There in the carriage, I’d thought how desperately I’d like to find some new purpose in life, in some way helping others, perhaps, and at the same time how much I desire only to be with Bill. I’d thought too that even if there were an option to have both my husband and a new interest, I’d find myself too old and lacking in competence and confidence to do anything about it. And what was this mysterious compassion she spoke of thatmight free us all from fear, the fear of not cherishing every second with Bill, and of losing love and life?
Now, in the dining carriage, waiting for Levi Parker’s cookery demonstration, I’m distracted momentarily from my ruminations when I see Carly, Flynn and the train manager, Grant, relaying boxes through the station building to the platform. Curious, and in need of stretching my legs, I get up to see what’s going on.
‘What’s happening?’ I ask Carly, who has begun stacking boxes on to a sack barrow.
‘Emergency book supplies,’ she tells me, puffing her fringe away from her warm brow. ‘The ones on board were damaged with cooking oil.’
‘Carly and Flynn came up with the master plan of restocking from the university bookshops,’ says Grant, adding a box to the stack.
‘That’s my girl,’ I sing, causing Carly to roll her eyes, and a harassed-looking Flynn, putting the last of the boxes on the pile, to smile.
‘Where will you store them?’ I ask as Flynn manoeuvres the laden trolley to haul it on to the train.
‘Back to the kitchen; Chef’s promised to keep the oil at the opposite end this time,’ Grant tells me.
Carly darts to stop a book from toppling as Flynn pulls the barrow up the ramp.
‘Teamwork,’ I cheer, and I notice the two of them share a shy glance.
I can’t quite believe the size of the kitchen, a stainless-steel tunnel, less than two metres wide and four long at most, with three members of staff working shoulder to shoulder.
‘By the door,’ shouts the chef, indicating with a nod, a bowl in one hand, a whisk in the other.
‘Got it,’ says Flynn, and he and Carly begin the task of offloading the boxes, while I keep at a safe distance in the corridor.
‘It’s all delightfully intimate,’ I tease, when Carly and Flynn bump into each other and have one of those moments where they both step to the same side at the same time.
‘Elsa,’ Carly groans, as if she were thirteen.
‘There are few things better than solving a problem with someone,’ I say, after the book boxes are safe in the corner of the kitchen, and Flynn is returning the sack barrow to the station master. ‘It reminds me of the early days in the gallery, Bill and I working side by side. I believe Bill and I had a much richer life for not only living together but working together too.’
‘I’m sure that’s true,’ says Carly, as we make way for a passing waitress carrying a steaming bowl of Cullen skink, one of Bill’s favourites.
‘I think I’ll return to the dining car,’ I say to Carly, my spirits shifting. ‘Wait for Levi Parker’s talk to start.’
‘OK, Elsa. I’d better get on with restocking the stall.’
Taking a seat at a table, the train pulling slowly out of the station, my thoughts tumble into Bill’s health, the biggest problem of our life, and yet one we can’t solve together. I brood on how cruel it is, that the time I need him most, he is here and yet so far. A rush of fear charges through me, and I feel desperately alone.
Uncertain what else to do, I dig out my phone and FaceTime Aleks.
‘All is well,’ she says, showing me Bill in his chair in the home, his feet up, watching a Western. ‘Give a wave,’ she calls to him, and he does, smiling broadly, instantly allaying all my fears. He is not as I had imagined, shell-like and helpless; he is there, enjoying his day, oblivious to my distress.
‘Enjoy yourself,’ says Aleks, clearly reading my concerns. ‘Like I told you, I’ll call if something’s wrong.’
They both wave goodbye and I shut off the phone, laughing at my foolishness, and settling myself again.
‘Bit of a delay, isn’t there?’ asks Frank, looking at his wristwatch and joining me at the table. It’s now that I realise that the train has been motionless for some time.
‘All the better for enjoying the view,’ says Marleen, unexpectedly slipping into the chair on my left, Frank opposite. I admire the simplicity of the flat fields and brick terraced houses of the North East.
‘In my day punctuality was everything,’ bristles Frank.
‘I find acceptance is key,’ counters Marleen, which Frank dismisses with a bluster.
Feeling caught between two very different people, I’m rather glad when Carly stops as she makes her way past with an armful of books.
I explain to Frank and Marleen about the damaged books, and Carly and Flynn’s solution to the problem.
