Although it had been another stifling hot June day, a refreshing breeze chills her skin. Marie folds her arms across her chest as she stands against the black metal gate and waits for him. Minutes pass. She begins to feel ridiculous, just like she did in the club, nearly all night. A group of drink-fuelled boys pass and one of them shouts that she isn't going to get any business stood there, sweetheart. Marie stares at the long, straight street, longing him to appear, even if it is just to quash this feeling of stupidity. However, he is nowhere to be seen.
Long, expert fingers caress her hips.
Marie jerks around. The darkness of the night accentuate the whiteness of his teeth.
"How did you get there?" she asks.
His hands had slid through the gaps in the churchyard gate.
"I took a different route and jumped over the wall."
The boy guides Marie to a gravestone. Her skin tingles as his hand strokes the inside of her thigh, high up her skirt. She thinks it is peculiar that he wears velvet gloves, like a magician, but the thought quickly passes as Marie arches back against the gravestone and parts her legs. He moves his hands away from her thighs and instead caresses her throat. He is a goddamn tease. She reaches out to stroke him, to caress the length between his legs, but he moves away.
The pain in her chest is so immediate and so horrific that Marie jerks up. Staring deep into his beautiful, grey eyes, she sees, quite clearly, that they're smiling. Marie smothers her chest with her hands.
It is him.
Marie clenches her body, shuts her eyelids, and waits to die.
DAY SEVENTEEN 17TH JUNE 2018
My hand slips inside my right pocket, and my fingers trace the outline of the ticket, making sure that it is still there; I am an obsessive, checking and re-checking that I have locked my car or turned the oven off. And yet, even though I'm desperate to know that the ticket is still there, I'm still not sure whether buying it was a monumental mistake, whether maybe I should just rip it from my pocket, tear it in two and throw it in the nearest trash can.
This trip goes fundamentally against Richard's advice. And I always listen to Richard. I'm opening the door just a few inches more, allowing leeway for somebody to enter inside. I need to keep him on the doorstep. I know that. And yet, still I continue walking. I'm not listening to Richard. I will need to tell him. I always tell him everything.
The Great Western Hotel looms like a dark shadow over the entrance to the train station. Inside, I pass McDonalds and Burger King, and I eye Searcys Champagne Bar. Placing my bag down on the floor next to my feet, I gaze up at the departures monitor. It has been a long time since I studied this monitor, searching for this destination. There it is. It stands out, like it is in neon lights, there just for me. I pick up my bag, suddenly laden with dumbbells, and head to my platform.
Taking my seat, I pull my head back against the cushion and close my eyes. I can hear movements around me. I blink my eyes open; our table of four is fully occupied. No more room. I sense that the girl sat opposite me is young and beautiful, with luscious golden hair that flows over her chest, but she could also be middle-aged with sharp bristles coating her chin; right now, everybody around me is faceless and unimportant.
My angst begins to fade as the train leaves the station. It feels like not only is the train leaving behind the continuous commotion of the city, but it is leaving behind my current woes. I know a range of new worries lie waiting for me, but I'm not there yet. I look out of the window. The terraced houses are replaced by detached ones and they soon become less and less regular, until all I can see are yellow and green fields. I think about lying on my back in one of the fields, with my arms and legs in the shape of a star. The thought is soothing. I begin to think that I made the right decision, that I can cope with whatever awaits me, that it cannot be any more frightening than what I left behind.
I know I should have told Erica that I was going away. I was just terrified I’d have to tell her why, that I’d have to tell her everything. It was ridiculous. We’ve been together three years now; we shouldn’t have secrets. Yet, I have so many.
I was just about getting things back on track when she entered my life. I’d abandoned my dire and depressing bachelor pad, quit my job in the city and moved onto the boat. Some people said I'd self-destructed, but only those who didn’t really know me. It took some time to adapt to a slower pace of life, but it was happening, one languid step at a time.
I'd jumped on the Northern Line one mid-morning Sunday. I chose which direction to take by the toss of a coin. If the coin landed on heads then I travelled north and if the coin landed on tails then I travelled south. It landed on tails. Initially, I was disappointed. What the hell was there south? But I quickly kicked that reaction into touch. That was the whole point, wasn’t it? The not knowing, the just finding out. I jumped off the train at a stop I hadn’t been to before. That was the whole point,
