B) somewhere in Birmingham

I stand wavering against the plastic table edge. I could do nothing
till I reached Solihull, could I? Then what? Change, go back to
Birmingham? What about work tomorrow? It's just my eyes, I know. I'm
tired, that's all. I sit down again, rummage in my bag for my mobile,
begin dialing his number. A guard stands beside me "This is a quiet
zone, Madam" Immediately I feel guilty, and it unbalances me even more.
I want to cry. "I'm sorry" I mumble. I don't look up, but hear his
impatient sigh "Ticket, please?" I can't find it, and get in more of a
state, digging into the scraps of paper in my bag pocket on which are
written all the platforms I have used to get to Jim and home again. I
am sure there must be a pattern, a logic, to travelling by train, but I
haven't found it yet : the platforms are different every time. But even
if I did know where I should be, I'd still not manage it : time,
possibly because it is about numbers, and I cannot understand numbers,
is difficult for me to fit into, just one more example of how I can't
connect with normal people. It is one of the things I love about Jim
that he doesn't mind : it is not just politeness, he really doesn't -
"Hey, chill out, dude!" he said, the first time, I rang up desolate
because I'd missed the bus to the station twice "Come tomorrow, if you
like... Is better actually, cos then I can get my washing done..." The
washing, the ordeal of the laundrette, that he had said he was going to
face two weeks ago; and, when I did get there, the next afternoon, he
still had not. Not that I minded, I love his smell. Just remembering it
focuses me

I feel the slipperiness of the ticket under my thumb, draw it out. The
guard peers at it suspiciously. I have never looked what people call
respectable. I don't mean I look sexy unrespectable, the opposite
really. When you are young it is ok to look dishevilled, studenty. When
you are my age you look like a freak, as Mum is fond of telling me, and
it is not suprising guards think I am a fare dodger, I suppose, though
I dislike the equation that someone with odd socks and unbrushed hair
is naturally dishonest. But then, I am no good Maths

As if disappointed, the guard stamps my ticket and hands it back. I say
thankyou, and smile my customers' smile, wait till he's two rows down
and I feel brave enough to move.

In the space between carriages I key in Jim's number. "Er, Hello?" He
sounds odd. I am imagining it "Hi, it's me" "oh" he sounds on edge, I'm
sure now, ask "Are you ok?" "course, why shouldn't I be?" I don't know
what to say. But we have discussed this, always tell the truth to each
other, say what you feel, don't hide things. Still... I breath in "It's
just..." "What?" he sounds dulled, uninterested, not like Jim at all. I
decide to make a joke out of it, smile as I say "When I saw you out of
the window, as the train left, it looked like you were being swallowed
by darkness!" I wait for him to laugh, but instead, his voice is
measured, calm, as one would explain something to a child "It was
probably a trick of the light, the movement of the train" and I become
impatient "No, it was as if something evil was attacking you. I was
scared for you!"

A shadow falls over me, I look up : the guard is watching me. I smile,
feeling like a madwoman, so embarrassed. He gives me an odd look, goes
through to the next carriage. Jim must think I'm mad, too "I guess
maybe I just need to get my eyes tested..." There is a pause "Yes, get
your eyes tested" This conversation is going nowhere. I am beginning to
think I must have imagined the shadows swirling round Jim, still, the
feeling of unease is so strong, I can't give up "Are you sure you're
ok? I can come back?" There is a hiss from the phone and I worry I'm
going to be cut off, then Jim's voice comes through chrystal clear "No,
don't. I want to be on my own for a while" He has said this to me
before, and I am always afraid of making him feel trapped, and I know I
am only starting to cry because I'm tired "Ok, I'm sorry, I didn't mean
to crowd you" That pause again, as if he's considering his words. I
know this, from previous relationships. He is trying to tell me it's
over. The next words confirm it "Look, if you don't hear from me for a
while, don't worry, ok?" "ok. I love you" but he has already
disconnected

I just stand there, leaning against the smeared yellow wall of the
train next to the litter bin. Where I belong. About to laugh at the
depths of this wallow in self pity I become aware of the guard watching
me "Is everything alright, Madam?" I nod. He just stands there, so I
have to go back to my seat. I am shaking so much I can't get my mobile
back in my bag on the first attempt

Why? Why do I always mess things up? Maybe I should never have told Jim
I loved him. I see my swollen reflection in the window, and remember
Jim's face. No, it was just too good to be true. How could someone that
special, that beautiful want someone like me. He was just being kind,
but my babbling on about shadows was obviously the last straw

By the time the train reaches Banbury I have stopped crying. I will
survive, because I'm not brave enough to kill myself, unlike Jim, who
did try, when he was younger. I spend the rest of the journey
remembering. However bad my life seems, his has been worse, and he has
survived to become the open, gentle man I know. Knew. He is a giver, a
teacher. I will try to learn from him

The train reaches my station at last. I am gathering myself to break
the eggshell when the guard stops beside me again. "This is your stop,
Madam" I am getting paranoid about this guard "Yes, thankyou" I haul my
bag up from under the table "Shall I take that for you, Madam?" "Er,
yes, thankyou..." I hand it over, tell myself to stop being silly, but
the other passengers are staring at me. They must think I'm trying to
fare dodge, too. I can't wait to get off the train, get home.

I step on the platform, turn for my bag, look up to say thanks as he
hands it down. His eyes are solid voids of darkness, no whites or
irises.