Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Fern shot upright, heart pounding as the shrill chime of her alarm shattered the blissful silence.
Disoriented, she slapped her hand around the bedside table, knocking over a lamp, and what she really hoped wasn’t last night’s half-finished cup of tea, before finally locating her phone.
It was six a.m. On a Saturday. A time she usually only encountered when stumbling out of a Soho club, heels in hand, with regret setting in for the midnight tequila shots.
With a noise somewhere between a sigh and a battle cry, she forced herself out of bed and shuffled towards the bathroom.
A quick shower blasted away the worst of her grogginess, the scent of citrus shampoo snapping her into something resembling alertness.
As she massaged foam into her scalp, the reality of the day settled in.
She still wasn’t entirely sure what she was walking into, but one thing was certain – she was about to find out.
Thirty minutes later, dressed in dark jeans and a fitted trench coat, Fern slipped out of her flat into the warm London morning.
She quickened her pace towards Fulham Broadway, dodging a man wielding an oversized laptop bag like a medieval weapon and a woman powerwalking with the determination of someone late for a very important meeting or a very good breakfast.
Euston Station, eight a.m. train, coffee. In that order.
Descending the steps, she joined the pack of Londoners who had long since accepted that personal space was a myth.
She couldn’t understand why the tube was as busy as a weekday rush hour on a Saturday morning, but the proliferation of Lycra suggested there was some sort of race or marathon happening this morning.
She reached the platform just as the train arrived, the doors slid open and Fern braced herself.
It was the usual morning sardine-tin scenario, but she was a seasoned commuter.
Sucking in a breath (not too deep, as there was always the risk of inhaling someone else’s deodorant or body odour), she wedged herself inside, clutching her suitcase like a life raft.
The train jolted forward, and she swayed in time with the crowd, riding the wave of bodies like an unwilling participant in a very slow-motion mosh pit.
A man’s newspaper smacked her shoulder, someone’s coffee threatened to tip onto her trench coat, and an apologetic stranger’s backpack was now essentially her new dance partner.
She made the change from the District to the Victoria line at Victoria and then began the journey north through central London.
With each stop, she inched closer to the door, mentally preparing for her grand exit.
As the platform at Euston loomed into view, she angled her suitcase like a battering ram and went for it.
The trick was to move with confidence, but not so aggressively that she ended up in an accidental game of human dominoes.
Freedom. Cool air. Space to breathe. She’d made it.
All she needed now was caffeine. Then she could make a mad dash for the next leg of her journey.
She took a deep breath, glancing at the departures board, glad to see that the next train was on time.
She assumed – hoped, really – that it couldn’t possibly be as claustrophobic as the tube had been.
With that small reassurance, she grabbed a coffee from the station kiosk and collapsed onto a bench.
Once the train pulled in, Fern hopped on quickly, but still found herself weaving through carriage after carriage, dodging suitcases and apologising as she squeezed past standing passengers.
Finally, in the very end carriage, she spotted an empty seat next to a man with a guitar propped up against his leg.
His blond curls were a little out of control, as if they had a mind of their own, and a faint shadow of stubble sharpened the angles of his jaw.
Dressed in jeans, a white T-shirt and denim jacket, he somehow carried off the double-denim look with effortless ease.
His well-worn Adidas trainers, scuffed and softened by years of use, hinted at a man who valued comfort over trends.
Then there was his smile, as he caught her eye and moved his guitar to make more room for her.
The second she took in his aroma, she hesitated before sitting down.
His aftershave was unexpected, something woody, warm, with a hint of spice, like cedar and amber, with the faintest trace of citrus lingering beneath.
It wasn’t overpowering, but instead strangely inviting.
She slid into the seat beside him, after lifting her suitcase on to the luggage rack.
A sideways glance confirmed he was watching her, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was holding back a grin.
Caught, she quickly looked away, only to find herself smirking as well.
Twenty minutes into the journey, the stranger spoke. ‘Hey,’ he said, his voice carrying an easy confidence. ‘Long trip ahead?’
Usually, she avoided conversation on public transport at all costs, but something about him made it difficult not to engage.
‘Yes,’ she replied, surprising herself by matching his energy. ‘Involving a tube, a train, then a bus across a causeway.’
‘Puffin Island?’ he guessed.
She raised a brow. ‘Are you psychic?’
‘The causeway gave it away,’ he said with a grin. ‘Beautiful place.’
‘I’ve never been before, and I won’t be staying long. I’m just there for some family business. Not exactly a holiday.’
He nodded thoughtfully. ‘Still, not a bad place for whatever family business you’ve got going on. I’m Daniel.’
‘Fern. It’s a family business I knew nothing about. Apparently, I’ve just inherited a junk shop.’
‘That sounds rubbish.’ He smiled, holding up his hands. ‘Sorry, bad joke.’
She playfully rolled her eyes as her gaze drifted towards his guitar. ‘So, do you play?’ she asked. ‘Are you in a band?’
He chuckled. ‘Not quite. I play for me, but busk sometimes.’
‘That’s cool,’ she said, tilting her head. ‘How long have you been playing?’
‘Not long, actually. A couple of years.’ He ran a hand over the guitar case. ‘My boss taught me. She was into music and made me play so she could sing.’ His voice softened, and for the first time since she’d sat down, his smile faltered. ‘She’s just passed away.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ Fern said gently. ‘I didn’t mean to…’
‘It’s okay.’ He gave a small, sad smile. ‘She had a good life.’
For a moment, they sat in silence, the hum of the train filling the space between them. Then, at the exact same moment, they both opened their mouths to speak.
They stopped, stared at each other, then laughed.
There was a twinkle in his eye, and Fern was taken by surprise, feeling a flutter in her stomach.
‘You go first…’ they chorused in unison.
Then laughed again.
Before either of them could continue, the train ground to a halt, but there wasn’t a station in sight.
A murmur of confusion rippled through the carriage as people glanced through the windows. They were in the middle of nowhere. Then an announcement sounded through the carriage.
‘We are experiencing a power failure. Engineers are on their way, but we anticipate a significant delay. Please remain on board. We apologise for the inconvenience and will keep you updated.’
A collective groan filled the carriage. Fern’s stomach sank. Of course, the universe would throw this at her today. She exhaled, shifting slightly in her seat as the train remained stubbornly still. She glanced at Daniel, who seemed entirely unbothered by the delay.
‘Well, that’s just perfect,’ she muttered, folding her arms.
Daniel shot her a grin. ‘Look at it this way, we’ve been gifted more time to chat. Fate’s doing us a favour.’
She arched an eyebrow. ‘You think being stranded on a train is romantic?’
‘Absolutely. A forced proximity trope in real life.’
She couldn’t stop the smile on her face and glanced towards his left hand – no ring – but someone as good-looking as him was bound to have a girlfriend.
Just at that second there was a loud rumble. Embarrassed, Fern glanced at her stomach. She had only grabbed a coffee at the station and was hungrier than she’d realised.
Daniel smiled and opened his rucksack, pulling out a neatly wrapped sandwich. ‘Should have been for my lunch, but it sounds like you need breakfast and I can’t have someone going hungry on my watch.’ He gave her a warm smile that made her stomach flip more than the hunger pains.
He offered her half the sandwich. ‘Cheese salad. Homemade.’
She hesitated for only a second before accepting it. ‘Thanks. That’s … really nice of you. Only if you’re sure though.’
‘I’m sure.’
Taking a bite of the sandwich, she nearly groaned with delight. ‘This is really good. A sandwich always tastes better when someone else makes it.’
He smiled at her and gestured to her mouth, and she quickly wiped the mayonnaise from her lip.
When they’d finished the sandwich, he retrieved a KitKat from his bag, unwrapped it and snapped it in two. Without a word, he handed her a piece.
Fern took it with a small smile, their fingers brushing briefly.
The old woman opposite them let out a wistful sigh.
‘It’s so lovely to see such kindness. I met my husband on a train,’ she continued, a gleam in her eye.
‘Euston to Lichfield Trent Valley. I was twenty-four, and so was he. We laughed the whole way. Neither of us wanted to get off. So he didn’t.
’ She smiled; a soft smile, full of memory.
‘He stayed with me the whole journey. Then the rest of my life.’
Fern pressed a hand to her heart. ‘That’s so beautiful.’
A beat of silence passed. Then…
‘But that’s not…’
‘We’re not…’
They spoke at the same time, their words tumbling over each other. The old woman simply patted her handbag with a knowing smile. Fern’s heart was doing something entirely ridiculous to her chest as they both stopped speaking and gave each other a smile.
‘Hear that? We’re a picture of romance,’ teased Daniel.
Fern played along with a mock-serious nod. ‘Clearly, we’re meant to be.’
The young boy accompanying the woman, pointed at Daniel’s guitar case. ‘Can you play for us?’
‘My grandson,’ the woman shared.
Daniel grinned. ‘I could. But do you want to try?’
The boy’s eyes widened. ‘Really?’
‘Of course.’ Daniel guided him through a few simple chords, patient and encouraging. The boy’s excitement was contagious, drawing smiles from the other passengers. Someone clapped along as Daniel took the guitar and translated the chords into an easy melody.
Fern found herself watching him closely. He was charismatic in a way that felt effortless, his easy-going nature making strangers feel like old friends. How had she never met anyone like him before?
Just then, her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out to find a text from Ella.
Ella
You missed a great night last night, only just getting home!
Next came a succession of photographs, and there he was, Jax Devlin. The photos showed him backstage with a cigarette in one hand and a bottle of beer in the other, surrounded as usual by a bunch of girls. She wondered which one he’d taken home.
Fern sighed, locking her phone and shoving it back into her pocket.
She shouldn’t care – she didn’t care … or at least that’s what she kept telling herself.
Jax Devlin was nothing more than a bad habit, a comfortable, predictable disaster she kept returning to because the alternative was stepping into the unknown.
But as she watched Daniel strumming the guitar, charming an entire train carriage with nothing but a few chords and a smile, she realised just how tired she was. Tired of late-night texts and early-morning regrets. Tired of men who only knew how to love themselves.
Daniel glanced up then, catching her staring. ‘What?’ he asked, brow quirked in amusement.
‘Nothing,’ she said quickly, holding his gaze, and for the first time in a long time, she wondered if maybe, just maybe, there was more to life than chasing a thrill that always left her feeling empty.
It was three hours before the train finally jolted forwards.
Daniel was still entertaining the carriage, guiding the young boy through a simple rhythm while the other passengers tapped along.
Fern hadn’t stopped smiling, because whilst being stuck on an unmoving train for three hours would usually have frustrated her, she was very much relaxed and having a good time.
Watching Daniel made her want to know more about him.
But then, with a sudden shift in momentum, the train began to slow. The overhead tannoy crackled to life, a voice saying, ‘Next stop, Brackenholt.’
Daniel’s hands stilled on the guitar. His brow furrowed, a flicker of confusion crossing his face before his eyes widened in horror as he looked out of the window.
‘Shit.’ He shot up so fast he nearly knocked over his rucksack. ‘This is my stop!’
Fern blinked. ‘Wait, what?’
But there was no time. He was already grabbing his things in a frantic scramble, shoving the guitar back into its case and slinging his rucksack over one shoulder.
The train gave a final shudder as it came to a complete stop. Daniel turned to Fern, a mixture of regret and urgency flashing across his face.
‘I … uh…’ He hesitated and, in that half-second, something hung between them. Something unspoken. Something neither of them had expected.
The doors hissed open. Daniel took a step towards them but was still looking at Fern.
Fern sat frozen, willing herself to say something, anything. But what?
And then the moment slipped away. Daniel shot her one last crooked smile, a glint of something unreadable in his eyes, before dashing towards the doors. He jumped off the train just before a whistle sounded and the doors slid shut. He was gone.
Fern sat there, heart racing, a hollow sort of ache settling in her chest.
She’d never got his number.
She hadn’t even asked.
The train lurched forward once more, carrying her away from a man who, against all odds, had made her feel something real for the first time in a long time.
The old woman sighed wistfully. ‘That’s how the best love stories start, you know. Unexpected. Unfinished.’
Fern shook her head. ‘This isn’t a love story.’
The old woman simply smiled. ‘We’ll see.’