Sunday, 16 March 1941
Everywhere Anthony looked people stared back at him through the pouring rain. Even if they had been facing away from him their bodies turned as if on a pivot, following his path as he walked past. At least he had thought he was walking, but as he felt the pressure of their gaze on him he realised he had almost been running. No wonder they were looking at him. They were like marionettes on strings, their blank faces turning to him, full of judgement. Was this how it felt to be led to the gallows? The dismissal, the blankness that they had already made up their minds? If you were not a patriot, then you were a traitor. That was what they all thought.
He screwed his eyes shut, so hard that it was almost painful. It was the least he deserved. He tried to control his breathing, but it came in ragged jerks. He could still see their blank stares behind his eyelids, feel them pressing in, ready to destroy him at any moment. Slowly his breathing slowed and returned to a regular rhythm.
When he opened his eyes again he was alone on the road. The figures had been a part of his imagination, something within himself that had broken down. He had heard of soldiers experiencing traumatic situations and suffering from shell-shock, but he had never thought anything like that could happen in civilian life. Was he sick?
His skin felt warm to the touch, but he had never really been sick in his entire adult life. Maybe once or twice as a child, the usual growing adaptations of childhood, but he had never experienced anything like this.
The figures had been real. He had felt as if he could have reached out and touched them, felt the resistance of their bodies. Somehow, his mind had become broken.
The weather was appalling, the rain was falling sideways as the typical Merseyside wind blew against it, but it matched his mood. Everything had taken a turn for the worst. He had thought that his life was improving, but it had been a lie.
As he stepped under the arch, Lime Street station was surprisingly busy given that it was wartime. Anthony himself had little cause to catch a train in the last couple of years, and other than those going to see evacuated family members, he couldn’t think of many reasons for these people to be travelling. Visiting London to go to the West End and watch a play seemed like a ridiculous idea, and they had perfectly good theatres here in Liverpool. Of course, they had been advised that they were to travel only if it was absolutely necessary.
Some might complain about feeling trapped in their city as if it were some kind of island in the North West, yet he couldn’t help but remind them there was a war on. For the most part they were safer at home, and any unregistered absences only made the rescue work more difficult. If someone was down in London visiting family and their warden didn’t know, then they may have to send rescue men into their building to look for them, putting the men at risk for no reason.
There were only two trains in the platforms. He didn’t know whether services had been cut due to the war, or whether he had just missed them. Everything had been a last-minute affair and after hastily packing his only belongings into a bag, he had found himself at the station without a plan, with little more thought than returning to Wales to see his family. He hadn’t seen them in years, and there was a large part of him that just wanted to go, to forget everything about this city he had come to call his home, to return to his real home. Yet, as soon as he had stepped under the large brick arch that formed the entranceway to the station and provided a place for taxis to drop off their fares, he had stopped in his tracks. A taxi driver tooted his horn at Anthony and poked his head out of the window to shout something. Anthony didn’t hear what he said, his attention was fixated on the locomotive in front of him. Its steam billowed around the platform, like fog on the Mersey, and it reminded him of the aftermath of the bombings. He could almost imagine the flames licking up to engulf the engine.
In the past he had enjoyed train journeys, but now a fear welled up inside him that he hadn’t imagined he could feel. It wasn’t fear of the train, it was a fear of leaving Liverpool, of leaving his life behind. Leaving Ruth behind.
‘Damn!’ he shouted to no one in particular and didn’t apologise as more heads turned his way. An elderly woman tutted and shook her head, then walked away, a nervous young man carrying her suitcases in her wake. He couldn’t do this. He had been so sure before, had finally found conviction in his actions, which had drawn him out of his own self-pity, but now he was here in the station it was nothing but a bad idea. He couldn’t move. Fear gnawed at his stomach; he had made a mistake that night. When he had left Ruth he had not been saving himself from her lies, but damning them both.
The cabbie swore at Anthony and drove his taxi up on the kerb to pass him. He only caught a glimpse of the driver’s shaking fist as the black shape passed. Anthony almost swore back, but the taxi was gone before he could think of what to say. He found himself back out on the street. His legs apparently had a will of their own.
‘Oh, God. What have I done?’ he asked the heavens as the rain fell, running in streams down his cheeks. He was one step away from shaking his fists at the sky, but that was too dramatic even for him. Besides, people were watching and he didn’t want them to ask any questions he wouldn’t have been able to answer. The less people noticed him the better.
He had thought Ruth was an honest woman, a good woman, but she had been lying to him since he had met her. His first impressions about her had been right, but still there had been something else, some instinct that had driven him closer to her, into her embrace. Even given what had happened, that could not have been wrong. It was clear that he didn’t yet have the full picture. He needed to give her a chance to tell him her story, the full story, not leaving out any detail. Only then could he be absolutely sure. When he had sorted himself, he would have to go and speak to her. He had to give her a chance, otherwise what was it all for?