apartment, talking to himself and going bonkers. So no, she couldn’t see him staying single for long.
It didn’t matter that the thought of him with another woman was like a knife in her gut. She couldn’t keep him trapped, hanging on waiting to see if she came back. That would be cruel. She wanted him to be happy, and the best way for him to heal was to find someone new, to throw himself into a new relationship. If she was his doctor, that’s what she would prescribe. By moving to the other side of the world, she would make it easier for him.
She bit down on the urge to cry.
Moments later, she arrived at Charing Cross station. She stopped. All those people. It was even busier now than it had been earlier, when she’d taken the Tube from Camden. She tried not to look at anyone. Maybe she should get a cab. But she needed to hang on to every penny she could at the moment, would need it for her big move. As long as she didn’t look at anybody, she should be OK. Plus it was stupid for her to be scared of crowds. It was the empty places that ought to scare her.
She descended the steps into the station, clinging to the handrail like an elderly lady. The people below her shuffled about like zombies. She had a flash of one of them twisting towards her, vacant eyes rolling, teeth bared, grabbing her and ripping her throat out . . . She shook the image away and counted to five beneath h er breath.
Come on , she urged herself. You can do this.
She followed the signs to the platform, heading towards the far end. The display board showed there was a train due in four minutes. In that four minutes, more and more people entered the platform, many of them heading to where Laura stood. She was surrounded, bodies too close to her, the smell of the McDonalds fries the woman next to her clutched in her fist making Laura want to be sick.
For fuck’s sake , she muttered, squinting at the board. Then she heard the rumbling of an approaching train, thank God, and looked down at the track. A tiny, malformed mouse darted between the rails.
She jerked her head up. It wasn’t only the people that scared her about train travel. It was the sight of the track. The rails.
An image appeared in her mind: she and Daniel running along the tracks towards the town, stumbling and tripping but staying upright, the sun rising, her throat raw from screaming. And Daniel had caught hold of her arm and—
She lurched towards the edge of the platform, arms windmilling. She could see the mouse, frozen between the rails, and she was falling, falling, and a roaring noise came from the tunnel, air blasting along the platform, the train rocketing into the light . . .
Someone grabbed her from behind, almost went over with her, but fought them both back from the edge. A tall man, wearing a suit. He held her.
She couldn’t catch her breath. The man held onto her, murmuring in her ear, telling her to calm down, it’s OK, calm down, it’s all OK . . .
She pulled free of his grip and looked around. Everyone was staring at her, but the Tube train was at the platform now and the doors were opening, so their attention quickly wandered.
‘What happened?’ the man who had caught her asked. ‘Did you trip?’
She couldn’t remember tripping, but said, ‘I must have. I’m always tripping over my own feet.’
She thanked him and tried to give him money from her purse, which made him laugh. He got onto the train and she could feel him watching her as the doors beeped and slid shut.
Had she tripped—or had somebody pushed her? She was sure she could feel the imprint of hands on her spine.
She looked around. More people emerging into the station. If someone had pushed her, they were long gone by now. She closed her eyes and took a long, deep breath. She must have tripped. Lost in her reverie, she had walked into someone, probably stumbled over one of those annoying wheelie suitcases. That was all. It was ridiculous to think that anyone here might
It didn’t matter that the thought of him with another woman was like a knife in her gut. She couldn’t keep him trapped, hanging on waiting to see if she came back. That would be cruel. She wanted him to be happy, and the best way for him to heal was to find someone new, to throw himself into a new relationship. If she was his doctor, that’s what she would prescribe. By moving to the other side of the world, she would make it easier for him.
She bit down on the urge to cry.
Moments later, she arrived at Charing Cross station. She stopped. All those people. It was even busier now than it had been earlier, when she’d taken the Tube from Camden. She tried not to look at anyone. Maybe she should get a cab. But she needed to hang on to every penny she could at the moment, would need it for her big move. As long as she didn’t look at anybody, she should be OK. Plus it was stupid for her to be scared of crowds. It was the empty places that ought to scare her.
She descended the steps into the station, clinging to the handrail like an elderly lady. The people below her shuffled about like zombies. She had a flash of one of them twisting towards her, vacant eyes rolling, teeth bared, grabbing her and ripping her throat out . . . She shook the image away and counted to five beneath h er breath.
Come on , she urged herself. You can do this.
She followed the signs to the platform, heading towards the far end. The display board showed there was a train due in four minutes. In that four minutes, more and more people entered the platform, many of them heading to where Laura stood. She was surrounded, bodies too close to her, the smell of the McDonalds fries the woman next to her clutched in her fist making Laura want to be sick.
For fuck’s sake , she muttered, squinting at the board. Then she heard the rumbling of an approaching train, thank God, and looked down at the track. A tiny, malformed mouse darted between the rails.
She jerked her head up. It wasn’t only the people that scared her about train travel. It was the sight of the track. The rails.
An image appeared in her mind: she and Daniel running along the tracks towards the town, stumbling and tripping but staying upright, the sun rising, her throat raw from screaming. And Daniel had caught hold of her arm and—
She lurched towards the edge of the platform, arms windmilling. She could see the mouse, frozen between the rails, and she was falling, falling, and a roaring noise came from the tunnel, air blasting along the platform, the train rocketing into the light . . .
Someone grabbed her from behind, almost went over with her, but fought them both back from the edge. A tall man, wearing a suit. He held her.
She couldn’t catch her breath. The man held onto her, murmuring in her ear, telling her to calm down, it’s OK, calm down, it’s all OK . . .
She pulled free of his grip and looked around. Everyone was staring at her, but the Tube train was at the platform now and the doors were opening, so their attention quickly wandered.
‘What happened?’ the man who had caught her asked. ‘Did you trip?’
She couldn’t remember tripping, but said, ‘I must have. I’m always tripping over my own feet.’
She thanked him and tried to give him money from her purse, which made him laugh. He got onto the train and she could feel him watching her as the doors beeped and slid shut.
Had she tripped—or had somebody pushed her? She was sure she could feel the imprint of hands on her spine.
She looked around. More people emerging into the station. If someone had pushed her, they were long gone by now. She closed her eyes and took a long, deep breath. She must have tripped. Lost in her reverie, she had walked into someone, probably stumbled over one of those annoying wheelie suitcases. That was all. It was ridiculous to think that anyone here might
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