Chapter Twenty-Seven
My heart is beating frantically as I storm down the slabbed pavement towards the station. He won’t answer his phone. I’ve tried three times. But I guess that’s fair. I’ve basically ignored him for two days. I assume he’ll be taking the train. Obviously, I don’t actually know this. Or does he have a car? He lives in London. Why would he need a car? I shake my head. The train station is my best bet.
A woman in a pushchair gives me a funny look as I hop into the road to get around her. A horn blares as a car swerves past me. Idiot . He was nowhere near hitting me. Can’t he see I’m in emergency mode? Nobody goes running in jeans and a sweatshirt in early summer!
There are several thoughts swirling around my head. What if James isn’t at the station? Or, what if in my moment of stubborn hesitation, I’ve missed his train and he’s already on his way back to the city? My lungs slam against my chest. I can’t get enough air into them. I don’t ever run. It’s quite literally the worst thing I could do to myself. But I deserve it. What an idiot I’ve been! How could I not hear what he was trying to tell me? And oh god. His stories about heartbreaks and being left and abandoned by people. I’m no better than any of them. He at least deserves a chance. We both do.
The station comes into view up ahead. I can just catch the operator talking over the loudspeaker, something about “London” and “leaving”, and I can’t run fast enough. I don’t see James anywhere, and the staff behind the ticket kiosk give me a funny look as I sprint, red faced and sweaty, to the glass.
“Hi, hi. I just need to speak to a friend. They’re in the station. Can you let me through?”
“You need to buy a ticket,” a nasally voice responds.
“I’m not getting on a train,” I retort. “This isn’t the airport.”
“You need a ticket to go through the stiles.”
I laugh with frustration, then double over trying to recover from the run. Good lord, Fliss. It was only a minute run.
“ Please ,” I say once more, looking across the stiles at a train waiting, doors open.
When the man repeats himself for the third time, I remember what James said to me in Scotland. It’s not necessarily correct but his words play out in my head. Sometimes you can’t afford the things you need. You can’t afford to get on that train. But you need to .
I stand up, give the man behind the kiosk a scowl, then bolt towards the stiles. I try to clear them entirely by placing my hands on the top middle part and jumping, but I’m far too short. I end up with my legs tangled, crying out in pain. The metal is hard as my shins smack across them. Finally, with a shuffle, I end up on my arse on the other side. Someone shouts at me.
I climb to my feet, looking around wildly for James. There’s still no sign of him, not on any of the benches or stood on the platform. Maybe he’s already boarded the train. A conductor is running towards me now, waving their hands and blowing a whistle. Oh, bloody hell. Who have I become? The train is about to leave, the doors sounding that high-pitched beeping. I only have a second to make up my mind, and because it says it’s going to London via Lewes, I leap forwards. Suddenly the doors close behind me, and an angry man is frowning at me from the platform behind the glass. I make a sorry face, shrugging as the train moves away from the station.
“Fliss?”
I turn around to see James leaning around his chair to look at me. His face is a mix of shock and confusion.
“I don’t have a ticket,” I say.
He laughs. “Ok.”
“I just had to… I’m so sorry. I think I’ve projected some of my own issues on you and that’s incredibly unfair.”
“Alright.”
“I mean, you did hurt me. You should’ve told me from the start that the note from Michael was only meant for you.”
He nods, watching me.
Other people are sat on the carriage, some pretending to read their phones, others just outright watching our conversation as if it’s free entertainment. “Can we, um?” I nod behind me to the train loo. I frown because it’s not somewhere I want to go, but also, I don’t particularly want an audience for this discussion.
James climbs up from his seat, grabbing his bag and walking tentatively towards me. He points behind me, where there are some free seats that look relatively private. I nod, better than the loo. See, not all his ideas are terrible . We sit opposite each other as the South Downs whip by.
When I finally meet his eyes, I feel his gaze in my gut again. “I’m sorry.”
“Why’re you sorry?” he says.
“You came all the way here, but I’ve been determined to push you away.”
He smiles sadly. “I get it. I’m not really your type.”
“No. No, you’re not.”
He laughs, offended.
“But I think that’s a good thing because, well my type has always ended up being a bit shit, really. And well, as it happens, I already know all the worst things about you. I know you irritate the shit out of me. And sometimes your random ideas completely derail my well-laid plans.” I stop to catch my breath. “But you challenge me – in a good way. Working with you has made me a better person, and truthfully, conflict aside, I wouldn’t’ve had it any other way,” I say. “And actually, when I think about it properly, all my plans for Starr included you, you were a central piece of everything. So, sure, I hated your guts. You’re an overconfident bastard at times.” I exhale slowly. Where was I going with this again?
I look up to see James watching me with an amused expression. “What are you even on about?” he laughs.
“I… Oh, shit. Were you not here to ask me out?”
James seems genuinely surprised by my question.
“No, actually. I just wanted us to double up on the lawsuit against Michael,” he says. “See, I had this whole elaborate plan, where we worked together to get our own back against him, and during the course of the trial or whatever, you’d fall in love with me. If I was very lucky. Or something along those lines.” He gives me a look that says, me and my silly ideas .
“Ok, now I’m confused.”
“I know you’re too good for me, Felicity. I’m not an idiot. I was just hoping if we spent more time together, you’d end up seeing that I’m not a bad guy, and that really, we make a great team. I hadn’t planned some sweeping romantic gesture, but you kicking me out certainly wasn’t very encouraging.”
I sigh happily. “James Boatman, will you go out for drinks with me?”
A huge perfect smile splits across his face. “You mean to say, I don’t need to form some huge elaborate plan to win you over?”
“No,” I say. “I’ve known you six years, James. I already know I’m probably going to want to strangle you from time to time, but I also know you’re pretty great in other ways.”
He suppresses a laugh, folding his arms across his chest. “And you broke onto this train to tell me that.”
“Well, you ignored my call.”
“Payback, my friend.”
“Fair enough,” I smile.
“And so, what’s your plan from here?”
“Well, that depends, doesn’t it?”
He raises an eyebrow in question.
“Are you going to come back to my mum’s for a cup of tea?”
“Felicity, Felicity,” he sighs. “Is that your idea of going out for drinks?”
“No!” I laugh. “But equally, I might very well get kicked off.”
“They’ll just fine you. I think it’s a hundred quid.”
I scoff. “Why didn’t you tell me that in Scotland?”
He shrugs. “It was good to see you breaking the rules for once. I didn’t know you had it in you. And now twice in the span of a week!” He clucks his tongue at me.
I make a half-laughing, half-infuriated sound. “You’re the worst person I know!”
The smile is still on his lips. He leans forwards, crossing the space to sit beside me. “I drink Guinness.”
I can’t fight the smile worming its way onto my lips. “I might change my mind now.”
“What’s wrong with Guinness?”
“Nothing, you just seem too confident again.”
He chuckles. “Well, in fairness, you did just jump a stile and throw yourself onto a moving train for me, so I think it’s safe to assume you’re into me.”
“The train wasn’t moving.”
“That’s not what I’ll tell my sisters.”
And with that, I lean in to kiss him, pressing my lips against his. Anything to shut the man up. His large hand cups my cheek, just the way I like it, his fingertips softly grazing the sensitive area behind my ears, sending sparks spiralling through my body.
“You know what I really, really want?” James asks into my mouth.
I stop kissing him, smiling instead. “What, are you a Spice Girl now? A long-awaited sixth member?”
“Very funny. No.”
“Hmm, ok, tell me what you want, Gloatman.”
He smirks, that annoying, perfect smirk I just want to kiss off his face. “The last word.”