Chapter Eighteen
“There’s no way that’s a station,” James says, frowning at the scattered pile of white-clad buildings posing as a village. For once, at least, we find ourselves looking at a real sign. A wooden post is arrowed towards Dalwhinnie station. The landscape around here is sparse of anything but dull-green fields enclosed with sheep wire. We stroll down a treelined road of pines and spruces.
Ahead of us is a small white building with a bright blue door and a red tiled roof. Behind that is what appears to be a railway. There’s no fencing or gates, no screens showing departures. There are also no commuters running to catch their trains, their bags bouncing on their backs. There are… no trains. There are no coffee shops or food stalls for me to get my classic breakfast of beans and smashed avocado. It’s like something out of medieval times. Ok, not quite medieval, they didn’t have trains. But this station can’t have been changed much at all since it was originally built back in, what, Victorian times?
I’ve seen two people in this town so far. One herding sheep with a feisty Border collie, the other driving a car. So, when we finally reach the platform, on the other side of the blue door, I’m surprised to find three people sat waiting on the single bench. To our left there’s a small shed-looking kiosk with a glass front. A man, who could not look more animated for what must be the most boring job in existence, sits in the booth, smiling.
“Morning,” I say, stepping up to the booth. “We want to get to Inverness airport.”
“It’s gone midday,” the man says with charm.
“Sorry?”
“You said good morning. It’s afternoon now. By five minutes.”
“Ok,” I say, blinking. “How much will two tickets be please?”
James is stood beside me, squinting into the sun, glancing down the tiny platform and beyond where there appears to be a train heading our way. It slithers through the valley like a snake with headlights.
The man taps on his noisy keyboard. “You’ll have to change at Pitlochry,” he says. “It’ll take you two hours to get there.”
“That’s fine,” I say, breathless, as the train rolls into the station. We can’t be more than a few metres from where it will stop. I almost say, it’s been three days, what harm is two hours going to do? , but decide to keep that one to myself. “How much will it be?”
There’s more clicking. I can feel an impatient buzz roll through me. Come on, come on . Finally, he points to a screen on my side of the booth. “Sixty-two pounds for two,” he says.
“Piss off!” I say, horrified.
James scoffs, joining outraged forces with me. “Is that a joke? I thought Scotland was cheaper than London.”
“Yous from London?” the man asks, laughing as if something about this whole situation is actually quite funny.
Instead of answering him, James huffs, taking my hand and pulling me away out of earshot. “We’ve only got fifty pounds.”
“No shit!?”
He gives me a sardonic glance as if I’m being the stupid one. “We’re getting on this train.”
“How? We can’t afford it!”
“We’re just going to get on.” He keeps checking where the train is, as if he’s planning on bolting towards it right in front of the ticket man.
My jaw goes slack. “What? We can’t. That’s theft! It’s illegal… It’s immoral .”
James rolls his eyes. He takes a few steps forwards. He’s really going to do it. He’s not even worried about the consequences. But when I don’t follow, he turns back to face me, tilting his head and rubbing his chin. “Hey Fliss, guess what? Rules are made for people who can afford to oblige them. They’re there to hurt people who can’t.”
“What are you talking about?” I hiss. The train is slowing now, coming in line with the platform. It’s only two carriages. I’ve never seen a train that short in London. Not once.
James gives me an imploring glance. “Sometimes you can’t afford the things you need. You can’t afford to get on that train. But you need to.”
“What, so we just get on? Without tickets?”
“There’s nothing stopping us…”
“But what if we get caught?”
“Then they’ll kick us off at the next stop.”
“They won’t fine us?”
The train doors hiss open. The carriages make that compressing sound as the brakes are applied as if they’re sighing from exhaustion.
“I dare you, Felicity. I dare you to do something you shouldn’t,” James says, his eyes glowing in a dangerous, exhilarating way. As if I haven’t just spent the past few days doing precisely that – something I shouldn’t. But even still, I can feel the adrenaline pumping through me as the whistle is blown.
“We can’t ,” I say, but without much conviction.
“We have to,” he repeats.
I open my mouth to object again. James is waiting for me to decide. He’s not forcing me on. He wants me to make the decision myself. The decision to be just a little reckless. He’s set me a challenge and the people-pleasing part of me doesn’t want to let him down.
Clearly, I’ve lost my mind, because I nod, and then we’re charging across the concrete, hand in hand, and up through the doors just as they close and the final whistle blows. The man in the booth points at us, shouts something to someone else who throws their hands up.
I’m instantly drenched in guilt. They know! They saw! What happens now?
“Oh, god, what’ve I done?” I mutter, as the train pulls away from the station, curling back into the valleys of the Highlands. I drop my bag and plonk myself down in a window seat, a slow, thick shame weighing heavy on my shoulders.
The carriage is bizarrely busy. Where did all these people even come from? James looks completely at ease with the situation as he stands tall to push both bags into the overheads. His top slides up and I get a glimpse of the dark line of belly hair below his navel before he takes the seat beside me. There’s hardly enough room for his long legs, his right leg stretches out slightly into the aisle.
James focusses on steadying his breathing. He checks his watch and peers out the opposite side as the scenery flashes past us. I take a deep breath too, doing the same on my side, my elbow on the window, chin resting in my palm. There are lots of sheep round here. We can’t be that far from where we woke up this morning, deserted still, in a tent by a stream. And yet, this part of Scotland seems so drastically different. It reminds me how small it actually is, whilst also seeming so huge when you’re in the middle of it.
I swallow as a sharp sensation builds behind my eyes. It’s all a bit overwhelming, really. I wonder what Mum is doing. I wonder if she knows where I am. Does she think I’m on a team-building trip with my colleagues? Safe and sound and tucked up in a castle. I wonder if anyone else has even noticed I’ve gone. I can go days without seeing my housemates, despite hearing their footsteps and the occasional flush of the loo.
I think about work. All the things that needed doing before I left. The list I wrote and handed to the team. I wonder if they’ve even looked at it. What sort of state will my inbox be in when I return? If only I could’ve accessed them whilst I was out here. And then there’s Michael. The man behind this whole thing. What is he doing? Eating caviar, sipping expensive champagne on a comfy sofa by a gorgeous grand fireplace?
Bastard. Oh god , do I really think that? No, of course not, he isn’t a bastard. He can’t be. I can’t have worked my arse off to unnatural levels for a man who never actually cared about me or my future. Can I?
And what am I going to do when I get back? How can I trust him, or trust that he won’t do something like this to one of my team? I blink as a grey cloud in the distance breaks apart slowly, a faded sky below promising rain.
It suddenly occurs to me that work and my parents are all I really have to worry about right now. Maybe I need a bit more going on in my life. Some closer friends. Some responsibilities. Possibly a hobby. Anything that isn’t work.
I’m filled with this sense of doom, as if something’s about to change? Something has to change, surely; I know that. It feels like I’m held together with this long thin rope that’s being pulled in two directions. Soon it might snap. And what happens then?
This week has been eye opening. The world is a much bigger place than The Starr Agency and Michael and my silly feud with James. It goes so far beyond all my problems.
Do I make other people stressed with my stress? Am I as bad in the office as James makes out?
James reaches across to plant a hand on my bare knee, squeezing. “You’re freaking out,” he mutters quietly so other passengers can’t hear.
I lean my head back, fighting the tears away with a shuddery breath. “I’m not sure how we go back to it all. How do we go to work next week?”
James tilts his head, considering. “I’m honestly not sure I want to at the moment. If that helps at all.”
I smile sadly. “Who am I, James? Me. Fliss Rainer, not wanting to go to work?”
“It’s probably just holiday blues,” he says with a smirk.
“Do they call it that because I nearly froze to death?”
He laughs, looking back at the other passengers to see if they’re nosing in. They all seem to be wrapped up in their own little worlds too. They’ve all got their own problems and places to be.
“Oh shit,” James hisses, tucking himself behind his chair. He gives me a smile but his eyes are wild in a way that suggests trouble.
I duck down too. “What!?”
“The ticket inspector,” he whispers, gesturing with his chin.
I peek up over the seat to see what has startled James. My eyes go round. My chest starts to constrict. My heart thunders in my chest. I duck down again. There is in fact a train conductor, wearing a hat and all, walking this way, slowly checking other passengers’ tickets. But, of course, they’re relaxed because they weren’t peer pressured into jumping on here without paying.
Oh, but that’s unfair. I definitely could’ve said no, walked in a different direction. And yet… here I am.
“What the fuck do we do?” I demand. There’s not even a tiny piece of me that finds this funny, so it rankles me slightly when I see James snigger. “How is this funny!?”
“Oh, lighten up, Felicity. What’s the worst that can happen?”
“I don’t know… What is the worst that can happen? ”
“We’ll get booted off the train.”
“Whilst it’s moving?!”
James finds this even funnier. “I certainly hope not.”
He sneaks a look back down the aisle. The man hasn’t noticed us. And I suppose, unless he spoke to the station, how would he even know? We’re not suspects yet.
James stands to take my bag off the overhead, passing it down to me before grabbing his own. For all the train conductor knows, we’re just getting snacks. James’ eyes shine with mischief as he offers me his hand. “Come on. Let’s sneak into the next carriage.”
My legs are shaky as I stand to follow. “Another great idea,” I mutter.
“Ssssh. It’s fine.”
We walk slowly to the back of the carriage which, luckily, is only a couple of rows of seats. Our movement has been spotted though. The train conductor shouts something. I peek over my shoulder, despite James tugging on my arm to speed up.
The man calls, “Hey, now wait a second!”
But James is off with me in tow. We fly to the doors, our lungs slamming against our ribcages. The doors open onto a connection between carriages as we fly through to the next one and along the aisle. People look up with suspicious glances. Some appear to be genuinely offended that we’re walking so fast.
James is laughing, smiling as if this is an enjoyable pastime for him. Meanwhile, I feel like the short, panicky girl on Derry Girls .
“James,” I hiss. “Gloatman!”
But he barely even looks over his shoulder as we hop someone’s discarded bag in the middle aisle. He squeezes my hand, aiming for the back of the train. We find ourselves out of escape room and I clatter into his body as he stops. The man is striding towards us now saying something about bloody kids and chancers.
Does he mean me ? I’m not a chancer!
“What bloody now?!” I demand of my comrade, or, co-offender.
Suddenly the door opens to the toilet on our left. A man leaving with a newspaper folded under his arm blinks in surprise at us waiting outside, then heads back to his seat.
James gives me a look. It says, We’ll hide in the loo.
“No,” I say. “Ew, no, gross. I have a genuine fear of public toilets.”
But really, we don’t have much choice. When I peek over my shoulder the rather rotund conductor has nearly caught up with us. James pulls me into the loo. There’s a long, blurred window. The curved door closes behind us with a click, trapping me in a train toilet with Gloatman.
How did I get here?
I stand in the middle, trying to balance with the movement of the train. James seems to be much sturdier than me. He has his back against the door, watching me with a funny look on his face.
“Yes?” I ask as the man outside starts knocking politely on the door.
“Excuse me, please. You’ll need to come out of there. The train toilets only permit one person at a time.”
James sniggers, holding a hand over his mouth.
“This is so not funny. You’re such an imbecile. Am I going to get a criminal record?”
“What for?”
“For not having a ticket!”
“Oh yeah… You’re going straight to a high-security prison, Felicity. You bad, bad girl.”
“Shut up,” I say, pointing at his chest, but then find myself laughing at how ridiculous this all is. My cheeks must be so red. How did I let him talk me into this? “You’ve done this before, haven’t you?”
His eyes are bright when he turns to me. “I rarely pay for train tickets if I can avoid it. I never paid as a teen and did a lot of running and hiding.”
“ James .”
His lips quirk. “Felicity.”
“Excuse me. Please come out,” the very polite train conductor asks again, albeit with an element of huffiness.
“Flush the loo,” James says, since I’m closer to it.
I lean across to grab some loo roll, covering my hand to push the flush. The toilet makes a sharp, loud swooshing sound. We both watch the door, waiting to see if the conductor will leave but instead, he knocks again. “I’ll wait here.”
James curses under his breath.
“Next idea?” I ask with a sarcastic smile.
His lips twitch as he glances at my face, his eyes dropping to my lips. “I have an idea.”
“Your ideas are exclusively my only problems right now.”
“This one will be good, I promise.”
“I’m not jumping out of a damn window.”
There’s another knock on the door. “If you don’t come out voluntarily I am authorised to manually unlock the door from the outside.”
I don’t have to say anything more to James, the look on my face speaks volumes. He cringes through a smile. Oh, this all very, very funny to him. I, on the other hand, fully expect to experience trauma after this trip. I will be having nightmares about running away on trains and hiding in icky toilets for weeks.
Another knock. The very polite train conductor is getting impatient. “I’m giving you ten seconds.”
James laughs, stepping closer to me. He plants one hand on my waist, pushing me into the wall, my bag acting as a buffer. He shifts his legs so that one of his is in between mine. It’s all a stark reminder of our kiss in the castle. Heat fires up in my chest and abdomen as if someone has lit a match and thrown it on the coals. It’s a welcome distraction to the situation. And something more, it’s really not like me. This isn’t Fliss. Fliss would never ! And yet, I’m doing it, and it’s fun and it’s naughty and…
Oh, shit. The door clicks open. Almost simultaneously, James takes my water bottle from the side compartment, turns and tips it into the loo, hunching over to make a horrible gurning sound.
I stare at the back of him in disgust. What on earth am I witnessing?
But then my brain clicks and I jump into action, remembering the situation we’re currently in. I rub James’ back, pretending to nurse him. I briefly give the train conductor an annoyed face to show him he’s interrupting a vulnerable, private moment.
“Oh, very sorry,” he says. “Sorry. I didn’t know your… he… was being sick.” The door slides shut again, locking with a click.
James stands back up with a grin.
“That was exceptionally disgusting,” I say, unable to rid the grimace from my face.
James tries to smother a laugh with his hand. It instantly riles me. And yet, I too can’t fight the humour of the situation. “It’s not funny, you idiot.”
“I’m sorry,” he says, resting his forehead on mine. I swallow when I realise how easy this has become between us in only a matter of days. It feels sort of wonderful which is terrifying. I shouldn’t be feeling this about him. Luckily, a few moments later he steps away to open the top part of the window, and glances out. “Station ahead. We’ll get off here.”
“But we’re not in Inverness.”
He gives me a look. “They’re not going to let us chill out in here for another hour and a bit. As much as I’m enjoying this—” I snort at his sarcastic tone “—once it stops, we’ll charge out the doors, ok?”
“But where are we!?”
“I have no idea.”
“Oh, bloody hell.” I sigh.
“We’re a good team, Felicity. Don’t you worry.”
“There better be food,” I say, huffy, as he grabs my hand again towing me towards the door, readying ourselves for escape.
When the train slows to a stop, James tentatively opens the door to find the coast clear. We’ve clearly frightened Mr Train Conductor off with James’ convincing rendition of a sickness bug. We dart out onto the platform, and I’m tempted to leg it, but James slows me down, linking my arm with his and whispers, “Walk quick but casual. Less suspicious.”
“Are you a part-time criminal?” I ask.
“I’m in sales, Felicity. Criminality, sales, it’s a role cut from the same cloth.”
All I can do is laugh as we exit the station and step into the next unknown. Hell, maybe I’m even enjoying it now!