Felix doesn’t answer so I turn around to see what he’s doing. He’s already by the ticket machine and collecting what looks like orange tickets from the plastic mouth of the machine. How can he do that when he doesn’t have the printed-out ticket reference which is in my hand and no method of payment. As I get closer, he stuffs the tickets in his backpack.
‘What are you up to?’ I ask, studying the mischievous look which has hijacked his face.
‘I collect old tickets people have left behind in the machines,’ he explains. ‘Back at home I have hundreds.’
‘Oh, I see,’ I mumble, opening out the printed sheet. Old tickets sound like a strange thing to collect but I can’t judge Felix as at his age I collected paper dress patterns from the sixties and seventies which I found in charity shops.
Once Felix and I have had an argument about whether Baxter needs a ticket (my knowledge of dogs on trains is limited) and whose lap he’s going to sit on for the entire journey (there is no way that little so and so is sitting on mine), I collect our pre-paid tickets. We wander out to have a look up at the huge departure screen. ‘Okay, it looks like the Thameslink is closed for engineering works, so we’ll just get that train to Victoria in five minutes.’
Felix turns to me. ‘Sai said we get to St Pancras from Victoria on the blue Victoria line?’
‘What? You want to go to St Pancras?’ I thought he would have forgotten about going to see St Pancras station. There are so many other things we can do and see in London. As always, he reads my mind. ‘Please can we go, Aunty Emily, I really want to see St Pancras station.’
Reminding myself it is his special day I smile and nod. ‘It’s on our list. Do you want to go there first when we get there or before we head back this afternoon?’
He scratches his head. ‘Can we go there for lunch?’
‘Lunch at a railway station?’ Surely not? ‘I was thinking more like Covent Garden. At Christmas time there is so much delicious food to tuck into.’
To my dismay he shakes his head.
‘Felix, you are the organiser of today so we will eat at St Pancras station.’
Felix nods and grins. ‘That would be great, Aunty Emily.’
As we set off to board our train, I find myself staring at my nephew. I’m struggling to understand why he’d want to go to a station for something to eat. Maybe he’s becoming a train spotter? That would explain the collection of railway tickets. Discovering what Felix is passionate about might help me with his mood swings. We could go for days out and see some train stations. It might not be riveting for me but if Felix enjoys them than so be it. ‘Do you like trains, Felix?’
He yawns, wipes his runny nose with his coat sleeve and picks up Baxter. ‘I prefer cars.’
I give up. When I looked after Vivi she was always so easy to read and manage. If she ever cried all I did was offer to plait her hair or paint her fingernails. If she was sad, I would go on a chocolate or biscuit scavenger hunt. Felix is different. One minute I feel like I am getting to know Felix and the next we are like two strangers. Surely by now I should be able to know what makes him happy.
We’re being swept along by a moving mass of excitable commuters who are making their way towards the train’s open doors. As we wait for a gang of old ladies to board the train Felix and I both turn to see a grinning father and mother chatting away to their son who is roughly the same age as Felix. The conversation about what they are all going to do on Christmas Day drifts over to Felix and me. It sounds idyllic as the father is planning to get up early and make a cooked breakfast. The boy cheers and claps. ‘Can we have hash browns, Dad?’ The mother rests her head on the father’s shoulder. She thanks him for his wonderful culinary skills and makes him laugh by saying she struggles to boil an egg. He nods and says his Christmas dinner later will be out of this world. They all smile and talk about his roast potatoes which the mother describes with a chef’s kiss. Mild irritation at their happiness makes my cheeks burn. Looking down at Felix I can see he’s scowling at them too. I bet the mother doesn’t spend all of Christmas Day trying to lose herself in dressmaking, their dog doesn’t have a knicker chewing obsession and the son doesn’t alternate between storming off upstairs in fits of anger and undertaking an hourly check of her Facebook account.
In my mind I have edited out the man’s face and replaced it with Rory’s. Nope, I can’t see Rory as the father making me breakfast in bed or doing any family stuff. Although I have to say Rory is a good laugh at Christmas. He does come alive after his morning glass of Bucks Fizz, a good helping of Bombay Mix and a dance around the kitchen to Slade. Last Christmas he spent it with me, Lizzie and Bill. We got Bill to cook us a Christmas dinner while we all made Christmas cocktails, stuffed our faces with Quality Street and played charades.
‘I wish Rory was here,’ mumbles Felix, tugging at my coat.
Ruffling his coppery hair, I gesture for him to get on the train. Today cannot turn into one long Rory conversation. If that happens, I will be an emotional mess by the time we get home tonight. ‘Let’s forget about Rory for today – eh?’
Felix and I both know this is easier said than done. He jumps onto the train with Baxter under his arm and turns around to watch me board. ‘You don’t mean that – do you, Aunty Emily?’
‘Mean what?’ I gently guide him into our carriage.
‘Forget about Rory for today.’
I sink into my seat by the window. Felix takes the opposite window seat and places Baxter on his lap.
‘I meant we don’t have to talk about him today.’
Felix ignores me. ‘I think about Rory a lot.’
Laughter from a young couple sliding into the seats opposite distracts us. Their playful relationship banter about the amount of time it took the guy to do his hair this morning for a Christmas shopping trip in the snow fills the air inside the carriage. He’s striking model-like poses with his shoulder-length curly brown hair and she’s giggling away. Turning back to the empty seat beside me I can’t help but think about Rory and me. We enjoyed a lot of cheeky sarcasm and piss-taking. He was the first boyfriend of mine who made me laugh and not just giggle or chuckle, I mean that hysterical, stomach hurting, tear inducing, wet your pants type of reaction.
Felix points at me. ‘Are you thinking about Rory now too?’
Raising my hands in defence I turn to him. ‘Look, let’s change the subject. Rory and I are not together anymore. There’s no hope of us getting back together.’
Felix’s mouth falls open and his eyes darken. Baxter starts to growl at me like I am a crazed axe murderer.
