Bristol Temple Meads was always busy but it seemed to Susan that there was no space between the crowds, barely air to breathe, and certainly no room to release the grip she had on her son’s arm despite his continued attempt to pull away.
Drew looked down at her with obvious impatience. ‘I need to hurry, Ma, or I’ll miss the train.’
He’d miss the train, then he’d have to stay with her. She clutched his arm more tightly. She was being stupid, of course she was, but the thought of him moving so far away made her heart ache and her head pound. Fear had dug sharp nails into her, and when she looked at him, at his young, innocent, boyish, darling face, they bit tighter and she was immediately dragged back to the delivery room and the agonising pain before he’d come blue and floppy into the world. Even now, eighteen years later, she could still remember the shock when she’d thought he’d died, that she’d done something wrong, that she’d killed her child. And then he’d screamed his way right into her heart, embedded himself so deeply, she’d never been able to let go.
The mass of people in the concourse didn’t appear to be moving, their necks all craning meerkat-like in the same direction. At first glance, Susan thought time had frozen, or maybe she just hoped it had. Her hand tightened on Drew’s arm as she gasped. He looked at her, his expression part concern, part irritation.
She gave him a shaky smile that she hoped appeared reassuring. She wasn’t going crazy. Time hadn’t stood still. People were merely standing looking at the bright-yellow information displayed on the departure board. Others were moving, negotiating the gaps in between the unmoving figures. It was impossible to separate the noise into its individual components – the growl and scream of the train engines, security announcements, the blend of voices, shouts, laughter, the rumble of wheeled cases – it was almost overwhelming.
Or was it the impending loss that was sitting so heavily in her chest? Susan knew she was to blame for her son’s decision to go to Glasgow. She’d held on too tight, and now she was going to lose him. Perhaps forever. She felt the tug on her arm as he moved forward, his eyes now fixed on the departure board, bright-yellow, determinedly cheerful figures telling the stark truth. The train was on time. It was going to Glasgow and taking Drew with it.
Don’t leave me. The words a painful shriek in her head. She clamped her lips tightly together. She couldn’t let them out.
‘This is it,’ Drew said, nodding toward the ticket barrier. He dropped his bulging holdall on the ground at his feet, the manoeuvre allowing him to remove his arm from her grasp. In the fuss over balancing his holdall on top of the wheelie suitcase Mark had been pulling, Susan was ignored. She stared at two people she loved most in the world. She was losing one. Luckily, she still had the other.
She’d have liked to have gone through with Drew, to have settled him into a seat, to make sure he got his luggage on board safely, that he took out the sandwiches she’d made for him. She wanted to repeat the advice she’d already given him, about staying safe, making good friends, keeping out of bad company, eating well, not drinking too much. So much she’d have liked to say, but there he was, phone in his hand, ready to go through. A final hug. Her arms tight around him, holding on. His arms around her for a second, letting go, hands pulling her arms down. Pushing her away. ‘I’ll ring as soon as I get there,’ he said, bending to plant a kiss against her cheek. ‘Don’t worry about me; I’ll be fine and I’ll be back before you get around to missing me.’
I miss you already. She shoved her hands in her pockets to stop herself reaching out to grab him for one more hug, for another chance to inhale the scent of him. Perhaps if she did, if she smelt the woody cologne he favoured as a young man, it would dispel the memory of him as a baby and it would be easier to let go.
‘Bye, son.’ Mark grabbed Drew in a hug, both holding on and letting go at the same time, their hands lingering on each other’s arms, eyes meeting, a smile growing. ‘You take care of yourself. If you get into trouble, unless it’s serious, we don’t want to know!’ Mark gave a pantomime yelp when Susan punched him on the shoulder. ‘I’m joking!’
But she knew he wasn’t. To Mark, Drew was a man, venturing forth to find his feet in a changing world. To her, he was her boy, her son and, whatever cologne he wore, he was still her baby. He always would be.
Drew laughed, gave her another quick hug before manoeuvring through the ticket barrier with his luggage. On the far side, he stopped to give a last wave, before heaving the holdall over one shoulder, grabbing the handle of the case with his other hand, and joining the flow of people heading to the train.
Susan craned her neck to follow him. Drew was tall and for a while, she was able to keep him in sight, then suddenly, he vanished and she cried out, as she had all those years ago when he’d finally made an appearance, wet and slippery, crumpled, and adorable.
‘He’s gone.’
‘He’ll be back, stop worrying.’ Mark pulled her to him and kissed the top of her head. ‘I swear you’d do anything for that boy.’
‘I’d kill for him.’
Mark’s laugh was loud, infectious, bringing a smile to her lips. She could feel it rumbling through him. He thought she was joking. That his rather reserved wife was being overly dramatic, that she wouldn’t be in any way capable of such violence. He knew her well, but not that well. She’d kill for her son. Mark’s arms tightened around her as his laughter died. ‘How about we go for a drink, eh?’
He kept his arm around her as they negotiated the crowded station concourse, perhaps afraid she’d turn, jump over the ticket barrier, and run to hold on to her son.
She felt the weight of his arm on her shoulder, anchoring her, steadying her. He was a good man. She’d kill for him too.