Chapter Thirty-Three
Thirty years later
Theo moves up the escalator and through the crowds at Paddington station, listening to his dad’s voice coming through his AirPods, telling him about a party he’s arranging for when Theo gets home to Dublin.
‘Well, more of a get-together really,’ his dad is saying.
‘But everyone has said they’ll be here. Which is good, given I wouldn’t be able to go there, so to speak.
’ A subtle dig at himself, Theo knows. It’s the main reason he’s moving back to Ireland.
He hasn’t been in the same place much since his mum died when he was a teenager.
But he’s watched as his dad has become more and more introverted, and maybe it’s time to try and help with that before it’s too late.
And maybe it’ll be nice to be in one place for a while.
He never thought he’d say that – and maybe it’s the old cliché about approaching thirty and wondering what direction you want the next thirty years of your life to take, but he feels like something is telling him to stay put.
After all, you can be a music producer from anywhere, can’t you?
‘I’ll be there, Dad,’ he says firmly.
‘Well, good. Because all your shite is already here, and what will I do with it if you don’t come home?’
Theo laughs. ‘I’ll call you tomorrow when I’m off the plane at Dublin, okay?’
He hangs up, looking up at the departures boards.
It’s hot, jackets hooked over suitcase handles, people fanning themselves as they wait for their train.
A second wave of summer in mid September.
He always feels weird this time of year.
Like there’s an important date coming up that he can’t remember – someone’s birthday he’s forgotten. He’s never been able to figure out why.
His train to Bristol is on time. If he’s quick, he can grab a pasty beforehand. He could’ve flown straight to Dublin from London, but he has a friend in Bristol and thought, why not?
He scans the other destinations. It’s weird – he’s always been drawn to certain places.
New York, Paris, Bath. And all right, those are places everyone wants to visit, so you could probably argue it’s just that.
It doesn’t feel like that, though. It feels like he has some connection to them.
He went to Bath for the first time a few years ago, was sure he recognised the place, even though his dad insisted they’d never been to that part of England before.
Beside him, two women are hugging goodbye, one about his age, one older.
‘Maybe I shouldn’t go,’ the younger one says as she pulls back.
‘You’re going,’ says the older one firmly. ‘You’ve spent too long pandering to my needs. Now it’s your turn.’
The younger one bites her lip, then nods, giving the other woman one more hug before turning and walking right past Theo, pulling a massive suitcase.
She drops something a few feet away but doesn’t seem to notice, just keeps striding on, determined.
The older woman is already leaving the station, back held ramrod-straight.
Theo bends to pick up whatever it is she’s dropped. Her passport. ‘Hey, wait!’
She doesn’t hear him over the announcement of the next train to leave, the general chatter around them. He jogs after her, carrying only a rucksack, and taps her on the shoulder. She jumps so violently she nearly topples over her suitcase.
He holds up both hands. ‘Sorry. You dropped this.’ He holds out her passport. She stares at it for a moment, then shakes her head, laughing a little at herself. She reaches to take it, and the tips of her fingers brush his.
‘Thanks, hero,’ she says. ‘Would be hard to get on a plane without it.’ Her voice resonates around his brain for a moment, like the echo of something he remembers.
Hey, hero.
He shakes it off. ‘Yeah. Maybe not impossible, but only if you’re, like, James Bond.’
‘Well, sure, then I could sneak into the bit under the plane. What’s it called, where they put all the suitcases?’ She frowns. He’s kind of fascinated by the little lines that form between her eyebrows. ‘Actually, though, if I’m James Bond, I probably have my own plane, don’t I?’
‘Probably,’ he agrees. He should just let her go – she obviously has somewhere she needs to be. Instead, he feels a slightly irrational desire to keep her here, talking to him. ‘Question, though – you do know this isn’t an airport, right?’
She smiles, and he feels a spark of something inside, like he’s glad that he’s made this stranger smile. ‘I’m on the way to Heathrow,’ she says.
‘Ah.’ There’s a pause, and then, because she’s still there, looking at his face a little curiously, he holds out a hand. ‘Theo,’ he says. He briefly imagines his mum, when she was alive, laughing at him for being so formal.
‘Ally,’ she says, offering him another smile as she takes his hand. The weight of her hand feels familiar in his, and they both hold on longer than necessary.
‘So this may be a little weird,’ he says as they break apart, ‘but I don’t suppose you have time for a coffee, do you?’
She bites her lip, glances at the departures board. Then she sighs, shakes her head.
‘Sorry,’ he says quickly, feeling stupid for asking. He’s not even sure why he did – he has somewhere to be, too. And what exactly is he hoping a coffee will turn into? They live in different places – they’re never going to see each other again. ‘Of course you don’t.’
‘No, it’s just, I really do have a plane to catch. And given it’s not a private jet, I can’t ask it to wait for me.’ She holds up her passport. ‘Thanks, though. You really are my hero.’
He can’t help watching her as she walks away. She reminds him of someone, though he can’t think who. It’s the way she moves, he thinks. The way she smiles. He shakes his head, snorting to himself for being an idiot, and starts towards his own platform.
He risks one more glance back, over his shoulder. And sees her glancing back at him too. Their gazes meet, hold. Then she lifts a hand in a final goodbye. Turns away. And is gone.