -

'Laura! Goodness, we do seem to be running into each other a lot these days! My dear, you look frazzled. I'm not a bit surprised, this ghastly weather is enough to tire anyone out.'

Dolly Messiter, bustling with chat, garlanded with packages, dropped into the chair opposite. Laura forced a smile of recognition, if not welcome. Dolly failed to notice. She scraped her chair around and addressed the counter.

'I say, could I have a cup of tea, not too strong, and a bar of Nestles?' She turned to Laura. 'It's for Tony. I'm surprised he still has a tooth in his head.'

'Sixpenny or shilling?' Myrtle was displeased at having to call from the counter. Dolly showed no sign of rising to collect her tea.

'Oh, the sixpenny, plain if you have it.' She lowered her voice and turned back. 'Laura, you really do look rather peaky. Would you like a fresh cup, buck you up?''No, really, I'm fine thanks, just a little tired.'

'Iron pills. They're the answer. Margo swears by them, not that they've done her much good, poor soul.'

Beryl brought over the tea and the chocolate.

'Thank you, dear.' Dolly handed her eightpence and plopped in the cube of sugar from her saucer. 'Who would have thought that the shops would be so crowded on such a beastly day? My dear I'm all done in, and soaked thanks to the pavement outside McFisheries.'

Laura's gaze had returned to the back of the library book.

If you have enjoyed this book, why not try these other fine -

'These stockings were a present from Tony, and now of course they're quite ruined…'

In the distance, machinery rattled. Rails pinged with the weight of a locomotive. 'Could you tell me, is that the Ketchworth train?'

Mr Godby looked up from his Daily Sketch , propped against the cake stand.

'No, it's the express, the boat train.' He set down his cup of tea. 'Early too!' and hurried out of the door.

'Really, Laura, you ought to see a doctor. You looked exhausted the last time I saw you. But of course, you were with a doctor, weren't you? Doctor…'

She searched the air for a name, waiting for Laura to supply it.

'Doctor Harvey. Alec Harvey.'

'Harvey, that's right. What a charming man. There are so few about these days. Didn't he go to India?'

'Africa. He moved his practice there.'

'Africa, that's it. He should have prescribed you something. Have you heard from him?'

'No, nothing.' Laura drank the last of her cold tea. The express roared through, beating a tattoo on the sleepers, halting conversation.

She's going to ask how Fred is now. What can I tell her? Fred will be sitting at home listening to the wireless, doing the crossword. Fred is writing in the answer to a clue, checking his watch, waiting for his dinner. Fred is Fred. Not Alec.

'Well, much as I hate to brave the cold, I'd really better heave these parcels on to the platform or I'll never board the train in time. What time is it?'

'Twenty to six. It's due in three minutes. They don't bother to close the gates between the two trains. Here, let me give you a hand with those.'

Dolly thankfully handed her one of the smaller packages.

'You go ahead,' said Laura, 'I'll bring the rest.'

Dolly staggered out of the tearoom clutching her purchases while Laura rose and folded up the fur collar of her coat. As she pulled on her gloves she gazed around the refreshment room for the last time. The door had closed on Dolly. Myrtle was attending to her accounts, squinting over the top of her spectacles as she made ticks on a list. For a moment the only sound was the shifting of fireplace coals.

Laura tilted back her head and closed her eyes. Until now she had not felt it was truly over. They had parted without saying goodbye. How could they have, with Dolly and her confounded congregation of parcels plumping down between them at the last minute? But now, in the quiet of the tearoom it felt finally over. With the closing of its door the memory would be sealed inside forever.

Across the room, Beryl set the scuttle down with a bang.

Laura's eyes snapped open, wide and brown. She pulled out a handkerchief and blew her nose in an annoyed fashion. Gathering the parcel and book, she opened the waiting room door and propped it with her foot. The bright empty room with its familiar window table now seemed like any other. In the distance the whistle of the five forty-three sounded, and Laura let the door swing shut.

Once Dolly's parcels were safely loaded on to the luggage rack, Laura smoothed the seat of her coat and took a window seat. Spread across the centre of the carriage, Dolly prattled. Tony had been ill, Derry and Toms were having a sale, she still hadn't found a replacement for Phyllis. Laura nodded amiably and sympathised without hearing a word.

With a push of steam and a lurch the train moved forward and began to pick up speed. Laura cleared a patch of glass. Beyond the window, green enamel signs rolled past, posters and benches flashing by. Milford Junction sped away.

'Of course I was sorry to see her go, she was a treasure and heaven knows it's hard enough finding a replacement these days…'

They were pulling level with the underpass entrance at the end of the platform as someone – a lanky figure running awkwardly, fawn Dunn & Co raincoat flapping, trilby pulled down tight, missed the train. For a second, really just a second, the loping gait seemed so familiar, the bony hand raised to hold the hat, the long legs striding up the slope, something forlorn and lost – but the image was gone, replaced by the bare wet branches of the elms that lined the cutting.

Laura slumped back in her seat and closed her eyes. Dolly had ceased her chatter and was now pulling at a magazine wedged in her handbag.

The beat of wheels on metal, over wood, lulled Laura to sleep. There had been no-one running for the train. Beneath her body, the points switched. The train swayed, bearing her back to Ketchworth and home.

The door of the refreshment room flew open, spraying rain with it, as the figure strode across to the counter. 'I'm sorry, could you tell me, was that the Ketchworth train?'

Myrtle peered over the top of her glasses and set aside her fountain pen. Instead of setting down his trilby with a pinch of his hand, the enquirer pulled his hat tighter on to his head and refused to catch her eye.

'Indeed it was. You've only just missed it.'

The man tugged open his raincoat and pulled at a pocket. He moved oddly, as though he had been wounded. The war had done terrible things to the country's men.

'I'll have a tea please.'

'Cake or pastry?'

'Just a tea.' He still refused to catch her eye. Perhaps there was something wrong with his face. Myrtle slipped two cubes of sugar into the saucer. In the distance, thunder rumbled. Alec fumbled for money and placed two pennies on the counter. He felt the weight of the book dragging at him. After a brief moment of hesitation he withdrew it and took his tea to the window table, sitting in the opposite chair to where she had sat.

Myrtle glanced over once or twice and could tell he was writing something. There was a strange smell in the room, drawn from the damp wood in the fire.

When she next looked up, he was standing before her.