**Diary Entry**
Before leaving and never coming back…
I walked out of the train station doors onto the platform, slightly unsteady under the weight of a large Adidas gym bag slung over my shoulder. Beads of sweat glistened on my temples. My eyes scanned the platform. Rows of benches stretched along the station wall, packed with waiting passengers and those saying goodbye. An old man in a grey overcoat and a hat sat on one. I headed toward him.
Setting my bag down between us, I fished a crumpled handkerchief from my jacket and wiped my face before sinking onto the bench with a sigh. A high-speed train roared past without stopping, the rush of warm, oily air stirring my hair.
I watched the train disappear, then leaned back and rested my hand on my bag. The murmur of conversation on the platform returned as people resumed their interrupted talks.
“Express train number… arriving… Carriages numbered from the front,” a crackling female voice announced indistinctly.
“Did you catch which train?” the old man asked, turning to me.
I shook my head. He nodded and checked his wristwatch.
“Third time they’ve said it’s arriving, and still nothing,” he sighed. “Why are station announcements always so garbled?”
I stayed silent, resisting his attempt to draw me in.
“Off somewhere? Looks like you’re carrying a lot.” He gestured at my bag.
“Sherlock Holmes, are we?” I scoffed. “No luggage on you—so I reckon you’re meeting someone.”
“Right you are,” he said brightly. “My son.” Pride coloured his voice.
“And I’m leaving mine,” I muttered before I could stop myself.
“Ah, life,” he sighed. “Running away, are you? But you can’t outrun yourself. Your troubles follow you like that bag.”
I shot him a glare and turned away.
“Did the same thing forty years ago. My boy was eleven then. Haven’t seen him since. Nervous, I am.” His calm tone didn’t match his words.
“Doesn’t show,” I grumbled.
“I *am* nervous,” he repeated. “At my age, you ration emotions. Any strong one—joy or grief—could finish you off.”
“Was he abroad?” I seized the chance to shift focus from myself.
Truth was, I hadn’t planned this. A trivial remark from Emily about me coming home late had spiralled. Word by word, we’d shouted accusations until she’d thrown infidelity in my face—utter nonsense. But as they say, you can’t unring a bell.
I should’ve laughed it off. Instead, I’d grabbed a bag, shoved random things inside, slammed the door, and fled to the station. Only now, hearing this old man talk of his son, did I remember Jack.
His voice pulled me back.
“My wife was practical. Not a beauty, but solid. Never thought I’d lose my head, leave her and my boy. But there you go.” He was confiding in me, as if making amends.
“Hernia flared up. Had it for years, but this time—could hardly stand. Martha, my wife, sent me to hospital. They took one look and wheeled me straight to surgery.”
“Lying there, coming round from anaesthesia, in she walks. All in white, blue eyes like the sky. An angel. Name to match—Angela.”
“She gave me an injection. Her fingers barely touched me, and I was trembling. Didn’t even feel the needle. Fell hard. Couldn’t sleep the night before discharge—thought about breaking my own leg to stay.”
“Confessed my love as I left. Expected rejection. Instead, she gave me her number. Lasted two days before I called, when Martha was at work.”
“Met her outside the hospital with flowers, walked her home. I was handsome back then. Wasn’t love—more like madness. Was ready to end it when she got pregnant.”
“What could I do? My boy was grown, but this child deserved a father. Went home, told Martha everything. She cried, of course. Just like you, I packed a bag—smaller than yours—and left.”
“Divorced Martha but never married Angela. Something went wrong in delivery. She died. Her parents blamed me. Maybe they were right. If not for the baby, she’d still be here.” His voice thickened. “They took the girl. Wouldn’t even let me see her.”
“You said you never saw your son again. Your wife couldn’t forgive?”
“Could she? Would you? Blamed myself for years. Wanted to die. Judged every man who couldn’t keep it in his trousers—then became one.” He waved a hand. “Went up North. Hoped the cold would finish me. Imagined Martha weeping at my grave. But frost, whisky, storms—none took me. Sent most of my pay to her and the boy. No use to me.”
“She sent it all back. That was Martha. Once, she slipped in a note saying she’d remarried. Saved up, bought a flat in Manchester. Never searched for my son—too ashamed. He found *me*. Wrote recently… Martha’s gone.”
A screech from the tannoy cut him off. The garbled voice announced another train’s arrival.
This time, it actually stopped. Passengers spilled out, vanished into the station. The old man stood, craning his neck. No one glanced his way. The train left. He sank back down, bewildered.
“Maybe the next one?” I offered, moved despite myself.
Another announcement—clearer now—declared my train’s arrival at Platform 2. “That’s mine,” I said.
Then the old man stiffened. A man in his fifties approached, a stout woman beside him. They halted a few steps away. The old man rose slowly, removed his hat, fidgeted, then replaced it. The arriving train drowned out words, but I saw the younger man’s lips form *Father.*
They stood like that, just looking. I grabbed my bag, knowing I didn’t belong here.
A young attendant eyed me impatiently at the carriage door. “Boarding or not? We leave soon.”
A flustered man barged past, huffing about his ticket. Relieved by the distraction, I adjusted my bag, turned, and walked away. At the station doors, I pulled out my ticket, stared at it, crumpled it, and tossed it into a bin.
Shoving through the crowd—ignoring curses flung my way—I reached the taxi rank. Climbed into the first cab, gave my address.
“Just arrived? Rushing home to the family?” the driver chirped.
“Yes. Faster, please.”
“Five minutes, you’ll be hugging the missus.” He chuckled, then fell silent at my expression.
Taking the stairs two at a time, I barely felt the bag digging into my shoulder. Put the key back in my pocket—rang the bell instead.
Jack opened the door. “*Dad?!* Mum, Dad’s back!” He threw his arms around me before I could step inside.
Emily appeared, eyes red.
“I’m sorry.” That was all I could manage before my throat closed.
She buried her face in my chest.
