The waiting was unpleasant since it held with it the possibility of being noticed, or of turning back before she was missed. A heavy nervousness settled in the pit of her stomach. The brightening daylight made it worse. What had seemed reasonable in the rather fraught hours of the night, with Edward next to her, suddenly felt dangerous, impossible even. She stood with feet glued to the platform, not daring to move lest she turn and run back home. She saw herself reflected in the glass of the waiting-room window. Curly chestnut hair framed a rather pale face, a slightly too-slender body. The reflection was not clear enough to show the apprehension in her hazel eyes. She made herself move and watched her reflection take the step to the side with her. It connected her to the reality of the moment, somehow. She was really here at the station, and really going to London.
Eventually, with a hiss of steam and a plume of black smoke, the train was ready to depart. Evelyn found herself in an empty compartment, glad of the quiet. She was really very tired, her nerves overwrought, and did not relish the idea of sharing the closed space with a stranger who might expect manners or conversation.
As the train pulled out of the station, Evelyn closed her eyes, unwilling to watch the familiar place disappearing. Even through closed eyes though, it was impossible not to think of the landscape she left behind. Her mind took her to her favourite clifftop vantage point, a place she had often gone to read or just to be alone, away from the judgement of her family, the gossip of the town. She did love to be high on the cliffs, the salt in her hair. Below her she could see down into the valley. West Coombe, the most southerly town in Devon, lay on an estuary, the whole town squeezed into the V-shaped valley, teetering on the edge of the blue water. Considering the open countryside above, it was unfortunate the town had crammed itself onto the slopes and the water’s edge. The buildings were too close, the streets too narrow. Evelyn was immune to the charm that the tourists from the cities saw in the summer months. For her, it was claustrophobic. She remembered that claustrophobia now, trying not to dwell on her departure from the sea and cliffs and beaches she loved.
Soon, she thought of Edward again, and of his friend Frank, whose letter was safe in her pocket. This was not just a selfish bid for freedom from a life that was too restrictive. This was a duty she had to fulfil, for both of them.
The countryside slid by the window quickly. At Newton Abbot and Exeter, more passengers joined the train. A man and a woman came into Evelyn’s compartment but seemed to require no more interaction than the polite nod she gave them. She continued to gaze out of the window. Exeter was the furthest she had ever travelled on the train. Leaving that particular station felt truly like the point of no return.
The train flew through fields, past beaches and sea views, more fields. Evelyn did not really appreciate the scenery, being preoccupied instead with what her family would be doing at that precise moment. Breakfast, dressing, opening the shop, setting a fire in the parlour hearth…
Evelyn felt drowsy as the train passed through Dorset, as though her body was suggesting sleep as an alternative to anxiety and overwrought emotions. She was asleep before the train left the county. When she opened her eyes, she was just moving out of Reading Station. Her compartment was empty again, though she had not noticed the couple leave. Disorientated, she rubbed her eyes and looked at her wristwatch, unable to believe she’d slept for so long. But sure enough, it was midmorning and she was now very close to London indeed. Excitement rushed through her and almost eradicated the loss of home and the betrayal of family. She was nearly in London! What had seemed so impossible was actually happening.
The world through the window glass was unfamiliar now. There were houses and fields and small stations, but somehow it had an air of foreignness. She told herself that she was not really so many miles from home and that people who lived close to London were no different to those who lived in West Coombe. Still, she struggled to feel at ease.
Fields gave way to buildings—buildings of all kinds and far bigger than anything in or around West Coombe. Long, low warehouses, tall brick-built chimneys, factories with rows of shining windows. Areas where the railway passed allotments and closed-in gardens, red-brick villas which were elegant but looked rather crowded together, to Evelyn’s mind. She saw roads with several motor cars and even a red motor bus. London. However many photographs she’d seen, this was nothing like she’d imagined. It managed to be at once unpleasant, crowded, and grimy, and fascinating and full of life and new things to look at. Evelyn could not wait to disembark the train.
Eventually, the conductor announced the train was reaching its terminus, London, Paddington. Evelyn hurriedly refastened the buttons of her grey winter coat and pulled on her brown leather gloves. She wore her favourite sage-green
