Chapter 6
There was an issue with Eliza’s room on the sleeper train. The sort that involved meaningful glances between staff and the kind of customer-service smile that screamed damage control.
“If you’d like to visit the club car, your first drink is complimentary while we resolve this,” one attendant chirped, shepherding us away from whatever cock-up they were covering.
At least their crisis management was top-notch.
“Do you still run?” I squeezed through corridors so narrow I had to almost deflate my ribcage to make progress.
Eliza turned, shaking her head. “Injury in my mid-twenties. These days it’s yoga and the occasional guilt-driven gym session.” She shrugged. “I was only ever fast because Roger was fast. But sibling rivalry makes terrible motivation long-term.”
Roger was Eliza’s older brother, who’d gone to the Olympics and represented Great Britain in middle-distance running.
“Is he still in the US?”
Eliza nodded. “Married, two kids, coaching at Stanford, seems happy.”
“Does he get back much?”
“Not nearly enough for Mum’s liking, though she’s taken to stalking him via transatlantic visits.”
A door swung open ahead of us. Eliza stopped dead, and I promptly walked straight into her back like some sort of human domino.
“Sorry, I—”
But the apology died on my lips as her scent hit me.
Clean soap and something indefinably warm that sent my memory careening back to stolen moments in the school library.
I’d told myself I was studying, but really I was watching Eliza with her friends across the room, cataloguing the way she laughed at their jokes, how she bit her lip when she concentrated.
I’d convinced myself it was admiration, maybe a touch of hero worship.
But standing here now, breathing her in, that same flutter of awareness I’d dismissed as teenage confusion swept through me. Maybe I’d been lying to myself about what those feelings really were.
An elderly couple emerged from their room, mercifully breaking the spell. We followed them to the club car and waited to be seated.
We slid into seats opposite each other, on a table for four. I studied her face in the fading evening light filtering through the windows. I doubt she remembered those library afternoons the way I suddenly did. I doubt she’d even known I was there.
“How are Katy’s twins? Mum mentioned they’re at nursery now?”
I couldn’t help the smile that spread across my face.
Our family had experienced its fair share of death in the last few years, but Katy having the twins a few months before Mum died had been a bright spot.
Without having to get up for the girls, Katy told me she may have laid in bed for months.
They might never know it, but Lily and Vivien helped us all through the fog of grief just by existing.
They would always be our miracle, healing babies.
“The twins are incredible. A shit-ton of work that would put you off having kids for life, but you know what Katy’s like. She was born responsible, and she and Bryce are doing well as parents. I go over every few weeks so they can go out to the pub and have a meal together.
“I remember my mum telling me you spend the first five years of your child’s life trying to stop them injuring themselves. I understand that description now.”
“It’s nice that you’re close, though,” Eliza replied. “Roger lives thousands of miles away, so his kids don’t know me.”
The conversation felt surreal: like picking up a book I’d abandoned mid-chapter years ago, and finding the plot surprisingly familiar. I glanced at Eliza as she read the menu, wondering if the feeling was mutual.
“Wonder who our dinner companions will be,” I mused. “Fingers crossed for two humans on the right side of the political divide. Could be awkward otherwise.”
Eliza’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “If they’re properly horrified by lesbians, we could always put on a show. Full sapphic passion before they’ve even delivered the bread rolls.”
She followed up that statement with her trademark laugh: that slow, deliberate sound that seemed to have its own gravitational pull.
It was unchanged since we were kids, but now it carried 33 years of knowing the effect it had on people.
The kind of laugh that made nearby conversations pause.
I hadn’t realised how much I’d missed it.
Our chat was interrupted by a couple who looked to be in their 60s approaching the table with our dining car hostess.
She introduced us to Cindy and John, and the couple sat down.
They radiated A Place in the Sun energy: like they’d both just retired and decided to blow their nest egg on a two-bed flat in Mallorca.
I hoped it didn’t have a leaky roof. Cindy wore a floral-print shirt, while John was a walking monument to the power of beige.
“How thrilling!” Cindy declared before introductions were fully complete.
“We never take trains, but sleeping on one feels positively Victorian, doesn’t it?
We’re touring Britain. We just did the south coast, now we’re heading as far north as possible.
Retirement’s marvellous for spontaneous adventures! ”
She barely paused for breath. “This is part of our ruby anniversary celebrations. Forty years married, can you believe it?”
“You get less for murder,” John joked with a broad Yorkshire twang. “Are you two married?"
I blinked. “We’re not.”
“Old friends,” Eliza added smoothly.
Cindy’s face lit up. “Old friends, that’s what I’m picking up. You have lovely energy together. Our niece just married a woman who looks exactly like you,” she pointed at Eliza, “doesn't she, John?”
John nodded obediently. “Spitting image.”
“You’d make a lovely couple if you ever changed your mind,” Cindy added. “Very photogenic.”
I bit down a smile. No show needed. Was I right to feel a little sad?
“Are you on holiday?” Cindy continued, clearly viewing conversation as a competitive sport.
“Work trip,” Eliza replied. “Though I’m hoping to explore a bit. Poppy and I grew up in London, but we used to come up to Scotland the occasional summer in our childhoods. It’ll be nice to revisit some of our old haunts, and find some new ones.” She gave me a shy smile.
Was Eliza actually looking forward to this?
Interesting.