Unscheduled stop

The train lurched to an abrupt halt. No screaming, no squealing of brakes, no almighty bang. None of the chaos or bedlam you’d imagine if you were in a rail accident. Just an unexpected, unusual, unscheduled and, for some, bloody inconvenient, stop.

“Déjà vu” I thought, memories of a younger me flitting by as if someone had hit the rewind button on an old video, pausing for a moment on a delayed train journey in the past. On that occasion, a neighbour had kindly offered to pick me up at the station. As I made my way onto the platform clutching my weekend bag, happy to be back and full of the weekend’s events, I was abruptly stopped in my tracks when I saw the concern followed closely by relief wash over his face.

“Are you alright? They announced that your train had had a minor collision.” I was astonished. There had been no such announcement for us mere passengers. No. We had felt a bit of a lurch, like now, and then, like something from Carry On up the Khyber carried on reading, snoozing etcetera with our British upper lips fully stiffened. No fuss. No panic. No show of emotion whatsoever.

The thought crossed my mind that maybe this time a similar incident had occurred. An announcement followed:

East coast trains apologises for the delay due to a police incident on the line. Passengers are advised that a one hour delay is expected.

“Great!” I thought. “Didn’t really want to be that late getting into Edinburgh on a Friday night. Oh well, always a silver lining.” I picked up my kindle; I was halfway through “The Miniaturist” and with relish tucked in, losing myself in the story.

“That must be a gripping read,” a voice next to me whispered. I jumped. Slowly turning, I saw that the voice had come from a thirty-something, handsome–looking, well-scrubbed and suited, business-man type sitting beside me.

“Actually, it is,” I laughed. “Apologies. I must have been so engrossed I wasn’t aware of you sitting down.”

 I scrabbled around shifting my bag, coat, laptop and various other bits which, having enjoyed the luxury of a double seat to myself for all of the journey so far, were spread around. My hand touched his. It felt icy cold, yet he looked flushed as if he had been running. We laughed, embarrassed at this not-the-done-thing intimacy.

I looked up into familiar blue eyes, standing out against the tanned complexion and black hair ready to mumble an embarrassed “sorry,” when he said, with a flourish, “Your kindle I believe miss, but before I return it I’d like to hear your views; kindle or paperback?”

Well I do love a good debate so I was in, hooked! (I imagined telling the girls at work how lucky I was to have a bit of “eye-candy”, as they’d call it, to while away the hours on the journey.) Relaxing, I smiled thinking that this delay wasn’t too bad after all.

Strangely, before I could put forward my views, he put his lpad down and began to talk excitedly about the advantages of being able to move quickly through the text at the slightest touch and of being able to download and begin the sequel to any book at any time of day or night with a few clicks. He seemed to echo my thoughts. Could, ironically, read me like a book.

This gave me a chance to get a good look at him. There was an intelligence and a passion there. Something familiar. The eyes told of a thinker, whilst the mannerisms told of a desperation, as if someone had turned over the egg- timer and he had to finish before the sand ran out.

“It’s small, easy to carry and you can take it with you to pick up anytime, anywhere,” he mused. “Never a moment wasted.” He was beginning to sound like a salesman now but not quite. Something in his tone made me feel that he would love to waste a few moments.

“So how would the moments be wasted?” I countered, with a twinkle in my eye. “Would it be a waste to close the lid for a bit and enjoy what’s around you, have a conversation, wonder at nature’s marvels, people watch? Is it a waste to get off the treadmill and just enjoy what life has to offer.”

I think at this point I was giving myself a bit of a sermon. Taking time out for me was something I had always had difficulty with, each time I thought of stopping I’d find a reason to delay. Was I worried that I didn’t know who I was after all this time devoted to the job? But hey, I was doing this now. I had consciously not opened my laptop to catch up, and it felt lovely, like laying in a hot bubble bath. My doctor would be delighted. I could hear him. “Take time for yourself”

I paused and looked at him. Had I been thinking all of this out loud? “I’m sorry,” I said, “I seem to be in full rant mode now. I just find that it’s all too easy to get caught up with calls and e-mails –everyone else’s agenda- and forget that life is out there to be lived.”

He stared at me in utter amazement. A raft of emotions passed across his face: puzzlement, sadness, regret, and then contemplation.

A sound of ambulance or police sirens was interrupted by a further announcement:

East Coast trains would like to thank you for your patience. We will be resuming our journey shortly.

I felt, suddenly, very tired; the way you do after a long walk on a cold day, curling in front of the fire, nursing a hot chocolate. A comfortable, satisfied, warm- glow type of tiredness. The sort of tiredness when you finally close the lid on the working day, the last report written or read and you feel yourself gradually shutting down.

 Was I ready to step back? I smiled inwardly. No regrets.

He rose, looked at me with those soulful blue eyes. They looked less troubled and somehow determined. “Do you want anything?” he said.

“No thanks, Jamie, I’m absolutely fine. I have all I need right here,” I said.

With a jolt, the train slowly began to move picking up its rhythmic chant. Lights flickered as I found myself entering a tunnel. I felt at peace with the world, more importantly, at peace with myself.

                                             *****

Jamie Mclean suddenly opened his eyes. He felt as if he was coming out of a long tunnel. Urgent voices echoed, “Stay with us mate”

“We’ve got output.” The paramedic exhaled and smiled. “Well done mate, we thought we’d lost you.”

 Jamie’s consciousness hit him like a sledgehammer. Bowing to the pressures of work and the fast pace of life, he had felt as if he was drowning. The row with his girlfriend and her parting shot that she was “Moving on” because she no longer wanted to play second fiddle to his Ipad or laptop or other such device had been the last straw. He felt like a hamster in a wheel. Had to keep up or fall. He couldn’t see any way out of this typhoon he felt himself in.

After the row, he’d left, made his way to the station feeling that he had to get away. Maybe if he took a trip north back to his roots, to Edinburgh, things would start to unravel and he could find a way out of this cyclone that was carrying him away. He could feel its power sucking all the strength from him and felt that he no longer had control over anything in his life. Was this a life? He hadn’t really meant to throw himself onto the line but something in him had snapped- he wanted so much to throw himself out of this unending loop. Now he was being pushed on a trolley into a waiting ambulance.

As lights flashed past he caught snatches of thoughts. A feeling of peace that he’d not felt for a long time washed over him, stroking him like an invisible hand from his head to his toes. Healing him.  Wise words tumbled around his head. Moving on was a chance to do it differently, to find the silver lining, to get off the treadmill, wonder at nature’s marvels, to close the lid for a bit and remember  that life is out there to be lived.

The following week, as he sat on the armchair at his mother’s house in Edinburgh, (she had insisted that he stay with her for a week or two until he was fully recovered) she looked up from her Scotsman and said, “Wasn’t Miss Bell one of your teachers in Primary school, Jamie?”

“Yes when I was about seven, 30 years ago. She was one of my favourite teachers.” He paused. He could hear her voice still. See the kindness in her eyes. He had been a favourite of hers he knew.

“Well I’m just reading her obituary here in the paper. Never married. Died suddenly on the train travelling from London to Edinburgh last week. Had a heart condition apparently. Funeral’s tomorrow”

 Jamie smiled, feeling her words, the richer for knowing her.