Читать книгу Alice’s Secret: A gripping story of love, loss and a historical mystery finally revealed - Lynne Francis - Страница 9

The interior of King’s Cross station seemed to have been rebuilt when Alys arrived there, which was baffling. Surely the last time that she’d been up to Yorkshire it was as reassuringly familiar as it had been for the last twenty or thirty years? She struggled to get her bearings, disconcerted. She queued in WHSmith for a book of stamps, needing to post a letter before she left, only to discover that the new station seemed to lack a postbox. After dragging her suitcase around outside in the pouring rain, in the hope of spotting a familiar red pillar box, Alys gave up, wet through and anxious about time passing.

If she’d been travelling with Tim, of course, he would have been at the station far enough in advance to lunch nearby, having worked out beforehand where to eat. His packing would have been well-practised perfection. He would have had exactly the right amount of clothes, with one set to spare. He wouldn’t have had to unzip his case eight times before leaving the house to stuff in more shoes and a hairbrush, then take the shoes out again and put in two jumpers, then take one of the jumpers out and put in a T-shirt instead. Indecision wasn’t Tim’s thing.

Alys’s forward planning had stretched to buying a sandwich in WHSmith along with the stamps, so now she only needed to stand and stare at the departures board along with everyone else. She tried to think back to when she’d last travelled alone. France, Greece, and that ill-fated trip to India – they’d all been with school or college friends. Paris, Venice, Florida – with Tim, or previous boyfriends. Could this really be the first time ever?

The train was up on the board, prompting a flurry of activity on the concourse, and a determined rush for the barrier. Alys trekked along the platform to Coach B. It looked as though all the pre-booked seats had been crammed into one carriage, instead of spread out through the train. She settled into her seat with her book, waterproof jacket in the rack above. The letter to Tim was still in her bag so, as soon as she arrived, she’d post it. It stated pretty clearly, she thought, how fondness was not really an option. She was looking for more, or maybe less, than that and so she was going to use this time away to think things through. She allowed herself a small smile, then sighed. It was her way of dodging the issue. In her heart, she knew things were over but she couldn’t bring herself to spell it out. She hoped that he’d get the picture, but Tim was used to things going his own way. He’d call, text, email. Of course, he’d try to change her mind. But she didn’t have to reply, did she?

Rain coursed down the window. It was such a long train that her coach was already out in the open, exposed to the elements. Every raindrop reflected the leaden sky. The weather was doing nothing to lighten her mood.

Resolutely, she opened her book. A rare chance to read: something else to be thankful for. This was going to be a journey into a better future, she told herself firmly. No dwelling on past mistakes. It was time to move on.