Heathen/Nemesis

Fifty-Four

The shuttle flights from Edinburgh to London were booked up right through until eleven that evening. Donna rang the station and discovered that there was a train to King’s Cross leaving at 8.27 p.m. She booked a seat on it and took a taxi to the terminus.

Trains out of Waverley were running fifteen minutes late by the time she got there, but she didn’t care. She wandered across the concourse to the Travellers’ Fare buffet and sat warming her hands around a cup of coffee while she waited for her train to arrive.

She sat in the window, watching the streams of people coming to and from the trains. Taxis waited in a long queue to ferry them away, while others struggled up the stairs with cases or bags, determined to make their way by other means. She wondered how many of them were going home. Home to relatives, to loved ones. To husbands?

Donna felt a twinge of sadness and stared down into the depths of her cup, picking up the spoon and stirring unnecessarily, watching the dark liquid drip from the plastic utensil.

On the concourse people stood around gazing up at the departure and arrival boards, checking times of trains. She saw a young man squatting on a rucksack, eating a bar of chocolate and looking at the board. Close by a couple were kissing, holding each other close to ward off the cold wind that had sprung up. Donna watched them for a moment, then looked away.

One of the station employees was following a discarded wrapper across the concrete, trying to pick it up but thwarted every time by a fresh breeze that blew the litter out of his reach. Cursing, he continued his pursuit.

Donna finally got to her feet and wandered outside, glancing up at the board, noticing that her train was due in about five minutes.

She left the buffet and headed for the small John Menzies shop opposite.

She didn’t notice the thick-set man dressed in jeans and a long dark coat get up and follow her out. He stood by the exit, watching, cupping one hand around the flame of his lighter as he lit up a Marlboro.

Donna glanced at the paperbacks on the bestseller stand as she entered the shop. Only six months earlier her husband’s last book had occupied a prominent position on that stand and hundreds like it up and down the country. Again she felt that twinge of sadness. She selected three magazines, paid for them, then made her way back out onto the concourse.

The man outside the buffet sucked on his cigarette and watched her as she headed towards the gates and the platforms beyond. She paused to roll up the magazines and push them into her handbag, rummaging for her ticket.

The man in the long dark coat glanced at Donna, then back towards the Menzies shop.

Another man, dressed in a leather jacket and trousers that were too short, was walking briskly across the concourse, his eyes fixed on Donna. In fact so engrossed with her movements was he that he bumped into a young woman who was struggling with an impossibly heavy suitcase. He almost knocked her over but continued walking, ignoring her angry shouts. Other heads turned towards the commotion; indeed, even Donna looked round briefly. But she only saw the girl who had now returned her full attention to the case.

Other passengers for the train were forming a queue. Donna joined it, filing past the barriers, showing her ticket and heading down the platform towards the First Class carriages. As she passed the buffet car her stomach rumbled, as if to remind her she hadn’t eaten since lunchtime.

She opened one of the doors and climbed up, selecting a double seat for herself, sliding her suitcase between two seats.

Further down the train the man in the long dark coat also climbed aboard.

The man in the leather jacket stood on the platform for a moment longer before stepping up into the carriage next to Donna’s.

She spread her magazines out on the table and removed her shoes, massaging her toes as she waited for the train to pull away. There were perhaps half a dozen other passengers in the carriage, all spread out. Some read newspapers; one fiddled with a Walkman, adjusting the volume.

Donna shivered slightly, noticing how cold it was on the train.

The journey should take a little over six hours. She glanced at her watch as the train pulled away from the platform.

The man in the leather jacket walked to the door that linked the carriages and looked through, seeing where Donna was seated. Satisfied he knew her position, he returned to his seat.

There was plenty of time.