The Fire House on Honeysuckle Street. Rachel Dove

irked by the bloke, Sam stomped through the carriages till he found his seat. Moving to the end of the carriage, he stashed his bags in the luggage compartments. He noticed a woman and a small boy, sitting across from his table seat. The boy had headphones on, his face enraptured in the screen, his hair ruffled and sticking up at odd angles, pushed askew by his big headphones. Sam smiled, thinking of the kids he had grown up alongside. Half of them had never seen movies, let alone been lucky enough to have a portable screen to watch them on. He squeezed himself into the seat he had reserved, so he ended up sitting the opposite way from the lad, the same side as the woman. He felt eyes on him, and looked across to see the boy watching him intently. He looked away, aware that a man of his size looking at a youngster might be intimidating. He flicked his gaze across at the woman, and she was looking right at him. He was just noticing how blue her eyes were when she opened her mouth to speak, flashing him a set of pearly whites, that were currently bared at him.

      ‘Do you have a problem?’ Her tone was clipped, pushed out like pellets from an air rifle.

      He laughed, out loud. Right at her. He didn’t mean to, and he choked off the motion in his throat as soon as he realised.

      ‘Sorry,’ he said gruffly. ‘I didn’t mean to laugh. I don’t have a problem.’

      She clenched her jaw, and Sam said nothing, observing her. He noticed how alike the pair looked, the young boy having her brown hair colouring, little streaks of lighter caramel tinted hair running through her shoulder-length locks. She had it wavy, and loose around her shoulders. She looked tired, he noted, and tense across her features. The boy was still looking at him, the tablet now on the table, forgotten.

      ‘Are you okay?’

      He surprised himself by asking. Normally he kept himself to himself, off the job, but something about her made him want to know more.

      ‘I will be,’ she said, folding her arms. ‘I just want to enjoy the journey in peace.’

      She glared at him again, and then turned to look at her son.

      ‘Xander honey, don’t stare.’

      The boy, who had one headphone off his ear, looked at her in surprise.

      ‘He’s staring! Tell him!’

      ‘Xander!’ his mum scolded, in the form of a whisper. ‘Remember what we said?’

      ‘Mum! He did it! You always said to tell the truth!’

      ‘Xander, please!’

      Xander huffed, and rolled his eyes so far in the back of his head Sam thought they would never return.

      ‘Fine,’ he spat out, giving Sam a sidelong glance that could spark a fire from across the county. ‘I don’t like you,’ he said, matter of factly, sticking his tongue out at Sam before picking up his tablet and shoving his headphones back onto his ears. The woman blushed furiously, and Sam chuckled again.

      ‘I’m sorry, Xander,’ he said. ‘You’re quite right, it is rude to stare.’

      Xander didn’t take his eyes from the screen, but Sam saw him sneak a peek over the top at his mother and give a little grin.

      ‘I see you,’ she said, but her tone was softer this time. She looked across at Sam. ‘Thank you. He speaks his mind.’

      Sam looked at the woman, who looked so frazzled and on edge and nodded once.

      ‘Nothing wrong with that.’

      She raised her eyebrows, pulling a face.

      ‘Not always, for him. He hasn’t mastered tact.’

      Sam looked out of the window at the man from earlier, who was now getting ready to blow his whistle.

      ‘He has time, I know plenty of adults who haven’t learnt that skill either.’

      She laughed then, just once, and smiled at him for the first time. Her blue eyes flashed and he couldn’t help but notice how pretty she was.

      ‘Well, thanks.’

      ‘Sam, Draper.’

      She looked him up and down, as though deciding something for herself, and then looked at her son, who was by now engrossed in his movie and not paying any attention to their conversation.

      ‘Lucy.’

      She didn’t volunteer a surname, and turned back to her book. As she folded the page out to crack the spine a little, he noticed that she touched her bare ring finger, as though out of habit, before stopping herself. He was about to ask where she was headed when the whistle blew, and the Tannoy started to detail the journey from London to Leeds, and all the stops in between. He had stashed his holdall and suitcase in the compartments, and he checked on them as the train started to move. He took his jacket off, folded it and put it onto the seat next to him, before reaching into the carrier bag he had bought in the station. He took out a bottle of water and the latest thriller and settled in for the duration. He couldn’t bring himself to read the letter yet, when the smell of his mother was still all around him, on his clothing. He would wait to get settled in, and be alone. Then he would read the letter. No one wanted to see a six foot four man cry like a baby. As emotional as she had been on the platform, his mother wasn’t an overly emotional woman. Whatever was in that envelope was going to hurt him, and help him. How much of each, he didn’t like to hazard a guess.

      A few chapters of his book in, and the train was racing along the tracks, the near empty carriage quiet and soothing. Xander was still in his seat, wrapped in his and his mother’s coats, tablet propped up on the table, his head nodding as he fought sleep. The noise of a mobile phone broke the silence, and Lucy scrabbled to answer it.

      ‘Hello,’ she said, half whispering. ‘I can’t really talk at the moment, call you later?’

      The Tannoy sprang into life, announcing that refreshments would be coming down the train on a cart, and Lucy jumped, cupping the phone between her hands for dear life and scrunching down into her seat frantically. Shit!

      The voice prattled on, and Lucy listened as best she could to the voice on the line. He was talking about work, again. He hadn’t even noticed the Tannoy, hadn’t even asked where she was. She let him finish, and waited for him to ask her about her day.

      ‘So,’ he continued, a line starting to ring in the background, ‘I’ll be really late, so go ahead and have tea without me, I’ll grab something here. We might end up going out somewhere, with it being Friday.’

      ‘Hmm-hmm.’ She looked across at her son, whose eyelids had now closed, and marvelled at how adorable he was. His long brown eyelashes fanned out into his cheeks, and even in sleep, he looked a little confused and anxious. Her beautiful, clever, misunderstood boy. ‘Okay, fine.’

      If her husband picked up on her tone, he didn’t mention it. His voice was the same; distracted, far away. He acted as though letting his family know his whereabouts was an annoyance, a mundane obligation to tick off his to-do list. Speak to long-suffering wife. Check. Ignore existence of son bar the basics. Check. She thought of how he used to be, and her stomach flipped as she thought of where they were now. Miles apart from each other, now more than ever.

      ‘Okay. Oh, honey?’

      She took a deep breath in. This was it. He was going to ask her. He was going to ask if Xander got to school okay, or what she was up to today. Anything. He could ask her anything, and she would tell him the truth.

      ‘Yes?’ she asked on a shaky breath. Her eyes flicked to the man opposite, but he hadn’t lifted his eyes from the pages of his book.

      ‘I forgot to ask, sorry. Been so busy today.’

      Here it was. Ask me, damn you. Prove me wrong. I swear, we’ll get off this train. All you have to do is ask.

      ‘If you get time today, get my dry cleaning would you? I have golf tomorrow, and I need my suits back for Monday.’ Another phone started