The Present
Hazel walked around her flat one last time, checking that everything was switched off and in its place. She loved coming back to a clean home. Why was she even leaving her little paradise? What for? Her life was already like a holiday—she did as she pleased. But if she didn’t go, her daughter would be upset. A seaside trip—that was her birthday gift from Emily.
She sighed, wheeled her suitcase out, and locked the door with both bolts. She tugged the handle to make sure it was secure, then knocked on her neighbour Sophie’s door.
“Leaving already?” Sophie asked, peering out.
“Yes, just dropping off the keys.” Hazel reluctantly handed over the spare.
“Don’t worry, love. I’ll water your plants and keep an eye on things. Enjoy your break—stop fretting. Lucky you, having a daughter who books you a proper holiday. My Kevin? All he cares about is the next pint. Had his own family, a flat—drank the lot away…”
Hazel felt for her neighbour, but it only now struck her—was it wise to leave her keys with Sophie? What if her son let himself in? Not that she owned anything valuable, but even small things mattered if they went missing. Worse still, the thought of someone rummaging through her things made her skin crawl. She wished she’d asked someone else to mind the flat. Too late now. And she didn’t want to offend Sophie, who’d helped her countless times.
Sophie noticed the doubt on her face.
“Don’t you fret. I’ll stash the keys where Kevin won’t find ’em. Off you go—it’ll be fine,” she promised.
Hazel nodded and headed for the stairs, suitcase rattling behind her.
“Safe travels!” Sophie called before shutting the door.
The station wasn’t far—no point taking a cab for two stops, and lugging a suitcase onto the bus would just be a bother. Through the underpass, she reached the platforms just as a train pulled in. She walked along, scanning for carriage nine, found it, and stopped. Better to wait now than rush later.
“What if the numbering starts from the other end?” A flicker of worry crept in. “No matter—the dispatcher usually calls it out. I’ll have time.”
A week ago, Emily had turned up unannounced, saying she’d decided on an early birthday gift so Hazel could prepare.
“You’re pregnant?” Hazel had blurted.
Not that a second grandchild was unwelcome, but the first was barely walking. Too soon for another.
“No, nothing like that. I’ve booked you a trip to the seaside. Train leaves the 11th, first-class. Here.” She’d handed over an envelope. “A week’s plenty to pack.”
“What? Alone? Without you? On my actual birthday? What about guests? The dinner? No, I’m not going. Return the tickets.”
“Mum, I planned it so you wouldn’t be stuck cooking all day. Wanted you to have a proper celebration—by the sea. When was the last time you saw it? Can’t even remember, can you? This is from me and James. Do what you want with it.” Emily’s voice had tightened. “Don’t fancy the seaside? Fine, stay home. But I won’t return the tickets. If I do get pregnant, you won’t see the coast for years. I picked a lovely guesthouse—right on the beach.”
So what could she do? Grumbled, of course, about them arranging things without asking. Then started packing.
And now here she was. More stress than joy in these solo trips. Would she make the train? Who’d share her compartment? How would she settle in? At her age, extra worry wasn’t good for her.
When the dispatcher announced the train’s arrival—carriages numbered from the rear—Hazel relaxed a fraction. She’d guessed right. Soon, the horn of the approaching train sounded. She tightened her grip on the suitcase, documents ready in her other hand. Others with luggage stood nearby.
The train rushed past, tail end in sight. Hazel nearly bolted after it, convinced she’d never reach her carriage in time. But it shuddered to a halt. The attendant at carriage nine wiped the handrail with a cloth and began checking tickets.
Hazel handed hers over first, climbed aboard, found her compartment, and sank onto the berth with a sigh. Half the battle done—she was on the train.
A jolt, then movement. The door slid open, and three young women tumbled in, filling the space with noise and chatter. Hazel stepped into the corridor to let them settle.
Fields and woods flashed by outside. Rivers glinted like mirrors. Summer nights were short—darkness barely had time to settle before dawn. The girls, still laughing, passed her on their way to another carriage. Hazel changed into pajamas and lay down. The rhythmic clatter of wheels lulled her to sleep.
She woke at a station stop, the dispatcher’s voice crackling through the speakers. Pale light seeped through the window. Half two in the morning. A strand of blonde hair dangled from the upper berth—she hadn’t heard the girls return. Quiet as mice. She drifted back to sleep.
Next time she woke, sunlight flooded the compartment, thick with heat. The girls still slept. Hazel slipped into the corridor, closing the door softly. The toilet’s “engaged” sign glared back at her. She’d have to wait.
“Off to the seaside?” A man with a towel over his shoulder smiled at her.
“Everyone here is,” Hazel replied dryly.
She wasn’t in the mood for chat, least of all by the loo. She turned away, hoping he’d take the hint. He didn’t, prattling on about something. She tuned him out, relieved when the toilet freed up.
The girls still slept. Parched, Hazel went to find the attendant—but no answer. Fast asleep, no doubt.
“No water. Already checked.” That voice again. “Restaurant car’s two down. They do proper tea, not that rubbish.”
“Look—are you chatting me up?” Hazel spun around.
“Blimey, no need for that. Just passing time. What else is there to do? And if I were, what’s the harm? Someone hurt you, love? Made you wary of blokes?”
“No one’s hurt me.” She pushed past him and returned to her compartment.
Thudding footsteps woke her. The train had stopped. At first, she thought something was wrong—then realised passengers were pouring onto the platform. She joined them.
“Fancy an ice cream? Kiosk over there,” came that voice again.
Hazel eyed him like an irritating fly.
“And if I do?”
“Back in a tick.” He darted off as if he’d been waiting for the cue. Returned with a chocolate cone.
“Eat up—it’s melting.”
“Mmm… my favourite.” She closed her eyes, savouring the cool sweetness.
“My wife loved chocolate too. Passed two years back. Visiting my son in London. Keeps asking me to stay longer. But I can’t breathe there. Got my cottage, my garden…”
Ah. Looking to replace his wife. She kept the thought to herself—he had bought her ice cream, after all.
“…they’ll visit later, on holiday. You here alone?” he was saying.
“Listen. My life suits me fine. I’ve a daughter, a grandson, another on the way. Don’t get any ideas,” Hazel said, climbing back aboard.
In her compartment, shame prickled. Maybe he’d meant nothing by it—just a friendly soul. And she’d snapped at him. Decent-looking man, too. But she wasn’t after anything, not even a fling.
Leaving later, she braced to see him again. But he’d taken the hint, moved on to other women. For some reason, that stung.
Lavender-hued hills quivered in the distance. Sunflowers stretched endlessly under a flawless sky.
“Nearly there.”
That voice. Again.
“I thought I made myself clear—” she started irritably.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to bother you. Take this.” He held out a slip of paper. “My address and number. You’re a stranger here—I’m local. If you need help, call. No strings.”
She took it without looking. Passengers streamed toward the exit. The man disappeared into his compartment.
“Now I’ve gone and hurt his feelings.” She glanced at the paper—address, number, and a name: William. Solid name. Like him.
She disembarked last, scanning the platform. No sign of William. Taxi drivers hollered for fares. Most waved them off, but Hazel approached one—a lad who reminded her of a young Robbie Williams. He drove her to the guesthouse.
After settling in, she headed straight for the sea. Only half seven, but the beach was packed. Hazel kicked off her sandals, waded in, wishing she’d worn her swimsuit. Plenty of time for that later. Gazing at where sky met water, sheShe turned back toward the shore, already knowing in her heart she’d call William before the week was out.
