Cecelia Ahern - Short Stories - The Every Year Collection

He crossed the yellow line and jumped down off the platform. He could see a man on the opposite platform waving frantically but he couldn’t hear a word he said. His mind was focused on the sounds of the train as it approached the bridge over the city, the wail of the horn, the vibrations on the tracks, the hiss and squeal of the wheels. His heart beat faster, his throat dried up and he loosened his tie. He glanced back at the board. One minute. His parents. What would they think? This would destroy them. He pictured them receiving the news, remembering their last conversation on the phone when he told them both he loved them, how they had joked and laughed together and how he had sounded happier than they could remember in a long time. As he walked along the edge of the track towards the train, high above the city, the Liffey below him, he thought about what they would be doing now. His father would be out in his garden on this fine day and his mother would be on the phone. She was always on the phone. His father would be calling things to her, giving her a step-by-step narration of the state of the garden while she waved at him wildly, trying to signal to him that she was on the phone. But he’d keep talking anyway.

He noticed he had stopped walking and was midway over the bridge. The train was coming; the ground beneath his feet was shaking. It was time to look up to the sky and admit defeat. He had had enough. Now was his time. If he was going to do it, he had to step out now.

His hair blew wildly as he pressed his eyes together fiercely, holding his breath. His heart beat faster and the blood in his veins pumped violently around his body. He could feel his pulse beating in his throat. The sound was unbearable, a loud thunderous sound, like the sky falling down around him. And then the wind stopped. His hair stopped blowing and his chest relaxed.

Steven opened his eyes, breathed deeply, peeled himself from the side of the bridge and shakily climbed back up onto the platform.

Twenty-four minutes. A long time to have to wait to die. Exactly how long it took him to figure out he didn’t want to.

Lucy leaned her head against the window and felt the vibrations as the DART pulled away from the station. Her head repeatedly bumped against the glass as the carriage trembled. Like her, it seemed tired and fed up as it rattled along the tracks, shuddering occasionally as if almost falling asleep and then suddenly jerking awake in fright. Lucy tried to keep her eyes open. She sank down into the uncomfortable seat and looked around the carriage.

Couples.

Everywhere.

She decided to keep her eyes closed. The rhythmic rocking of the train comforted her and she felt herself drifting away. The train shuddered, Lucy’s head jerked and her eyes flew open. They were stopping again. There was something about the train that she felt she connected with. It felt to her as if it too was tired of doing the same thing every day; tired of going up and down the same route all day, only being permitted to stop and start, stop and start and never fully gather speed. The monotony of it all made Lucy yawn.

She understood how it felt being surrounded by crowds of people every day, never physically being alone but all the time feeling it. She knew what it was like being used to get people from A to B, helping them get to where they wanted to go but never being able to join them.

Lucy watched as a couple stood up from their seats and walked hand in hand from the train. Once on the platform, the man draped his arm over his partner’s shoulder and kissed the top of her head. She responded by wrapping her arm around his waist, tucking her hand into the back pocket of his jeans and resting her head on his shoulder. They fitted together perfectly. Like a jigsaw. They strolled towards the exit as if time didn’t exist. Beside them on the platform stood a smartly dressed man with a beautiful bouquet of flowers in his hand. He was looking at his watch anxiously and studying the train timetable. Lucy imagined the woman he was meeting, waiting for him elsewhere, nervously looking at her watch wondering if he was going to show.

Go , Lucy screamed in her head to the train. There was urgency in the voice in her head. She didn’t want to see any more displays of love.

As though the train were in tune with her thoughts, the doors slid closed slowly and it started moving again. Still not yet in the city, the train sped happily past golden fields, knowing that it didn’t have to stop for at least a few more minutes. Lucy smiled as she looked at the view, at the greens, browns and golds all blurring together with the speed. Minutes later the reins were pulled from behind and the train screeched on the tracks, its cry of frustration at having to slow down.

Slow down, stop and start again.

The doors slid open slowly, tiredly, and invited another couple inside. The man sat beside Lucy, the woman across from him. She seemed the same age as Lucy. She smiled at her partner, her eyes twinkled. He blew her a butterfly kiss and winked. Her face softened even more and she continued to watch him as if he was the most interesting thing in the world. Their knees touched in the centre of the booth; they were touching and smiling so much that Lucy had to close her eyes again.

Finally it was Lucy’s stop. She jumped up before the train began to slow down, pushed her way through the kissing knees and waited at the doors. They opened slowly for her. Thanks, see you again tomorrow, she whispered quietly to the train, and stepped out into the cold afternoon. She buttoned up her coat to protect herself from the bite of the cold February wind, she felt the breeze slap her across the face, sting her ears and numb her nose. She shoved her hands deep into her pockets, kept her head down and made her way to work.

The day was 14 February. Valentine’s Day. Lucy worked as a waitress in a French cuisine restaurant in Dublin’s city centre. They were going to be incredibly busy that evening, and there had been the annual argument about who would work that night. Everybody wanted the night off to spend with their loved ones but they knew better than to ask Lucy. Of course she would work. Her position was the same every night but especially tonight, on a night that celebrated the joy of loving. Everyone knew that.

Lucy had never been in love before. She would be thirty-one next month and she had never been in love. She had never had that look the girl beside her on the train had painted all over her face; she had never had anyone blow her kisses or wait anxiously with a bouquet of flowers while worrying that being late would mean precious time being stolen away, like the man at the train station. She had never received a bouquet of flowers. She had never known what it was like to feel a kiss on the top of her head through her hair. She had never shared that look. Never shared that feeling. She had never looked into anyone’s eyes and seen forever with him, never felt such a connection that made her want to be with him and only him for the rest of her life. She had never been with anyone who immediately made her start thinking of her future babies’ names. She didn’t dream of fairytale wedding days with princess brides and handsome Prince Charmings.

But she knew about all these things. She knew they existed. She read about them in books and saw them on trains. She listened to friends and grew up with parents in love. And better yet she believed in love. But the older she got, with every passing year that failed to bring her a soulmate, she believed less and less that love was for everyone. Just for the lucky ones. And the longer she went without it, the more she saw it every day until it smothered her, wrapping its arms around her, like great big bear hugs of loneliness.