Romance On The Rails
A ROMANTIC SHORT STORY BY FRAN TRACEY
Meeting a beautiful girl on a train seemed like something from an old film…
It was an old-fashioned kind of situation, Liam thought, to find yourself sitting opposite a stranger on a train and immediately falling for her.
It had seemed inevitable as soon as he saw her, though he wasn’t actively looking for love.
It felt like a scene from a black and white movie, “Brief Encounter” maybe, without the infidelity.
Liam couldn’t be unfaithful. He wasn’t attached, for starters.
The girl, however? As she was a stranger, Liam had no idea if she was attached, and was so flummoxed by his reaction to her that he didn’t have the immediate wherewithal to find out.
If he wasn’t careful, this beautiful woman would burst into his life, and just as swiftly disappear.
Their carriage was almost empty. It was just him and the girl, a young guy wearing headphones and tapping his feet, and a woman issuing instructions on dinner preparation.
The beautiful girl had got on after Liam, tumbling against him when the train lurched from the station, steadying herself before falling into her seat.
She was holding a neat leather suitcase.
“Sorry. Did I spill your coffee? I’m so clumsy.”
“You’re fine,” Liam said, ignoring a tiny spillage.
He glanced at her surreptitiously.
Her brown hair curled on to her shoulders, her lips were full and tilted upwards at the edges – and had she just winked?
Liam had never been a big believer in love at first sight, even on the app he’d used once on his phone, before deleting it.
Meeting that way was too random, too unpredictable.
Not unlike this.
But still, the girl.
His heart pitter-pattered at the sight of her.
She was intriguing, in an emerald dress and a lacy cardigan.
Maybe she hadn’t winked at him; was she trying to dislodge a rogue eyelash?
She leaned across the table that divided them and winked again. This time he was certain.
“Spag bol,” she asserted.
Liam aimed for the deadpan expression he thought he’d perfected in the police force. Stay cool, he told himself.
“Or could be stew.” She spoke in a stage whisper.
His puzzlement must have shown on his face.
“That’s what she’s cooking for dinner.”
Ah, she meant the woman issuing long-distance recipe instructions.
Liam listened, glad he was here, not on the other end of that phone call.
“It’s spag bol. You were right the first time,” he said, picturing the girl walking down the aisle towards him, ivory dress skimming over her hips.
Good grief.
Liam was travelling to a week’s training course – advanced evidence gathering.
“I don’t eat spag bol,” she said. “I’m vegan.”
That was the first of many facts she revealed about herself to Liam over the following hour.
There was no need for interrogation. Her voice was light and her enthusiasm was lovely to hear.
She was a nurse. She was going to visit a school friend during her days off.
Male or female, Liam wondered.
“She’s just had a baby,” she added.
“I wanted to join the circus, but Dad persuaded me not to. Too nomadic a lifestyle.” She sighed.
She’d look fabulous in sequins, Liam thought, on a trapeze.
He wondered if he could become vegan. He did like a steak, but well, the planet.
“Do you have any hobbies?” she asked.
Liam thought. As a police detective he worked long hours. He liked to cycle, but was it a hobby?
She held his gaze. Her eyes were mesmerising, green with flecks of gold.
He tuned out the foot tapper and the recipe reciter and thought long and hard about his reply.
“I have a couple,” she offered. “I like yoga. It’s all very ‘ommm’ at the end of a long day on a busy ward.
“And drumming. I’m in a band. We aren’t famous or anything.”
A drummer. It wasn’t just love, he was starstruck, too, famous or not.
“Goodness,” she said. “Time flies. It’s my stop.”
Liam was aghast. Her stop? It couldn’t be.
He watched as she gathered her belongings together. He hadn’t even asked her name.
“I’m Liam,” he eventually managed. “I like cycling.”
“Hello, Liam the cyclist. And goodbye. It’s been lovely chatting with you.
You’ve made the journey whizz by. I hope we meet again. I believe in fate.
She passed by, suitcase in hand. He craned his neck to watch her stepping on to the platform.
Should he have followed her? Should he have forsaken a day in a stuffy room learning about maximising intelligence?
He’d been so close to asking her to afternoon tea, or for a walk in the country.
But in his head it had sounded dull, and shyness had overwhelmed him.
As the train edged away she blew him a kiss. He couldn’t believe he’d let her get away.
At that moment he could have slumped back in his seat and into the doldrums.
Instead, he pulled a notebook from his pocket, writing quickly whilst his memory was still fresh.
Meeting on the train had been an old-fashioned kind of situation, as was writing to the name and address on a leather suitcase.
Margaret Mustoe.
A nice name, but not what he’d expected. It didn’t suit her gold-flecked eyes.
Still, he was glad he had spotted it, and had plucked up the courage to write.
In the letter he’d been most apologetic for being in touch, and said to ignore him if she found it intrusive.
He was usually persuasive with criminals – this was hardly the same, but he hoped it still worked.
Her reply took over a week, during which time Liam was on tenterhooks.
She explained in swirly, rushed-looking handwriting that the suitcase was her auntie Margaret’s.
Her own name was Roisin – that suited her far more.
Her aunt had realised the letter wasn’t for her, so had forwarded it on.
Of course she, Roisin, would love to meet for afternoon tea. Hadn’t she said they’d meet again?
And now, here they are, six months on, standing together on the platform.
It’s an old-fashioned kind of situation, Liam thinks, going down on one knee, offering the emerald and yellow diamond ring, and his eternal love.
And does Roisin say yes?
Of course she does.
With a wink, a kiss and a roll on imaginary drums.
Enjoy short stories every week within the pages of ‘The People’s Friend’
