Читать книгу The Fire House on Honeysuckle Street - Rachel Dove - Страница 11

The day Sam decided that he was going to be a fireman, no one in the household batted an eyelid. It was written in the stars, pretty much, and had been since he was a small dot in someone’s arms. To young Sam, though, it seemed like a revelation. That he, little orphan Sam, could one day be a hero. Someone who people would turn to on their darkest days; someone strong, sturdy. Someone who would never let you down, would always come to your aid, no matter what. The kind of person he wanted around him. The kind of people who had saved him.

When his mother tucked him into bed that night, kissing the top of his little head and smelling the shampoo scent of his baby soft brown hair, he snuggled down under the covers, and finally felt like he had a plan. Not a thing to be sniffed at, having a plan, especially at five years old. He didn’t realise it at the time of course, but he had in one day achieved what many people waited half their lives to feel. Purpose. Little five-year-old Samuel had purpose. He had a plan. That sheer bloody-mindedness fuelled his whole childhood, and never once did he detract from his mission. He had learned from an early age if you wanted something, you went for it. No excuses. His future was all down to him. Or, as his mum would say, ‘We make our own destiny in the face of fate, Sam. Fate dealt you a bad deal, but it’s not the end of your story, just the start.’

Now, as he packed up his belongings and prepared to make the journey once more to Westfield, and his new home, he had another mission in mind. One that, yet again, he had no hesitation in. No fear that he wouldn’t complete it, find what he was looking for. What he wasn’t so sure about was just what he would find, and whether he could live with his decision afterwards. Even for a man who walked into flames, with a spine of steel, the prospect was daunting, and a little scary.

Packing up his flat had been easy, and what he hadn’t got in his holdall and suitcase, he had boxed up and stacked up in a corner of his mum’s garage. Two whole boxes, mostly books. His furniture in the flat had been sparse at best, so he had sold what he had, or donated it to charity. Clothes, toiletries, a stack of paperbacks, and one photo album was all he took with him. Easy to carry, even easier to unload at the other side. He didn’t need much. So here he stood, underneath the departure boards at King’s Cross Station, waiting to board, alongside the Harry Potter fans and bored-looking commuters.

‘I’m going to miss you, my darling boy,’ Sondra said, her greying thick black curly hair tied up neatly in her trademark bandana. ‘It will be so strange not to be close to you.’

Sam felt a twinge of regret as he saw her wipe a tear from her eyes with her handkerchief.

‘It’s not forever, and it’s only a couple of hours on the train. I’ll come and see you when I get a few days off, and you can come stay with me, when you have a break between kids.’

Sondra wouldn’t take a break, but the pair of them didn’t say that to each other. Such was their relationship that a lot went unsaid. They both knew it, and so to them, that was enough. She would come if she could. Sondra had never been between kids in all the years that Sam had lived with her. He had grown up in a hectic home, one full of smells, and noise, and memories, and Sondra was always at the centre of it. The calm captain at the helm. Many kids from all kinds of life had come through those doors. Some came in the dead of night, shaky little ghosts clutching bedraggled teddy bears, traumatised by what they had seen and heard. Others came angry, aggressive, half dragged out of cars by overworked social workers, eager to get rid of their fraught charges. Sondra never batted an eyelid, and she always commanded respect. Sam had been the only child she had never let go of, and he was forever grateful for her.

The train announcement sounded, and Sam took the woman into his beefy arms, kissing the top of her head as she wrapped her arms around his middle and held him tight.

‘I love you, my boy. I’ll see you soon.’ When they finally pulled away, she pressed a thick envelope into his hand. Her trademark cream notepaper and vellum-finished stationery. He smiled, a picture of her sat at her desk popping into his head. Glasses halfway down her nose, a glass of wine on a coaster on the wooden surface of the desk, her head bent over her paper as she scribbled away. ‘Read it on the train or when you get settled. Not now. Okay?’

He nodded, not trusting himself to keep it together if he tried to speak. She raised her hands above her five foot six frame, placing them on either side of his stubbly face. He stooped to let her, savouring the warmth from her palms, the scent of her coconut hand lotion enveloping him.

She dropped a motherly kiss onto his lips, stroking his face and letting the tears fall for a moment.

‘Just you remember, my sweet little Sam, you always have a home with me. Stay safe.’

He hugged her tight once more, kissing her cheek.

‘I will, Mum, I promise.’

She nodded, smiling through her watery tears. ‘And find someone to love, okay? Grandbabies need a mother, you know. I’m not getting any younger here.’

He laughed then, a deep throaty boom, and she laughed right along with him, each of them tucking the moment into their pockets, to pull out and cherish when they needed it.

They looked back at each other till he turned the corner, and he gripped the envelope to him. It smelled of her. He pushed it into his coat pocket and hauled his baggage to the train. The conductor looked twice at him as he went to enter the train, and Sam could feel himself getting annoyed. Looking down at the man, he nodded slowly, not bothering to raise a smile. The man nodded back, clearing his throat nervously and stepping aside for him to get onto the train. Sam was used to people thinking he was a meathead, a rough and tough bruiser, but realistically, it did start to grate when he was trying to go about his day. Made his job tougher too, with the louts that seemed to think it was okay to have a pop at a man trying to save lives, do his job. Idiots, one and all. He wouldn’t miss them in Westfield, and he very much doubted that it would be as tough in the little village he was going to call home for the next few months. He could only hope, anyway. In his current state, he didn’t have the energy for much else.

Still irked by the bloke, Sam stomped through the carriages till he found his seat. Moving to the end of the carriage, he stashed his bags in the luggage compartments. He noticed a woman and a small boy, sitting across from his table seat. The boy had headphones on, his face enraptured in the screen, his hair ruffled and sticking up at odd angles, pushed askew by his big headphones. Sam smiled, thinking of the kids he had grown up alongside. Half of them had never seen movies, let alone been lucky enough to have a portable screen to watch them on. He squeezed himself into the seat he had reserved, so he ended up sitting the opposite way from the lad, the same side as the woman. He felt eyes on him, and looked across to see the boy watching him intently. He looked away, aware that a man of his size looking at a youngster might be intimidating. He flicked his gaze across at the woman, and she was looking right at him. He was just noticing how blue her eyes were when she opened her mouth to speak, flashing him a set of pearly whites, that were currently bared at him.

‘Do you have a problem?’ Her tone was clipped, pushed out like pellets from an air rifle.

He laughed, out loud. Right at her. He didn’t mean to, and he choked off the motion in his throat as soon as he realised.

‘Sorry,’ he said gruffly. ‘I didn’t mean to laugh. I don’t have a problem.’

She clenched her jaw, and Sam said nothing, observing her. He noticed how alike the pair looked, the young boy having her brown hair colouring, little streaks of lighter caramel tinted hair running through her shoulder-length locks. She had it wavy, and loose around her shoulders. She looked tired, he noted, and tense across her features. The boy was still looking at him, the tablet now on the table, forgotten.

‘Are you okay?’

He surprised himself by asking. Normally he kept himself to himself, off the job, but something about her made him want to know more.

‘I will be,’ she said, folding her arms. ‘I just want to enjoy the journey in peace.’

She glared at him again, and then turned to look at her son.

‘Xander honey, don’t stare.’

The boy, who had one headphone off his ear, looked at her in surprise.

‘He’s staring! Tell him!’

‘Xander!’ his mum scolded, in the form of a whisper. ‘Remember what we said?’

‘Mum! He did it! You always said to tell the truth!’

‘Xander, please!’

Xander huffed, and rolled his eyes so far in the back of his head Sam thought they would never return.

‘Fine,’ he spat out, giving Sam a sidelong glance that could spark a fire from across the county. ‘I don’t like you,’ he said, matter of factly, sticking his tongue out at Sam before picking up his tablet and shoving his headphones back onto his ears. The woman blushed furiously, and Sam chuckled again.

‘I’m sorry, Xander,’ he said. ‘You’re quite right, it is rude to stare.’

Xander didn’t take his eyes from the screen, but Sam saw him sneak a peek over the top at his mother and give a little grin.

‘I see you,’ she said, but her tone was softer this time. She looked across at Sam. ‘Thank you. He speaks his mind.’

Sam looked at the woman, who looked so frazzled and on edge and nodded once.

‘Nothing wrong with that.’

She raised her eyebrows, pulling a face.

‘Not always, for him. He hasn’t mastered tact.’

Sam looked out of the window at the man from earlier, who was now getting ready to blow his whistle.

‘He has time, I know plenty of adults who haven’t learnt that skill either.’

She laughed then, just once, and smiled at him for the first time. Her blue eyes flashed and he couldn’t help but notice how pretty she was.

‘Well, thanks.’

‘Sam, Draper.’

She looked him up and down, as though deciding something for herself, and then looked at her son, who was by now engrossed in his movie and not paying any attention to their conversation.

‘Lucy.’

She didn’t volunteer a surname, and turned back to her book. As she folded the page out to crack the spine a little, he noticed that she touched her bare ring finger, as though out of habit, before stopping herself. He was about to ask where she was headed when the whistle blew, and the Tannoy started to detail the journey from London to Leeds, and all the stops in between. He had stashed his holdall and suitcase in the compartments, and he checked on them as the train started to move. He took his jacket off, folded it and put it onto the seat next to him, before reaching into the carrier bag he had bought in the station. He took out a bottle of water and the latest thriller and settled in for the duration. He couldn’t bring himself to read the letter yet, when the smell of his mother was still all around him, on his clothing. He would wait to get settled in, and be alone. Then he would read the letter. No one wanted to see a six foot four man cry like a baby. As emotional as she had been on the platform, his mother wasn’t an overly emotional woman. Whatever was in that envelope was going to hurt him, and help him. How much of each, he didn’t like to hazard a guess.

A few chapters of his book in, and the train was racing along the tracks, the near empty carriage quiet and soothing. Xander was still in his seat, wrapped in his and his mother’s coats, tablet propped up on the table, his head nodding as he fought sleep. The noise of a mobile phone broke the silence, and Lucy scrabbled to answer it.

‘Hello,’ she said, half whispering. ‘I can’t really talk at the moment, call you later?’

The Tannoy sprang into life, announcing that refreshments would be coming down the train on a cart, and Lucy jumped, cupping the phone between her hands for dear life and scrunching down into her seat frantically. Shit!

The voice prattled on, and Lucy listened as best she could to the voice on the line. He was talking about work, again. He hadn’t even noticed the Tannoy, hadn’t even asked where she was. She let him finish, and waited for him to ask her about her day.

‘So,’ he continued, a line starting to ring in the background, ‘I’ll be really late, so go ahead and have tea without me, I’ll grab something here. We might end up going out somewhere, with it being Friday.’

‘Hmm-hmm.’ She looked across at her son, whose eyelids had now closed, and marvelled at how adorable he was. His long brown eyelashes fanned out into his cheeks, and even in sleep, he looked a little confused and anxious. Her beautiful, clever, misunderstood boy. ‘Okay, fine.’

If her husband picked up on her tone, he didn’t mention it. His voice was the same; distracted, far away. He acted as though letting his family know his whereabouts was an annoyance, a mundane obligation to tick off his to-do list. Speak to long-suffering wife. Check. Ignore existence of son bar the basics. Check. She thought of how he used to be, and her stomach flipped as she thought of where they were now. Miles apart from each other, now more than ever.

‘Okay. Oh, honey?’

She took a deep breath in. This was it. He was going to ask her. He was going to ask if Xander got to school okay, or what she was up to today. Anything. He could ask her anything, and she would tell him the truth.

‘Yes?’ she asked on a shaky breath. Her eyes flicked to the man opposite, but he hadn’t lifted his eyes from the pages of his book.

‘I forgot to ask, sorry. Been so busy today.’

Here it was. Ask me, damn you. Prove me wrong. I swear, we’ll get off this train. All you have to do is ask.

‘If you get time today, get my dry cleaning would you? I have golf tomorrow, and I need my suits back for Monday.’ Another phone started up again, his office phone, and he tutted crossly.

‘I gotta go, okay? See you later.’

She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could even form the words, she heard the click of the line. He had gone, back to work. She looked at her phone, willing him to ring back. To have picked up on her tone and guessed that something was off. But she knew in her heart that he wouldn’t. He had stopped noticing things long ago. Her wallpaper came up on the screen, a picture of her and Xander together, smiling in the Lego shop. She remembered the day. Another bad day at school, another day of her son coming out of the school doors and running into her arms, crying. Kids were rotten, and some parents were no better. She had wrapped him in her arms and strode out of the wrought iron gates, mentally sticking a finger up at the judgemental mum set that watched them leave. She had gotten him straight into town, to the Lego shop that he loved so much, and they had sat there, at the activity table, till her son dried his tears and started to be himself again. One of the shop assistants had offered to take a photo, after her attempts at a selfie had resulted in either missing the model or chopping their heads off. The photo came out well, and it had turned into a good day. A day of hot chocolate in the coffee shop, of Lego models and little smiles. Another day where his dad had not been able to get out of work, or even taken a minute to give him a call.

She looked again at her sleeping son and brushed a tear away. Today was going to be one of those days, where it would end better than it began. She turned her phone over, took out the SIM Card from the back and snapped it in half. Just looking down at the pieces of plastic and metal made her feel better. She brushed them into her pocket, and settled back down to read her book. At least in the pages of this story, there would be a happy ever after. She never noticed the man across watching her with interest, and a flexed jaw.