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“Um, excuse me. Where does this train go?”
“It’s the end of the line, sir. It’s turning back to Bodmin Parkway now.”
“Could I buy a ticket, please?”
“You’ll need the conductor for that. If you hop on, he should be around shortly.”
“Thanks.”
Mark paused at the door, feeling the slightest pang of guilt, but not enough to stop him climbing up and pulling the door shut behind him. A whistle blew and plumes of steamy smoke filled the air around him. There was a lightness to his body that Mark hadn’t felt for a long time. He laughed, quiet chuckles at first, followed by loud, shoulder shaking guffaws. The woman across the aisle held her child close, throwing a worried look his way. He mouthedsorryto her and pulled himself together. Thank goodness he’d got his shoulder bag with him. Mark pulled out his phone, typed a short message, then as soon as it readsent, switched his phone off, closed his eyes, and smiled.
*
Sarah tapped her fingers against the wooden picnic bench. She wasn’t one for daytime drinking, but as the minutes clocked up to sixty, her resolve broke and she ordered a large glass of wine. Twenty minutes later, the wineglass was empty and the tapping fingers had been joined by jiggling legs. Where had he got to? Sarah checked her phone for the umpteenth time, but no matter how high she raised it above her head, she couldn’t find a single bar of signal.
Sarah sighed and collected her bike, cursing Mark and his stupidity under her breath. She pushed the bike through the car park and down a steep slope. A family was coming the other way, but Sarah pressed on, hearingbitchfrom a teenage boy as she forced them to press into the bush on the side of the narrow path.
Half a mile down the track, Sarah’s phone burst into life, the jangle of a message tone nurturing both relief and annoyance. What scrape had he got himself into this time? Sarah unlocked her phone and read the message. She read it again, and again, wondering if it was a practical joke.
I’ve left on the train. Going back to London. You’ll need to collect my bike from the station nearest the pub. Enjoy your time away. Please don’t contact me again. Mark.
Both phone and bike fell from Sarah’s hands, the pedals tearing a line of red into her skin as they dropped to the ground. This had to be a joke. With shaking hands, Sarah picked her phone out of the mud and dialled Mark’s number.I’m sorry, but the person you have called is unavailable. Please try again later.
CHAPTER TWELVE
KATE WAS FINISHINGup cleaning the bathroom when a knock came at the door. Her watch showed six o’clock. About time, she thought, trotting down the stairs. She was ready for an apology. All day she’d been waiting for them to come and get their bags. They had a key, but the thought of strangers letting themselves in when she wasn’t there didn’t sit well and as a result, she’d been waiting in all day.
Kate opened the door to a dishevelled looking Sarah.
“I’m here for the bags,” said Sarah, her voice an angry slur.
“Yes, sure, come in. Did you miss your train? I thought it was leaving at five?”
“Bastard got the train himself. Left me to pick up his shitting clothes in his shitting bag.”
“Sorry, I don’t understand. Has something happened?”
“None of your business,” said Sarah, trying to heave both bags onto her back, stumbling and falling into the coffee table.
“Woah, careful there. It looks like you could do with a coffee?”
Sarah sniffed and nodded her head. The heavy bags seemed to take the fight out of her, and she plonked herself down on the sofa, head in her hands. “Milk, two sugars, and not too strong,” she managed to mumble.
“Right, back in a mo.”
The woman was obviously distressed, and as Kate stirred the coffee, she tried to guess what could have happened. Whatever it was, it hadn’t stopped Sarah being the most demanding guest she’d encountered over her many years in hospitality. They weren’t even like that at The Sunbeam, and Kate had thought those guests were the dregs of the British tourist industry.
“Here you go,” said Kate, laying a mug of coffee down beside Sarah. “Would you like to talk about it?”
Sarah shook her head. She picked up her coffee, blew across the top, took a sip, then grimaced.
“Do you need me to call you a taxi?” Kate asked, praying the answer would be yes.
Sarah looked up at her, confused. “A taxi? To where?”
“To the station. I thought you were headed for St Ives?”
“Missed the train.”
