Terminus, p.2
Terminus, page 2
He ate the rest of his fish supper in quiet reflection. Being January, there weren’t many people walking up and down the promenade. The sound of waves breaking on the beach relaxed Mark, every time without fail.
A retired couple nodded a greeting as they passed him with their small, wiry-haired dog. The dog jumped up at Mark, wet paws landing on his jeans.
“Casper! Come on, leave the poor man alone.” The woman in a blue Regatta waterproof coat admonished her dog.
Mark smiled, happiness briefly passing through him. He stroked Casper behind his erect ears. “Don’t worry, I love dogs. What breed is he?”
The woman smiled. “A West Highland White Terrier. Best breed there is.” Her partner stood looking uninterested, as if it were a common occurrence for Casper to be in mischief. A slightly awkward silence followed as Mark fussed over Casper a little more.
The man thrust his hands deep into his pockets and continued walking. Casper hopped back to the promenade and followed his master. “Bye,” the woman and Mark said to each other, and she soon caught up with her partner. Mark watched as they took a couple of steps up into a car park and disappeared from view.
The sun was near to the horizon now; despite being on the east coast of England, Hunstanton faces west, and has a sunset view from the beach.
Mark realised that he had to make a move back to his car. Snow was falling. He sighed, not really feeling like going back to Newdon and confronting Alyson.
Most of the twenty-four years of marriage had been kind of satisfactory. Not thrilled, but neither too troublesome, either. Having Annie was the best thing that had happened to him; indeed, she was probably the reason that they had stayed together for so many years.
He got into his car and turned the engine on. The heater soon warmed the interior of his five-year-old Ford Focus. Mark didn’t drive, though. He sat and let his mind wander.
After all, they kissed. Did it end there? What about a few years ago when she ramped up three grand on the credit card on online bingo? Who had to do overtime to pay that back? Muggins here. That’s who. Sod it, it’s time for a change. Where should I go, though? I don’t have any friends, thanks to her.
Mark took out his mobile from his coat pocket and pressed on the app to see what the camera home showed. He realized the camera had been turned as the screen showed the wall. ‘If that’s not suspicious, I don’t know what is. Damn. Perhaps there’s been a break in or something and the burglars have turned the camera around. I’d better call Alyson. Or maybe she has a visitor that she wants to keep secret.’
He shook his head. ‘I should be more trusting. I shouldn’t be running away like this either. Need to go home now and try to change. I’m addicted to her…’
Mark flicked open the text messages and sent Alyson a message. ‘I’m coming home now. See you later. I love you xxx.’ He looked at himself in the rear-view mirror, noting the black circles under his eyes before starting the engine.
Chapter Five
Gary drove straight home after visiting Alyson. Snow fell through the darkness in gentle flurries. The road was rough where the snow had compacted into icy troughs. He skidded a little, braking for a junction, and felt his stomach clench Fortunately, there wasn’t another car already there, or there would have been an almighty crash. His red car was a four-wheel-drive vehicle, for which Gary was grateful. A rear or front wheel drive car may have had a hard time finding traction on the slick surface, perhaps getting nowhere at all. The journey took about ten minutes; on a normal dry day, he would have been home in four.
He carefully bumped over the lip of ice laying at the kerb, making his head wobble a little, onto his drive. After turning the engine off, Gary sat with his head back on the leather headrest and closed his unusually coloured eyes for a few moments of reflection.
‘Alyson will come round to my way of thinking. She thinks she’s all spiky and unlovable, but I know that we’d be good together. Maybe I should bombard her with flowers and jewellery. It’s not like her husband is even there now. He might as well know that someone else wants Alyson when he shows up again. It’ll make it easy for him to just leave for good.’
Gary smiled to himself, happy with his new plan. After all, if just brazenly going to Alyson’s home would not work, then sending gifts and flowers would definitely get him into her good books. Wouldn’t it?
He got out of his car and slip slided to his front door. The property was in complete silence and darkness.
The house was cold. Gary cursed, wishing that he had set the thermostat to a warmer setting before going out to work that morning.
A thud from upstairs sounded like a baby elephant had jumped down from atop a wardrobe. The pitter patter of four paws brought a smile to Gary’s face. His grey cat appeared at the top of the stairs. “Hi Pushkin,” he called up. Pushkin trotted straight down the stairs and head-butted Gary on the legs before weaving herself back and forth.
Gary picked her up and stroked her between the ears and sniffed the top of her head. Pushkin purred in delight, but jumped down to sit by her feeding bowl in the kitchen. Gary meandered through the house, pausing to look at the photograph of his late wife on the dining room wall. He had put Susanna’s photo where she could still look out of the window over her beloved garden.
Pushkin miaowed when she saw her dad come into the kitchen. He shook some food from a metal tin into her bowl.
Gary smiled to himself. Pushkin always had loved her food.
He went back into the dining room to look at Susanna’s image. The shine had never left her eyes, right up to the day that she died. Gary sighed and hit himself on the side of his head.
‘I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m being so horrible. I should just be happy with the memory of you, shouldn’t I? Alyson didn’t deserve me being awful to her. I guess that’s a twisted version of grief, isn’t it… I wish I could have looked at you in the mortuary, though. I know it was you, but your head…’ Gary sobbed at the memory of seeing Susanna on the cold metal slab, her face badly smashed from the airbag which had deployed when she ran into the back of a stationary truck on the M1 motorway.
The driver of the truck told the police how he had seen Susanna’s Porsche pass his truck, as he sat waiting for a mechanic to come and change a blown-out tyre. According to him, she was doing only about fifty-eight miles per hour. Much slower than the traffic flow. He noticed her go the opposite way five minutes later, going as fast as a rocket.
Ten minutes later he felt his truck lurch forward, and a smashing cacophony of screeching metal and smashing glass. Susanna had committed suicide by ramming into the truck at what the police estimated as ninety miles per hour.
‘Your body was mashed. I can’t remember who told me that in accidents like that they’d seen before, it wasn’t uncommon for the victim’s head to have been decapitated. I’m glad that hadn’t happened. Yes, that’s what you are. A victim. It wasn’t true, you know. What you had put in the note they found. I hadn’t been cheating. Maybe that’s why I’m trying to cheat now. But it isn’t cheating, is it? I mean, it’s not like I’m in a relationship with you now, is it?’
Gary sighed, his head hurting from sobbing and the anguish of remembering his late wife and the images that haunted him. He walked into his lounge and turned on the television. It didn’t even register what was showing on the screen; he just sat and looked at it blankly for over an hour.
Chapter Six
As it turned out, the shift was a frantic one for Annie and her colleagues. It seemed that the more that the snow fell, the more emergency situations arose that people found themselves in. Or more accurately, what they perceived as emergencies, but really weren’t.
The twelve hours sped by in the blink of an eye. Annie looked out of the floor to ceiling window and her heart sank as she saw the snow had drifted into a two-foot-high bank.
She said her goodbyes and departed, making her way towards the train station. The quietness surprised her; a normal day at this time would be busy. Busses would churn out noise, as would the multitude of cars in a city day or night.
The darkness of the hour, along with the quietness, made it seem much later than it actually was. Annie glanced at her watch and picked up her pace. The time was nine fifteen, and the last train back to Corby from Newdon was at nine thirty-five.
Although she slid and slipped a few times, Annie was glad to arrive at the station at nine thirty.
What she saw shocked her.
A male security guard was locking a padlock onto a rusty chain laced through a large gate. The gate through to the platform. They had pulled a graffiti laden roller shutter down over the entrance to the station’s ticket office. On the path were about ninety people all pushing and trying to get onto the platform, a uniformed male train station staff member shouted through a megaphone that there was no point trying to access the station because they cancelled all trains due to ice on the tracks. Thoughts of getting crushed flashed through Annie’s mind.
An empty feeling dropped into Annie’s stomach. The prospect of a walk back to Corby from Newdon loomed large. Her mum didn’t have access to a car, as she shared the Ford. Annie wasn’t prone to panicking, so the urge to run was a surprise to her. She forced herself to join the back of the growing crowd. There were now at least a hundred cold and fed-up commuters standing and looking at the locked gate. A short, spiky haired woman was pointing at the staff member and demanding answers.
“How the hell are we meant to get back to Corby now? Don’t tell us to walk! I demand that you supply taxis for us all; I’ve already paid for my ticket. Come on, I want an answer right now.”
The male staff member stood with his arms out wide and his palms facing down, a non-verbal communication that he was trying to calm the situation. “Don’t worry folks! We’ll get you home. We’ve arranged for busses to replace the train. The first one will be here soon.”
That announcement defused the situation; albeit with some people still grumbling.
Annie closed her eyes and shook her head at hearing the news that a bus would take her back to Corby. The route negotiated Rockingham hill; a very steep stretch of road that Rockingham Castle looked over. I can see the bus getting stuck on the hill and us all having to get off and walk the rest of the way home.
She took out her smart phone to look at Facebook and Twitter to pass the time while waiting for the bus to come. It didn’t surprise her one bit to see that Newdonshire Express Trains had already taken to social media warning people not to travel. What did surprise her was the support of people on the Newdonshire Spirit Facebook page. At least half a dozen members of the group had posted that they were going to drive to the station and drive people to their homes in Corby.
Thirty minutes passed, which seemed like an eternity, and the first bus pulled into the station. Annie had never been a pushy person and stood to one side to allow the more forthright people in the crowd to board. The crowd was soon forty people fewer, as the bus belched its noxious fumes, pulling away from the train station. Soon another bus came in and departed with a human cargo. Annie looked at her fellow passengers, of which there were now only nine. The station staff member had stood with them in an act of solidarity. As they waited for the last bus to come, a toothpaste green coloured Fiat 500 slithered into view. Annie exchanged glances with the other passengers. A scruffy man, dressed in the urban uniform of jeans and hoodie, nodded to her, “You should go in this car. Women and children first.” He sniffed and looked pleased with himself.
The driver of the car skidded the final two feet to the kerbside. Annie peered into the car at the driver. A round-faced woman looked back with a big grin plastered on her face. Her hair bushed out in pink and purple streaks. She lowered the passenger side window and in an oddly high-pitched voice said, “Anyone for Great Oakley? It would be convenient if I took people home who live close to me.”
Mr Hoodie jumped into the back of the car, looking pleased with himself. Annie took a step back. She lived only a mile or so from Great Oakley, a suburb of Corby, but she got a bad feeling about that car. How it skidded to a halt, and the driver didn’t seem to notice. The man gave her the creeps. She couldn’t put her finger on it but she’d rather not share a car with him.
Two women quickly brushed past Annie and other waiting passengers and got into the small vehicle. That left six of them waiting on the footpath, and the train station guy.
His radio crackled, and a voice came out in a tinny rattle. The man pressed the side of the handset and said, “Roger all received, over.”
Annie stared at the man, knowing that some bad news was coming their way. She noticed he seemed younger than how he initially looked. Whether that was because the uniform comprised a great coat, which automatically added fifteen years to the wearer, or if it was the stress, she couldn’t say. Steel grey hair poked out from under his peaked cap. The whites of his eyes streaked with bloodshot; Annie felt sorry for the guy.
He abandoned his megaphone, as there were few passengers left. “Can I have everyone’s attention, please? I’m sorry to say that there are no more busses coming tonight. You need to find your own way home.”
Annie grimaced and crossed her arms across her chest, “Then you should surely be paying for us all to get taxis back to Corby?”
All six of them stared at the man. He couldn’t hold their looks and mumbled an apology. One passenger, a portly man with a black briefcase, raised his voice. “Come on, man! You have to sort us out to get home now. Or open the station and let us stay in there out of the snow until our families can come and get us.”
The creaking of snow under a car’s tyres broke the tension. As one, all seven people standing on the path turned to look at the vehicle that arrived. A red car pulled up to the kerb with care. Annie blinked in disbelief. A man dressed as Santa got out of the driver’s seat. Complete with big white beard.
“Ho ho ho!” the man chuckled, “Now Christmas is over, and I’ve delivered all the presents, I have time to take four of you home. Who’s coming?”
The assembled passengers glanced at each other. Annie took a step back, away from the confrontation that she could see coming.
“Actually, this is straightforward.” Said the man with the briefcase. “There are four women here and two men. It isn’t the days of the Titanic, but the same thing applies as to the lifeboats. Women and children first. No kids here, but me and this chap,” he clapped the other male on the arm, “We can share a taxi back to Corby. I’ll pay.”
The other man nodded and smiled widely, his posture relaxing and tension visibly leaving his shoulders.
Santa grinned and opened the rear door to his car. Annie slipped by him and got into the front passenger seat. She relaxed into the cloth and tension left her shoulders. Two of the remaining women hopped into the car. Santa helped the last woman, who was using a crutch, into the warm interior.
He asked them in turn where they lived and set off towards the town they all called home.
The man grinned widely. Wearing a Santa suit felt like a stroke of genius. No-one could recognise him, that’s if anyone even realised that something was amiss.
A warning tone caught his attention, and he frowned at the dashboard. Low fuel. Perfect.
“Where are we going? This is going past where I live,” the lady with a crutch whined. “Do you even know your way around Corby?”
Annie tutted and rolled her eyes. “I’m sure that Santa knows where he is taking us, at least we are getting a lift home.”
Santa smirked. “I just need to get us a little fuel, don’t worry, princess. Rudolph needs carrots, and this beauty needs a spot of petrol to keep her going.”
Annie giggled. She didn’t know why, but Santa was really cheering her up after the worry of the trains being cancelled. The woman with the crutch sighed and rearranged how she was sitting, not caring that she was bumping into the woman sat next to her. Santa pulled into the BP petrol station, thankful for the canopy over the pumps. As he exited his car, he made sure the hood of his costume covered his head. He fuelled ten pounds of petrol and was about to head into the shop. Instead, he opened his door and peered at the passengers. “Does anyone want a drink or something?” Four pale faces gazed back at him, and mutters of “no thanks” drifted back.
He wandered over towards the shop; the doors gasping aside automatically. The shop was quite large and well stocked for a petrol garage. A very overweight woman with flushed cheeks stacked food into a fridge. She smiled at the man, amused at his outfit. He nodded to her and went to the tills to pay, after grabbing a bottle of Summer Fruits juice. Looking towards the car, he could see the women all talking to each other. Apart from the ungrateful one with the crutch, who stared out of her window.
“Pump One?” enquired the acne riddled teenager from behind the till, dark brown eyes tainted with boredom.
Santa nodded, avoiding eye contact, and pulled two loose ten-pound notes from his pocket. The cashier handed him his change, which Santa put into his red coat pocket. He picked up the drink bottle and, without hesitating, walked away from the cashier and headed into the male toilet. He breathed a sigh of relief; the tiny cubicle was unoccupied. Santa sat on the toilet lid and opened the juice bottle. The cracking open of the seal was a satisfying sound. He carefully placed the lid on top of the toilet roll dispenser. Fishing around in his coat pocket, his fingers grasped on their target. A tray of blister pack tablets. A most unseasonal smirk of malice turned up the edge of his lips. He popped two of the tablets into the dark fluid, satisfied at the fizzing sound of the tablets dissolving. A minute passed, and the tablets were fully gone from sight. The drugs were suspended invisibly.
Santa fastened the lid back onto the bottle and left the toilet. He surprised himself with his sprightliness walking back to the car.
The sight of his car full of women gazing at him walking back to his car put more of a spring in his step, and he was soon back at the car. He opened the door and slipped into his seat. Annie smiled. “Santa, we’ve had a whip round. Here’s a tenner from us for your petrol.”
