David Storey - Saville

‘What time is the train due?’ Colin said.

‘Usually we get the five o’clock. Though I suppose it’s going to be crowded,’ Stafford said. ‘If you get the four o’clock it’s often empty, and you can get a compartment to yourself.’ He looked across. ‘Aren’t you coming on the train?’

‘I’ve got no money. Just the return for the bus,’ he said.

‘I’ll lend you it. I’m loaded,’ Stafford said. ‘You can pay us back whenever you like.’ He took his arm. ‘They’ll be expecting you to be on the train,’ he added.

He let Stafford buy the ticket. They went through the wooden barrier and on to the platform. The two girls were waiting at the opposite end. They were standing on a trolley, looking over a railing to the street below. Double-decker buses passed through a tunnel beneath the station.

Beyond the end of the platform the lines curved off towards the river; in the farthest distance a broad vista of wooded hill-land, broken here and there by colliery slag-heaps, stretched away from the fringes of the town.

‘See what you can hit, then,’ Stafford said and gave several copper coins to each of the girls.

‘I don’t want them,’ Audrey said. She handed them to Colin.

Marion was already leaning through the railings; she let a coin drop and they watched it bounce then roll, briefly, on the cobbled road below. Stafford dropped his: it bounced on the roof of a bus and then to the road. The girls laughed, quickly, drawing back their heads.

‘Honestly, they’ll be coming up if you keep on doing that, my darling,’ Marion said. She dropped another coin herself, laughing then as the crowd, hearing the tinkle of the coin, looked up.

‘If it hits anybody’s head it’s bound to hurt them,’ Audrey said.

‘Oh, we only drop them lightly, don’t we, darling?’ Stafford said.

The train came in. The engine, slowing, lumbered to the bridge.

Two people got out of the first compartment and Stafford climbed inside. He pulled down the blinds on the windows, then when they’d climbed in, he fastened the door.

‘Sit by the windows, girls,’ he said. ‘And make it seem we’re full inside.’

He lowered the window and peered outside.

‘Nobody comes in if you lean out looking anxious. They always think it’s full,’ he said, gazing mournfully along the platform. Other doors were slammed. A whistle blew.

The train lurched forward, slowed, then, swaying, crossed the bridge. The pounding of the engine came through the carriage wall.

‘Isn’t it dark? Who’s this, then?’ Stafford said. Having raised the window and lowered the blind he groped along the bench-like seat.

The girls had screamed.

‘Hey, Colin. Come and help me, then,’ he said.

The girls had screamed again.

‘Whose is this arm, then?’ Stafford said. ‘Hey,’ he added. ‘I’ve found a leg.’

Marion screamed.

Colin found Audrey between his arms. He drew her to him, pressed his lips against her, found her cheek, then, when he pressed his lips against her once again he kissed her hair.

He heard her laugh.

She tried to move away. He held her tightly. Briefly, then, their lips had met.

The pounding of the train grew louder, the track enclosed between high walls.

The sound had faded.

‘Honestly,’ Marion said across the carriage. ‘I can’t have that.’

A blind went up.

A flood of daylight filled the carriage.

‘Honestly, he’s terrible,’ Marion said. She was pressed up now against the wall, Stafford lying full length along the bench.

Colin, releasing Audrey, drew back against the seat, glancing briefly at her face and then at Stafford.

‘I’ll sit beside you, Audrey,’ Marion said, easing herself round Stafford’s outstretched arm and sinking down on the seat beside her. ‘Honestly, aren’t they terrible?’ she said.

Stafford, kneeling, reached over to the blind.

‘See what we can find this time, then,’ he said.

The blind pulled down and fastened, Marion then Audrey screamed again. Colin felt the shape pressed down towards him and put out his arm to hold Audrey once again.

He felt her arm and then her waist. He leant his head towards her, found her lips and for a moment they clung together, jarred by the lurching of Marion on the other side.

‘Honestly,’ Marion said, ‘he’s awful,’ and gave yet another scream, much louder than the rest.

‘Feel there. Honestly, I never knew she wore them,’ Stafford said.

A blind went up.

‘Honestly,’ Marion said. Her face was red. She tugged down her skirt then fastened her coat. She released another blind and then, stepping quickly across the carriage, released the rest.

Stafford sank back against the bench. He brushed back his hair and began to whistle, gazing out, abstracted, to the fields passing now below the track.

They crossed the river: a dark expanse of water coiled off between low, half-flooded banks.

‘Honestly, he’s so awful,’ Marion said. She’d taken a comb from her jacket pocket and standing to look into one of the framed pictures on the compartment wall she combed her hair.

Audrey, her hands clasped in her lap, sat by Colin; she gazed past him to the opposite window where the profile of the town stood up, outlined, like a wall of rock.

‘Are you getting off at Saxton?’ Stafford said.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I suppose I shall.’

‘I might get off as well, then,’ Stafford said.

‘Listen to him. Sulking,’ Marion said. ‘He’s got miles to walk if he gets off there.’

‘Where do you get off, Audrey?’ Colin said.

‘I get off at Drayton,’ she said, naming a village some distance farther on.

‘I suppose I’ll have to go home with glad-hands,’ Marion said. ‘Unless he gets off at Saxton with his bosom-friend .’

‘I might get off. I might not, then,’ Stafford said.

‘Honestly, he’s so awful. You never feel safe when he’s near you,’ Marion said.

She sat down now on the other side.

‘Don’t come near me,’ she added when Stafford went across.

He sat beside her for a while, his arms folded, gazing at Audrey and then at Colin.

‘Honestly, I haven’t done a thing. What’s she going on about?’ he said.

‘Not in daylight ,’ Marion said.

‘Why not try the blinds down. The light’s too strong for me,’ he said.

‘Over my dead body, darling,’ Marion said.

They sat in silence for a while. The train drew into a station. Doors were slammed. A whistle blew.

Smoke billowed down beside the carriage.

The engine lurched. They moved off again between hedged fields.

‘Honestly,’ Marion said again when Stafford raised one arm and, cautiously, put it round her waist. He kissed her cheek.

‘There then, my darling. I never meant no harm.’

‘That’s not what it felt like, my darling,’ Marion said.

‘But what’s this feel like, my darling,’ Stafford said and, more slowly, kissed her cheek again.

Marion had turned her head towards him. They kissed silently for a while, their arms finally entwined together.

Colin put his arm round Audrey. He held her lightly, afraid to see her face or glance towards her. As if absorbed by the passing fields and hedges, they gazed out through the window, swaying slightly, jarring, to the movement of the carriage.

Another station came. Stafford, alarmed, leapt up to the door. He leant out of the window until the whistle blew, then fell back in the seat, his arms once again, outstretched, enclosing Marion. They kissed each other silently as the train began to move.

More fields passed; a colliery yard. The train clattered through a cutting, the rock walls hidden by clouds of steam.