Anne was standing by the open train door watching a BR man in uniform approach. Where was Jerry? It didn’t take that long to buy a newspaper. She was trying not to worry, but her legs were trembling.
‘On or off?’ said the man. He was wearing a turban and had a black bushy beard, streaked with grey. When he opened his mouth to speak, she could see that he had long, protruding teeth that made him look slightly menacing.
‘No!’ she said urgently. ‘My husband!’
‘Train’s due out,’ said the guard. He was very tall, standing too close and towering above her.
‘I know,’ said Anne. ‘He’s only gone to get—There he is!’
She watched Jerry shuffle across the platform, and relief flooded into her like the warmth of a cup of tea. Jerry running was an unusual sight, his hollow angular body struggling against its innate lack of rhythm. Even in her anxiety, she felt a stab of affection. He was academic, not athletic, she thought fondly.
The man turned and watched Jerry hurrying up to the carriage. ‘Come on, sir,’ he said. ‘Can’t hold the train up just for you. Next time you must arrive early if you want to buy a newspaper.’ Unexpectedly he smiled, and the menace evaporated. He held the door while they both got on.
‘Sorry,’ said Jerry. ‘I just got caught behind a—’
But the man wasn’t interested. He slammed the door and moved on up the train.
They swayed through the carriage until they found two seats opposite each other. ‘This’ll do,’ said Jerry, and sank down, still struggling to get his breath. He put the newspaper on the table.
‘I don’t know why you bothered,’ said Anne. ‘You’ll have time to read it later.’
‘You know I like a crossword on a train journey.’
He sat back, gave a sigh of relief and folded the Guardian on to the back page. ‘Ah,’ he said, after a few seconds. ‘Of course,’ and he wrote in his first answer.
Anne watched him for a while, knowing he didn’t want her to say anything. When she decided that he was comfortable with his crossword, and possibly wouldn’t speak again until they reached Birmingham, she settled back and got her knitting out of her bag. She hadn’t forgotten to bring that. She held it up to admire. It was a navy jumper with a ship on the front, for Jeremy, her fourth grandchild, whom they had been to see today. She was very proud of the jumper. All her children had had one, and now she was knitting for the next generation. This was the ninth, each one a slightly different colour but the same design. She had photographs of every child wearing this jumper. There was a line of them up the side of the stairs. The children hated them. ‘Take them down, Mum,’ they had all said, at one time or another. ‘They look like flying fish. They’re in very bad taste.’
‘Nonsense,’ she said comfortably. ‘I like them. They’re my taste, so I don’t care what you think.’
She smiled to herself and gazed out of the window as she knitted, so familiar with the pattern that she could do it by instinct.
‘Excuse me.’
She turned her head and saw an elderly, bald man standing above her. She glanced at Jerry, but he was concentrating on his crossword.
‘May I sit next to you?’
She looked around to see if there were empty seats anywhere else, but there weren’t. She didn’t really want to sit next to anyone. ‘Of course,’ she said, moving her bags and putting them on the floor.
‘I wonder,’ said the man, ‘could I put my cello on this seat and sit opposite? I prefer to travel facing the engine.’
‘Oh,’ said Anne. She couldn’t see a cello. ‘Jerry,’ she said. ‘Move your stuff. He wants to sit next to you.’
‘Sorry?’ said Jerry, raising his eyes from the paper. ‘Oh, yes, of course.’
The man went behind the seat and reappeared with his cello in an untidy leather case that was becoming unstitched on the sides. ‘Thank you,’ he said, beaming, and attempted to lift it. He did not look strong enough.
‘Jerry!’ said Anne.
Jerry looked up again. ‘Oh,’ he said. ‘Let me help.’
He stood up clumsily, and together they lifted the cello on to the seat.
‘Thank you,’ said the man, and sat down. He had gone very red and seemed to have some difficulty breathing.
‘Are you all right?’ said Anne.
‘Yes, yes, yes.’ His little bald head bobbed up and down while he twisted himself to get a handkerchief out of his pocket to wipe his streaming face.
Jerry went back to his crossword. He had already completed a third clue, Anne noted with relief. He would be in a good humour if he could finish it on his own. She’d help him if he asked, but he resented it. He saw it as a matter of pride. She saw it as a matter of convenience. It wasn’t her fault that she was better at crosswords than him. He might be very clever, but he didn’t necessarily think in the devious way that was essential for crosswords. He was too literal, she liked to think. Too logical.
‘It’s tricky, taking the cello on a train,’ said the elderly man.
‘Yes,’ said Jerry, without looking up.
‘Do you have to buy a ticket for it?’ asked Anne.
‘Oh dear,’ said the man. ‘I haven’t. I didn’t realise it would take up so much room.’
Typical man, thought Anne. Lack of forethought. ‘Never mind,’ she said, smiling warmly. ‘Let’s hope the ticket collector doesn’t notice.’
He leaned forward. ‘I’m going on an orchestral course in Birmingham. Haven’t played in an orchestra since I was at university. Quite an adventure, really. Always too busy working until now.’
‘Wonderful,’ said Anne.
‘Do you live in Birmingham?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good,’ he said, his head going up and down again. ‘Good.’ A toy dog in the back of the car, nodding every time they went over a bump.
Jerry put the newspaper on the table. ‘It’s not like you to forget the paper. It’s very extravagant to buy two.’
Anne looked up from her knitting and read the paper upside down. ‘Mother-of-pearl,’ she said.
Jerry stared at her. ‘What?’
‘Two across. Mrs Oyster. Mother-of-pearl.’
He snatched away the paper. ‘I know. I was just going to write it down.’
‘Of course you were,’ she said.
He looked at her suspiciously, uncertain if she was serious or not, then leaped to his feet. ‘I’ll get us some tea, shall I?’
Anne smiled at him. ‘That would be nice, dear. Thank you.’
The little man had to stand up to let Jerry out. ‘Sorry,’ said Jerry, as he stepped on his foot. ‘Sorry.’
‘Get me something nice to eat,’ said Anne. ‘Some shortbread, or a KitKat or something.’ She thought of her spreading waistline, then banished the guilt.
‘Right,’ he said, and waited to let some children pass. There seemed to be hundreds of them, in groups of four or five, swaying with the rhythm of the train, trying to work out their money as they went.
Jerry nodded towards his crossword. ‘Don’t do it, will you?’
‘Of course not, dear. Why would I?’
He didn’t trust her. He picked up the paper and tucked it under his arm as he followed the children down the carriage. Anne could hear him muttering to himself about children as he went. He had never liked children. Not even his own. Didn’t know what to do with them.
She glanced at the man with the cello and he smiled at her. She felt tired, and decided to avoid his gaze in future. Smiling endlessly and pointlessly was very wearing. She thought of her children and grandchildren, planning their next family get-together like a military operation. She realised as she sat there that she was happy.
It wasn’t her fault she was better at crosswords than Jerry.