Ghosted at Christmas

Chapter 1

Mia

‘This cannot be happening.’ Mia has been looking up at the departures board for the last seven minutes, as if looking for longer will somehow change the reality that’s staring her straight in the face. ‘They can’t all be cancelled, can they?’

A dreadlocked backpacker with cloudy blue eyes pushes his way through the crowd, and Mia creeps back to avoid being stepped on by his size thirteen feet.

His colourful trousers billow vibrantly around him, the pinks and yellows in stark contrast with the more predictable grey or black wool coats of the other passengers pressing around them.

The backpacker lets out an impressive groan filled with despair as he squints up at the board.

Leaning on the handle of her rolling suitcase, Mia peers hopefully at the bold yellow lettering once more.

The board delivers the same unflinching result.

CANCELLED. She tugs her phone out of her pocket, careful not to drop her mitten on the polished floor.

Swiping through the unlock pattern, Mia’s hopes are further dashed. No new messages.

Phone and mitten safely returned to her pocket, she sighs, tilting her head even further to soak up the soaring ironwork above.

Normally, Mia loves the Victorian architecture of Paddington station.

Being in the station was a peaceful kind of chaos – with all those people coming and going around her – that helped her feel centred.

She’d become a regular – of sorts – over the years.

The coffee-shop baristas knew her by name, and she’d even had a preferred stall in the massive ladies’ bathroom.

(The one on the right at the end, thank you very much.) The station had truly been a refuge for Mia from her overstimulating and disorganized life.

But today, the mood is quite different. Even with the cheerful Christmas decorations strung up between the ironwork, the whole train station is immersed in pervasive depression.

Travellers all around Mia are muttering, glaring at the boards full of cancelled trains, staring at their phones with equal amounts of frustration.

A TV drones on to the right of the departures board, the weather channel briskly updating what Mia already knows.

Due to heavy snow, all trains out of Paddington have been cancelled throughout the weekend.

‘Mum’s going to be so mad,’ she mutters, gripping her suitcase and working to navigate the press of the crowd.

‘I hope the buses are still running.’ It crosses her mind that she could probably rent a car, if the rental companies have any left.

But that would cost a fortune, and her snow driving skills aren’t exactly top notch. So, bus ride it is.

The dreadlocked traveller groans beside her again. ‘Thought I’d treat myself to a train ride today, instead of the bus. These legs don’t take kindly to being pretzelled into those little seats.’

Mia’s not sure why this man is talking to her.

And – oof. To each their own, of course, but the smell of weed and body odour wafting off him is …

powerful. She gives him a polite but wan smile and moves past him, resisting the urge to pull out her phone once more.

She just checked her messages. She is not desperate.

After a few minutes of navigating the overly crowded concourse, Mia reaches the ticket counter.

She forces what she hopes is a friendly smile, because this is bound to be a rough day for the poor employee, and secures a ticket on the rail replacement service to Worcester, silently thanking the powers that be when the dreadlocked traveller secures his own ticket to Bath.

Small miracles, she won’t have to hold her breath for the entire five-hour bus ride.

Having to take a bus at all is injury enough today.

Speaking of injury, her obliques scream at her as she reaches back for her suitcase. Damn Lucy and her insistence that hot yoga is the answer to the world’s problems. This is what happens when you take life advice from your best friend. A buildup of lactic acid.

‘Happy travels,’ the backpacker chirps. Mia shakes her head, mildly annoyed by his good mood, no doubt the result of the marijuana.

Sally Wadsworth, the most adventurous of her colleagues at the hospital gift shop, convinced her to try weed two years ago at a Friday night book club get-together.

Though Mia had voiced her concerns about the after-effects, she was still a little disappointed to find out she was one of the unlucky ones who experienced neither the mind-numbing relaxation of marijuana, nor the gripping anxiety of others’ experiences.

She simply felt … nothing. The next morning, upon recounting her experience in the book club’s group chat, Sally had declared Mia ‘too emotionally guarded’ to receive any benefit from the drug.

Which … whatever. Having emotions was overrated.

Mia plops down on to a hard metal chair, wishing the forty-five minutes until her bus’s departure would just magically dissipate.

There’s a family seated nearby, and their two young kids are sharing a set of earbuds to watch a film.

Curious, Mia shifts close enough to see what they’re watching, and chuckles to herself as she recognizes the opening scenes of A Christmas Carol.

She and Charlie loved that film when they were little.

Who doesn’t love a little ghosty goodness at Christmastime?

Mia moves back to her spot and pulls out her phone (to check the time, nothing else, she insists to herself) only to wince at how few minutes have passed.

Shoving back up out of her seat, she heads to the public toilets.

Might as well empty her bladder since there won’t be opportunity on the bus.

Standing in front of the sink, Mia scrutinizes her freshly shaped eyebrows, partially hidden under her fringe. Her complexion, although appearing slightly sallow under the fluorescent lights, is clear and fresh, thank God. None of those annoying stress-induced pimples she used to get.

An elderly woman in a plush turtleneck takes the sink beside her. ‘Love your lipstick, dearie.’

‘Thanks,’ Mia returns, with a genuine smile. ‘If I have to suffer the bus, at least I can console myself with the knowledge that my lips will look good for the whole trip.’

The woman smiles, laugh lines appearing in her cheeks.

‘That’s the spirit.’ She shrugs into her heavy overcoat with a sigh.

‘Looks like I’ll be missing my niece’s ballet performance tonight.

She’ll be terribly disappointed. She is the sugar plum fairy, you know.

The most important role in the whole production! ’

‘How awful,’ Mia commiserates. ‘Is this storm going to ruin everyone’s plans?’

‘I imagine so.’ The woman dries her lined hands with a paper towel and tosses it into the bin. ‘What plans did you have?’

Mia double-checks her cat eye in the mirror and wipes away a teensy smudge. There; perfect. ‘My mum’s annual neighbourhood Christmas party, which is always a good time. Although I imagine she’ll be less disappointed than your niece about my lateness.’

The woman clucks her tongue in sympathy. ‘It really is a shame. Nothing can be done about it, though, I suppose!’

Mia adopts her best tragic expression, and says, ‘Think of the children! They shouldn’t have to suffer!’

The woman laughs and pats her on the arm. ‘You’re funny. Keep up the good spirits. I’m sure your mum will understand. And you’ll still have a lovely holiday together.’

Mia sends the woman a genuine smile and gathers her things.

They exit the toilets together and the woman gives her another friendly smile before heading to the opposite corner of the station.

Mia makes her way outside, where the bus is waiting by the kerb, billowing exhaust into the cold air.

She hunches against the swirling snow as she loads her suitcase into the luggage hold, cursing Lucy all over again for her sore muscles.

Clambering aboard, she finds an empty row of seats and tucks in beside the window.

There’s a smudge on the glass where a previous passenger’s oily head left a mark, and she wipes it off with her sleeve, tamping down her annoyance.

Hopefully the bus won’t be too crowded and she’ll have both seats to herself.

While she waits for the other passengers to board, she fires off a text to Lucy.

All trains cancelled. Guess who gets to sit on a mouldering bus for untold hours?

Lucy, God bless her, is absolutely addicted to her phone. Which means she immediately texts back. You lucky duck. Try not to contract chlamydia.

Thanks to you every muscle in my body is sore. Why did I let you talk me into that class? By the time I get off this bus, I probably won’t be able to walk.

She can practically hear Lucy’s cackle. Guess you’ll just have to find a gentleman who will carry your bags for you. Shouldn’t be hard in Worcester. I hear they’re a wholesome bunch.

Mia rummages in her handbag for her headphones and straightens up, only to feel the telltale catch of her hair pulling on something. After the disgruntled few seconds it takes to disentangle herself, she notices the glob of chewing gum on the back of the seat in front of her.

‘Ew. So gross. So, so gross.’ She crosses her arms over her chest and calms her breathing.

This isn’t so bad. She’ll enjoy the trip, she decides – mind over matter!

It will be nice to see the snowy countryside slip by through the windows from the warmth of her seat.

Some of the houses will have their Christmas lights up.

It will all feel quite cosy, and she has a great playlist queued up.

And who knows, this might be her one chance to relax in the quiet for a few hours before all the hustle and bustle at her parents’ house.