Their train from Coventry leaves at eleven in the morning on the Sunday and they spend the morning reading the papers and eating breakfast. He toys with the idea of trying to find a bicycle shop or going to the works where his uncle got his first racing bike from. But looking at Miriam, at her relaxed reading pose, so unlike the tightly wound spring she is in London, he decides against it. He decides against doing anything else than just sitting next to her, walking next to her, for the coming hours. He doesn’t ask her if she wants to go and see the cathedral, the Coombe Abbey Park, the canal. All he does is to put a hand on her shoulder and smile at her when she looks up. He nods at their two empty cups, singing, ‘You’re the cream in my coffee’, off key. She joins in, until they run out of lyrics.
‘Another coffee?’ She smiles and nods, takes his hand and kisses it, then returns to the crossword puzzle in her Pearson’s Magazine.
He feels so normal, so happy that he almost forgets what he’s coming home to. At one point she puts down the magazine and leans close to him. Tells him, and this is the only time after the Saturday night that she brings it up, that giving him some of the story has lightened her load. ‘Even if you decide to leave me, I’m happier for having at least one person about know some of my past,’ she says. He just nods and orders another cup of tea for her.
Once she finishes the crossword she turns to Paul, motions for him to come in closer. He thinks it’s for a kiss, but she shakes her head. She just wants to speak to him in a whisper.
‘Paul. I’ve not wanted to say this, but I feel like I’m being watched. Like we’re being watched.’
He leans back, looks around and says, ‘Don’t be silly. We are. You’re beautiful. People see you, look at you.’
‘I don’t mean like that.’
‘I did quite well yesterday, have done well all year in fact. People might recognize me.’
‘I’m only telling you because I feel it’s a different kind of looking.’ She still keeps her voice low. ‘I know men look at me, unless they’re cycling fans, then they look at you. I know women look at you. I don’t like it but they do. This is not the same though.’
‘Relax, we’re far away from home. No one knows where you are. Only Silas knows I’m here racing. You’re just being paranoid.’
‘Maybe,’ she says. ‘Maybe it’s just a bad habit.’ Then she sits back in her seat and pulls her hat lower.
Paul looks around but can’t see anything out of the ordinary. Families, men, workers, newspaper boys. Same as in London. Only slower, on a smaller scale. A woman drops a bag of apples. A couple of tables over a man writes something in the margin of his newspaper and gets up. An old lady speaks to no one and everyone about the last days.
Paul moves his seat closer to Miriam’s and puts a hand on her shoulder. Closes his eyes for a second and lets his mind drift.
At eleven they board their train, and Miriam tells him she’s got plans to slowly nod off. Once underway, she smiles up at him and snuggles in, looking out over the fields.
‘Sorry about all the fuss,’ she says, ‘about the things we talked about.’
He doesn’t say anything, but kisses her forehead.
She looks up at him, and says, ‘Happy Christmas.’
‘Still a couple of days to go is it not?’ he asks.
‘It is, but I won’t be able to see you before then. The club gets very busy this time of year. Mr Morton’s away over in Ireland, something with a casino. Otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to go, never in a million years. Also, this weekend is usually quiet, the last for a while. People are saving up, preparing for Christmas I suppose. That, and a thousand favours cashed with the girls, is how I managed to sneak away with you.’
‘Are you not even able to see me for a minute?’
‘Not even a second I’m afraid. Most nights I’ll be staying in my flat in Elephant and Castle. Just sleeping for three or four hours between shifts and other jobs. There’s a lot of debts and money flying around at Christmas. A lot of collections.’
‘That’s one way to look at it. Never mind the baby in the manger. Or me.’
‘Please don’t be cross with me. We spoke about this. It’s just a couple of days, don’t worry pretty boy.’
‘I’m sorry. I’m not cross, you know that.’
‘You’re a darling,’ she says and kisses him on the cheek. Then she falls asleep, like a cat in a sunlit alcove.
Being away frees up space in his head. His body is tired but his head swirls with thoughts other than those of immediate survival. The jostlings of the capital crowds. Mr Morton’s all-seeing eye. This trip up north, even by about a third to where he came from, triggers emotions he can’t contain.
For a brief second he feels a twinge of guilt, thinking about his father who is probably out with the cows. Paul wonders how his father is managing, but the memory of the bread tin still smarts and dragging a hand across his face he puts the feeling aside. He tries to revisit the few shreds he has of his mother but he can’t bring her into focus. He can’t say he misses her. He never knew her enough.
Some things he thinks about more often than others. The hills just above Lennoxtown. The weather coming down onto him like it just doesn’t in England. The air, which at home felt purer, less used. The things he used to know. The simpler life he could have had. The other farmhands and the banter they shared. The music, the dances, the connection to the land he can’t feel here. But then he thinks of the real life he would have had, his father owning him. The cold, the terrible lack of food, the hard work until broken or spent. Being reduced to a pack horse on two legs.
He looks at the refined, but flint-hard girl next to him, thinks of the races he’s been in, the money he’s won. The kisses and warm mornings in bed with her. All things that would never have happened if he hadn’t punched his father in the mouth.
A long time later, just as the train pulls into Berkswell, he wakes her up. This is his stop. He kisses her in public one last time before they get back to London, and she gives him sandwiches to eat while he waits for the next train. After another, longer kiss he carries the bike off the train and goes to look for somewhere to sit. The hissing train heaves and breathes while passengers start to board. With a smattering of flags and whistles the train starts to leave.
Paul stands on the platform watching Miriam through the window. She can’t see him, and the sensation of looking at someone so beautiful who has allowed him into her life is enough to make him dizzy.
As the train passes by him Paul sees a face he thinks he recognizes. In the compartment behind them, a man in black is tugging at his goatee. At first Paul thinks it’s the man from the café who stood up to leave, then he thinks it’s one of Mr Morton’s many men. Then he can’t be sure. But by then, the train has left the station.