This is the first chapter of my NaNoWriMo2005 novel which is being written throughout November. It's written for maximum speed and word count, so lower your expectations now.
Chapter 1: Chance Meetings On A Train
Loneliness is cumulative, you save it up all your life. Everywhere you have been alone, your old houses, your walk to work, your local pub, the shop you used to buy a newspaper every morning, the station that used to be your stop. You will pass these places and the memory will only seem half there, as if it is just a shadow, a wraith, a nebulous and incorporeal thing. A person, any person, who shares that memory, even if they are long gone, cements the moments into your mind, makes it real. Memory is designed to work with people, it can record places, things, sounds, words, but it is far superior at remembering people. Any memory of a person is a snapshot, the person holds it there like an anchor, dragging the background detail, the scenery, the soundtrack, back into focus.
You will pass these places, where you shared no experience with no other person, and your time there, now ended, will seem somehow unreal, as if the past is less another country but another world far far off. You will wonder where all that time went, every day I got off the train at St Margarets, and now it is gone, seemingly without trace, the only one who remembers those days is me. You will wonder how you got from there to here, your path through time seems fleeting, you barely seem to have touched the ground, disturbed the surface, you are travelling at breakneck speed towards the grave leaving no trace of your presence in your wake, leaving no wake.
I had not thought the girl was that attractive at first. She was reading a manuscript of some sort which had caught my interest simply because it was unusual, but it was probably just some work document. I suppose there was nothing wrong with her, she was young, slim, good looking enough, but there was something about her, some sense of attitude I could not put my finger on. Perhaps just her choice of clothes, tight jeans and a black polo neck, perhaps those thick rimmed lesbarian glasses. Perhaps simply something in the way she held herself, flipping disdainfully though the pages of her reading matter. Perhaps something else entirely, but she exuded to me an attitude of self conscious cool, of stuck-up, pretentious, pompous, snobbery.
I opened my novel but did not read a word, I looked out of the window and thought about all the times I had taken this train. All those years gone now.
And then she spoke. Her phone rang and she answered it. And she bubbled, she cooed delightfully and excitedly, she laughed playfully. In a second that veneer of austerity I had assumed, vanished, and all there was beneath was an open, honest, natural person full of vigour and life. And I, I was snapped right out of my wistful musings back to the present, while she engrossed herself in her phone-call I could not help but stare. There was magic in her voice, and I was in love.
Oh this is not entirely unlike me, this sudden obsession. There is a tendency to become maudlin on trains, a public carriage is an isolating, solitary place, and an ache for companionship will sometimes rise. I have a track record of daydreaming and daydreams are dangerous to the lonely man. In a second you can imagine a life with any person, sitting there, perhaps idly watching their reflection in the window, you picture yourself next to them, talking and sharing the journey, sometimes you picture more. I pictured myself going home with this girl, I pictured myself making her breakfast the next morning, I pictured breakfast every morning, I pictured marriage and children and growing old together, all in seconds, all chimed into existence at the call of her voice.
What did I do? I did nothing.
And we sat on opposite sides of the train. A Chinese couple got out at Twickenham leaving us the only ones in the carriage. I glanced up at her often, trying not to make it obvious, if she looked at me, I never noticed. I effected an interest in my book I no longer had. She gathered her luggage ready to leave the train at Whitton. Outside the window the world sped by. It looked like shadows, like ghosts long gone, the endless leafy suburbia of west London was being subsumed into the night, our little carriage held into the world only by its speed, we slipped out from between the silken fingers of the dusk and sped on towards the retreating sun.
She got up and stood by the door as the train slowed approaching the station. Did she spare me a glance, if she did it meant nothing. I turned back to my book, I did not want to watch her go. The words swam on the page, sentences twisted and jumbled, I could not remember the plot.
And then she gasped. It was a strangled, squeaky intake of breath and it felt like ice down the back of my neck. From all the way at the back of the carriage it was unmistakably pure terror. I looked up and she was clearly alarmed. She looked quickly up and down the carriage. She looked at me but the look seemed to pass right through me, we caught each others eyes but she was looking for something specific and I was not it. I could see her breathing fast. The train hissed to a stop, she looked out the window and back the way we came. I could see her bottom lip tremble. The alarm went, signalling the doors were now ready to open, and she dashed down the carriage away from the doors, further away from me, and ducked down between the seats, hiding.
I watched, nothing happened, I listened and could just make out her panting breath. The train stood at the station and there was a dull hum of noise, of people, of machinery, of the electric motors still turning.
And then two men appeared on the platform, walked up to the very door she had been about to depart by, opened it, and boarded the carriage. They was little to mark them, they were youngish, both dressed in charcoal suits, both smart and clean shaven. You would never normally spare them a glance. They got on without saying a word to each other and both turned to me. I looked up from my book and looked at them, there was nothing in their gaze to notice, it was not threatening, or searching, or suspicious, it was nothing, an emotionless glance at another passenger. They turned away and walked further down the carriage, towards where the girl was hiding, I watched, trying very had to look disinterested, to look like I was still reading that bloody novel. Mentally I totted up what I had that might be used as a weapon. Nothing much, a pen, a shoulder bag with a couple of files in it that might be swung by its strap. I tensed ready to run to the girls rescue. In those few seconds I did not consider any other option than going to her defence.
The men walked right by her. There could be no mistake. I had watched her hide. I knew exactly where she was, but they walked right by that row of seats without sparing her a glance. The could not, the physically could not have missed her unless they were blind. They left the carriage at the next set of doors and stood on the platform. The trains hissed, grumbled, and lurched forward and the men just stood there. Watching me, watching us, depart.
I put my book down and leaned out to get a better look. The girl had to be there, there was simply nowhere else she could have gone. I was about to stand up and go and look for myself when she appeared. She stood up from exactly where I had saw her duck down, brushed some dust off the front of her jacket, and walked back and sat in the seat opposite mine.
'Thank you,' she said. Her voice was thinner now, it was still a good voice, but it seemed weak, it betrayed her fear.
'For what?'
'For not giving me away.'
I waved my hands. 'It was nothing,' I said.
'No,' she said slowly, 'it was a lot more than you realise, and a lot harder, I didn't know if¦' She tailed off and looked out of the window, distracted by something that flashed by.
I followed her gaze, but saw nothing.
'Who were they?'
'They were¦' she started, but then went silent, seemingly still distracted by something beyond the window. I could not see what she was looking at, maybe she was like me, maybe she could loose herself simply watching the world go by.
'Where does this train go?' she asked after a couple of minutes of silence.
'Feltham is next,' I said, 'Windsor eventually.'
'Where are you getting off?'
'Staines.'
'Are there ticket barriers there.'
'What?'
'Ticket barriers, the gate things.'
'Oh yes¦ no there aren't any, there's sometimes a man, but not often.'
She said nothing.
'If you had a ticket to Whitton it shouldn't be a problem,' I said, 'I think you can just pay a bit extra.'
'No,' she said, 'I can't afford to get stopped, not by anyone, not now¦' Again she tailed off, distracted, preoccupied by something. She took her phone out of her jacket pocket and held it on her lap.
I tried to think of something to say, anything to keep her talking to me, to try and spark a friendship, but she clearly did not want to be drawn on what had just happened at the station and to talk about anything else seemed trite, stupid.
The train pulled in to Feltham and she remained sitting, watching the platform anxiously. No one got on the carriage, no one even walked by the window.
'Can I ask you a favour?' she said as we pulled away, she addressed the words directly to the window, never turning to me.
'Go on.'
'Could you get off with me at Staines and walk me to a taxi rank?'
'Yes, err¦ sure. I can do that.'
'Thank you.'
I looked out the window, her reflection looked right back directly at me, it smiled, a warm and thankful smile.
At Staines we both rose and stood by the door as the train pulled in to the station. Just like in Feltham she watched the platform suspiciously but there was only a couple of young girls waiting.
The train shuddered to a stop and we waited for the doors to activate. I put my hand out and said 'My name's Mitchell by the way.'
She looked at my hand as if not sure what she was supposed to do with it. 'That's my first name,' I rambled self consciously, 'Mitchell, Mitchell Wallingford.'
The beeper sounded and she stabbed the door open button and then took my hand in both of hers and shook it briefly but very warmly. 'Selkie,' she said.
We walked together out of the station, it was pouring with rain and I positioned my umbrella over both of us for the brief twenty yards to the minicab office.
'Whitton,' repeated the fat man behind the counter, 'sure thing love, be about a twenty minute wait okay?'
Selkie wrung her hands together, looked at her phone as if for confirmation, and bit her bottom lip. 'Can you not get anything quicker?'
'No chance I'm afraid love, all booked up with some works Christmas do.'
'Oh,' she said to herself, 'it's too long to wait.'
She turned to me. 'It's too long to wait.'
I shrugged, 'there's another taxi place on the high street, do you want me to take you there?'
She nodded vigorously.
I nodded farewell to the fat man behind the counter, he rolled his eyes in a gesture of commiseration, the instant brotherhood of men at the mercy of insane women. He was wrong, I was not at anyone's mercy, I was doing this entirely of my own volition, I still just wanted to spend time with this enchanting woman.
The obvious did not occur to me until we were walking back over the footbridge. 'Hold on,' I said, 'why don't I drive you?'
'You'd do that?'
I smiled. 'It's that or watch telly with the flatmate.'
'Are you sure?'
'Yeah, come on.'
I only lived a five minute walk from the station, closer than the next minicab office in fact. Selkie thanked me in that thin, distracted voice on the way there but other than that we did not talk.
'Hello.' I announced my presence loudly as we walked in the door.
'Hey,' answered Bob the flatmate, audible from, doubtlessly, his usual horizontal perch in front of the television.
'Do you want a cup of tea or anything?' I asked.
Selkie shook her head. 'I need to get back. Mum¦'
'Sure,' I said, and dropped my bag on the kitchen table, picked my umbrella up again from the corner of the hallway where I had leaned it, and walked back out the door.
'Goodbye,' I shouted to the flatmate.
'Bye.'
I beeped the lock open on the car, it flashed it's lights in the dark like a puppy pleased to see me.
'I've got to ask again,' I said once we were driving, 'but who were those men and how did you hide from them?'
She looked across at me, she had calmed down a little now we were on our way back to Whitton, there was no longer that lost little girl quality to her voice, it had regaining some of the qualities that initially charmed me on the train. She was still unsure though, grasping for different words before finally saying; 'it's complicated.'
'I'm not harbouring a terrorist or anything like that am I?' I said, and then laughed to show it was not meant seriously. Although at some small place near the back of my mind the thought was being seriously entertained.
'No¦ well¦' she said. 'You wouldn't believe me if I told you.'
'Maybe, but if you don't tell me anything who knows what I'll believe.'
'Okay,' she said, 'short easy version. I'm not a terrorist but those men were kind of from the security services, a branch of it anyway.'
'Go on.'
'This is going to sound silly.'
'Silly I can cope with.'
'They think I'm a witch.'
'A what!'
I turned to look at her and she gestured anxiously that I should look at the road. I did and slammed on the breaks to avoid hitting a lorry turning out in front of us. The car skidded on the wet surface and began to spin before safely coming to rest a several feet from the lorry. It was scary nevertheless and I sat there, stationary, hands gripping the steering wheel tight and breath coming fast as my heart pounded loudly.
'Sorry.' I said.
She smiled a thin smile and exhaled slowly. 'I've had worse scares today,' she said.
I found first gear and pulled away slowly. 'A witch?' I said.
'Yes,' she replied wearily, 'they were from the office of the witch finder general, it's a little know branch of the home office.'
I thought for a moment, trying to work out if she was having me on or was genuinely nuts. 'And is that how you hid from them?' I asked.
'Kind of,' she said, 'actually you did most of that, without realising it.'
'I don't think I did anything.'
'That would be the "without realising it part.'
I drove on in silence, we were approaching Whitton and she directed me where to go. 'You're right,' I said, as I began to suspect we were nearly there.
'About what?'
'I don't believe you.'
'Your loss,' she said, 'go right here.'
We turned up a long gravel driveway with a large house at the end of it. As soon as the headlights illuminated the front door it opened and a woman ran out. Selkie undid her seatbelt and had the door open before the car fully stopped. 'Mum,' she shouted, and ran towards the woman. They embraced and then spoke urgently and quietly, too quietly for me to hear.
I stopped the engine, and stood by the car, waiting to be thanked. Eventually both women approached me.
'My thanks to you young man,' said Selkie's mother, 'you have no idea what a service you have provided for my daughter.'
'That's right,' I said with an awkward smile, 'I have no idea.'
She shook my hand and then kissed me rapidly on both cheeks and then held me by my shoulders at arms length examining me.
Finally she released me. 'I'm afraid my daughter and I have work to do, other wise I'd offer you a cup of tea.'
'Oh,' I said, 'that's fine, I should get home anyway, it's late.'
'You must think me very rude.'
'Not at all.'
'Well thank you again, come on Selkie.' She turned her daughter towards the house with a brush of her hand and they both walked away. Then Selkie turned, ran up to me, kissed me once on the cheek and held my hand in both of hers as she had done so briefly on the train.
'Thank you,' she said. And then, 'I'll be in touch.'
And without another glance back they disappeared into that big house, that big heavy door slamming shut behind them. I got back in my car and drove home. She'll be in touch, I thought to myself, she'll be in touch.
At home I collapsed onto the sofa opposite the flatmate.
'Where'd you go?' he said.
'Gave a lift to a girl I met on the train.'
'A girl.'
'A real live female girl of the opposite sex.'
'What was it like?'
'What was what like?'
'Giving her a lift.'
I thought for a moment. 'Confusing. You want a beer?' I got up and headed for the fridge.
'Nah thanks mate, I drank 'em all earlier.'
I stood looking in to the empty fridge. It probably a good thing, I had to work in the morning.
'I've got this plan,' shouted the flatmate.
I walked back into the lounge and sat down. 'What plan's that?'
'I'm going to be an inventor.'
'An inventor.'
'Yup.'
'What are you going to invent.'
'Well I haven't decided that yet, I need to do research you see, find out what needs inventing.'
'Cold fusion,' I said, 'that would be useful.'
'Not like that. Something like, I don't know, matches.'
'Matches?'
'Yeah matches, something real simple, just a little stick of wood but incredibly useful, what did people do before matches, they just rubbed sticks together.'
'Actually I think flints were more the thing.'
'Still¦'
'What about the sulphur compound?'
'The what?'
'You can't just invent the stick of wood, you've got to invent the sulphur bit at the end.'
'Lighters then.'
'Valves,' I said, 'flints, pressurised gasses. Lighters are complicated, difficult to machine at home.'
'I dunno,' he said, 'something else. Those little umbrellas you put in cocktails, what are they called?'
'Cocktail umbrellas.'
'Yeah. I'll invent something like them.'
'Good luck,' I said.
He flicked through channels with the remote, finding nothing he liked. 'So this girl?'
'Yes.'
'What was she like?'
I thought about the question for a bit and answered, 'curious.'
'No, what did she look like.'
'Oh,' I said, 'brunette, slim, pretty¦'
'How old?'
'She didn't say.'
'How old did she look?'
'I don't know. Old looking twenty four, young looking thirty, thirty two.'
'So twenty eight.'
'Like I say, I don't know.'
'But she looked twenty eight.'
'No, she looked like she might be anywhere between twenty four and thirty two.'
'Which is twenty eight.'
'Twenty eight is one of several possible ages.'
'But the most likely.'
'It's the median of the distribution.'
'The what?'
'Never mind.'
'Still. Younger than you.'
'Only by a couple of years.'
'Still¦'
'What?'
'Chicks dig older guys.'
I rolled my eyes.
He said, 'maybe that's what I'll invent.'
'What?'
'A device for picking up younger chicks.'
'Yeah,' I said, 'it might be an idea to still get a day job, you know, to pay the bills while your inventing.'
'Oh yeah,' he said defensively, 'that's still the plan, I'm still looking.'
The remote found it's way to the music channels and the channel hopping slowed as he evaluated each song in turn.
'She said she was a witch,' I said, half to myself.
'What?'
'Sellkie, this girl, she said she was a witch.'
'That's funny,' he said.
'Is it?'
'That's what you're supposed to say six months from now when she dumps you for someone her own age.'
