The Sister(147)

The coffee tasted sour. He dumped it in the nearest bin and ambled leisurely over to the platform where his train awaited.





Chapter 126



After boarding and finding his seat, Miller placed the paper in his lap. If only there were more people like that in the world.

The carriage was unexpectedly quiet for a Bank Holiday; the few people who were on board spread themselves out as the number of seats that wouldn’t be taken, became apparent. A young couple put space between themselves and the drunken ramblings of a Scot emanating from the back of the carriage. He was far enough away from Miller not to bother him, but it occurred to him, he’d probably encounter him at some point in the journey. Travelling alone on public transport, he always seemed to attract the drunks and lunatics on board. It was another reason, given the choice he’d have preferred to drive. Although he’d yet to see him, he had a vision of him in his mind’s eye. Not big, no kilt or Tam o' Shanter, pale skin, wiry ginger-blonde hair. He sighed at the thought.

The train shunted forward. He watched the platform retreating as the train picked up speed.

Miller’s corner of the carriage had remained deserted. He was completely at ease in his own company, just him and whatever came up next. Selfish maybe, but he preferred it that way.

He settled into staring out of the window, and wished he could sleep, but he never could in the company of strangers. He closed his eyes and entered a dreamlike state.

Something about the motion of the train jostled memories and started him thinking about painful things, long past. He remembered how he first met Josie, only to lose her to the sea a few years later. The pain still raw, anguish flooded his memory, catching him off guard. Too late, he tried to shut it out. Although he’d been miles away when she went missing, he blamed himself. You knew you were jinxed, Miller. You shouldn’t have got so close to her, shouldn’t have allowed it to happen.

He drifted into thinking about the meaning of unconditional love and how he’d loved unconditionally, experiencing its totality. Losing her the way he did, scarred him far deeper than he could ever have imagined.

Since Josie had disappeared, he kept his mind off women as far as possible, carefully avoiding anything other than superficial involvement. When he felt the need for a woman, it was invariably with someone totally unsuited to him, someone from whom he could stay emotionally detached. He needed sex but avoided love. Pain and love were inextricably woven together, and he didn’t want, or need those feelings in his life.

Beyond the window fields flashed by, a movement in the glass caught his eye. Without turning, he saw the reflection of a dark haired woman in her mid-thirties, for the briefest moment, he thought his imagination had conjured it. He’d spent much of his life paying close attention to the periphery of his vision. Sometimes, he saw things that make him aware of other things, like the shadow on the pavement cast by someone coming around the corner before they'd actually arrived in person. His shadows had become fuller, and more defined. Half expecting the woman to be gone when he turned to look at her directly, she remained where she sat. She reminded him of a woman he’d met a few years ago. It wasn’t a physical resemblance, more the haughty look she gave him as she turned her face away, with her nose up as if men were beneath her. Now she had his interest, she wasn’t looking in his direction at all. She stared out of the window next to her. The train flashed through shade; the light changed. He caught her reflection looking at him. She was a very attractive woman. He turned away.

He was now sure his reflections on the past were linked to the motion of the train, and he wondered absently what would happen if he were travelling backwards. He drifted into thoughts of the woman he’d met years before.

He was in his early thirties; she was at least ten years older than he was, with a good figure and strong, shapely legs. The fit of her clothes hinted at what lay beneath, fascinating him. He used to see her around in the supermarket, always on her own, then after shopping; she’d wait for a taxi to take her home. She was a prime example of not his type, but she had a prim and proper air about her that appealed to him, and he was in need of a woman. One afternoon, he waited outside for her. When she came out, he introduced himself just as she produced her phone to call a cab.

‘Hello, I often see you in here.’

She looked at him suspiciously.

‘You’re always on your own.’ He disarmed her with a warm smile.

The floodgates opened, and soon she was telling him everything. He offered her a lift home, barely getting a word in edgeways. She asked him to stop in the street around the corner to her house.

‘The neighbours are awful. If they knew I had a man round my house…’

‘Is that an invite?’ he asked.

Her face turned pink. ‘You know, I'd have invited you in for a coffee, but the gossips around here...’

‘That’s okay; I’ll come back tonight when it’s dark. No one will see.’

Pink turned to red. ‘Oh, I don’t think it’s a good idea...’

He leaned over, brushing his lips against her cheek, and whispered close to her ear, ‘We could both do with the company.’

Of two minds, she bit her lower lip and grimaced.

‘Which house is it?’ he said.

She seemed to be holding her breath.

A woman came out from a nearby house carrying a bag of rubbish and saw them sitting there. She moved as far forward as she could before dipping to put the bag down, taking the opportunity to squint right into the car. That simple, single action made her mind up for her.