Late Happiness
David had been wandering around the unfamiliar city for ages before finally reaching the train station. His legs ached, and his mood was downright rotten. He’d been so excited to come here—never imagined he’d be leaving like this. He hadn’t done anything wrong, yet here he was, slinking away like a guilty cat.
He spotted an empty bench in the waiting area and sank onto it with a sigh. “Just a few minutes to catch my breath,” he thought. “Then I’ll sort out my ticket. Five more minutes won’t change anything. At least I didn’t book a return in advance. Planned to stay a week… Ah, well.”
When his legs felt a little less like lead, he heaved his heavy duffel bag onto his shoulder and trudged to the ticket counters. As he queued, he watched the station hustle and wondered what he’d do if there were no tickets left. But the clerk handed him one—just had to wait over three hours for the train. Didn’t matter. At least he was going home.
He tucked the ticket and his passport into his jacket pocket and looked around—his bench was already taken. Stepping outside, he found more benches near the platforms. A sleek train stood ready at one of them, its digital board flashing the departure time and destination. Everyone had boarded already—no one else lingered on the benches.
The air smelled like creosote, diesel, stale cigarette smoke, and unwashed bodies. Even the open station couldn’t mask it. Thousands passed through here every day—homeless folk, drunks, travelers.
David picked a bench with a clear view of the boards and settled in to wait. His mind replayed the argument with Margaret’s grandson, scrambling for the right words he’d failed to find earlier.
“Mind if I sit?” A young man’s voice startled him.
David looked up to see a bloke in a sharp suit, wheeling a small suitcase. “Go ahead,” he said, shifting slightly even though there was plenty of room. The other benches were filling up too.
The man sat at the far end, loosened his tie, and propped his case beside him.
“Business trip?” David asked, craving conversation.
“Going home from one,” the man answered shortly, glancing at him.
“Same here,” David sighed.
“You on business too?” The skepticism in his tone was clear.
“No. Visiting friends. Thought I’d stay a week, but… didn’t work out.” David looked down.
“Got kicked out?” The man sounded almost sympathetic.
“Something like that. Waiting for the Edinburgh train now. You?”
“Bad luck for both of us, eh? Had to leave early myself. Changed my ticket.”
“What carriage are you in?”
“Eleventh.”
“Same here. Compartment 5 by any chance?”
The man blinked, then fished out his ticket. “Bloody hell. Yeah, fifth.” He pocketed it, slapped his knees.
“What are the odds? You just bought yours?”
“Minutes ago.”
“Was supposed to leave in two days, but my wife called—our daughter’s ill. Scared to even say the diagnosis, crying her eyes out. Had to cut the trip short.”
“Could’ve flown, saved time,” David suggested.
“Terrified of planes, honestly. Trains feel safer.”
Just then, the man’s phone rang. He answered briskly. David turned away, giving privacy.
“Hi. Yeah, at the station, got the ticket… I’d hoped so too… Miss you too. Don’t cry, I’ll try to swing by if I can—” He listened quietly, jaw tight. “Alright, I’ll call if anything changes. Love you. Bye.” Hanging up, his mood soured. He stared ahead, lost in thought. David stayed silent.
“Don’t pretend you don’t get it,” the man suddenly said, dropping the formalities. “Don’t judge, mate. You don’t know the half of it.”
“Not judging. None of my business,” David said.
“Damn right. I’d tear the world apart for my girl. But my wife… Fell for someone else like some lovesick kid. Ever happened to you?”
“Course. Never cheated, though. You marry, you commit. How’d you feel if she stepped out? Could you live with that?” David shrugged. “So this ‘business trip’ was a cover?”
“Quick, aren’t you? Twice a year, I come here. Lets me breathe. Then I can go back.” His gaze went distant.
“How old’s your daughter?”
“Twelve. And you? Visiting kids? Son showed you the door?” The bitterness crept back.
“Son lives in London with his family. Always asking me to visit. Why? They’ve got their own lives. Don’t wanna intrude.”
“Fair enough,” the man nodded.
“Wife died three years back. Married her to spite myself—get over someone else. When she passed, I nearly followed. Couldn’t stand being alone. Maybe I loved her without realizing. Love’s funny like that. But I manage. Hurts less if you don’t poke at it.”
“Visiting family, then?”
Funny how hearing another’s troubles eases your own. Puts things in perspective.
“No. Visiting the person who means most to me,” David said.
“Go on. Got three hours to kill. Name’s Oliver.” He held out a hand.
“David.” They shook.
“Listen, my Alice packed me chicken, pies—cooks like a dream. Fancy a beer run?” Oliver offered, like they were old mates.
“Don’t drink. Not hungry either. Help yourself.”
“Right. So, spill.” Oliver stretched, crossing his legs.
“What’s to tell?” David sighed. “Loved a girl in school. Went weak at the knees every time I saw her. Never noticed me. Never confessed. Joined the army after. Nearly deserted—went mad imagining her with someone else.”
“Then she married while I was gone. My best mate, no less. Found out after discharge. They even had a kid. I confronted him. Asked if the kid was mine. Saw red—laid him out flat.”
“Wait, was it yours?” Oliver leaned in.
“Told you, nothing happened between us. Not even a kiss. Loved her from afar.” David shot him a look. “Suffered for years. Bit my lips bloody seeing them together. Avoided their street entirely. Thought marrying would fix it. Fat chance.”
“Linda was a good wife. Knew I didn’t love her, still tried her best. Didn’t deserve her. Mum adored her. But the heart wants what it wants. Couldn’t forget Margaret. Nearly moved cities to escape her.”
“Then they left for Manchester. Got easier. Breathed again. Linda had our son—god, I was proud. But we were never really a family. Always pining for Margaret. When Linda died three years back, I nearly joined her. Realized too late—life meant nothing without her.”
“Son was married by then, moved to London. Left me a laptop to video chat. Taught me the ropes. Turns out I’m a quick learner—started browsing, social media, searching old friends. Found Margaret one day.”
“Messaged her. Waited. No reply. Figured she’d forgotten me, happy with her husband. Then suddenly—a short note. She remembered. Was glad to hear from me. We wrote for a year. Finally confessed I’d loved her since school. She asked why I’d never said so—turns out she’d fancied me too.”
“All that time… Wasted. Though I’ve no right to complain—Linda was good to me. Margaret had split with her husband years ago. Been alone since. Suggested we video call.”
“We’d talk for hours. Then her grandson moved in—claimed her flat was closer to uni. But I reckon her daughter got suspicious. With him around, Margaret grew shy on camera. We spoke less.”
“So I suggested visiting for a few days. Couldn’t bear losing our talks again. She agreed. Booked my ticket to Manchester. Nervous as a teenager the whole ride. But when we met—perfect. Hugged like old friends. Talked half the night. Didn’t sleep a wink. Still couldn’t believe it—just being near her, talking, was enough.”
“Three days flew by. On the fourth, the grandson ‘fell ill,’ skipped uni. Margaret ran to the chemist for medicine, then the shops.”
“While she was gone, he cornered me. Said he saw right through me—I wasn’t just visiting. That flat was his, no way was I getting my hands on it. He was in charge here.”
“I swore I didn’t want his flat—had my own place, no plans to move to Manchester. He didn’t buy it. Started shoving me toward the door. Threatened to call the cops. Said he’d have us both declared mentally unfit, packed off to a home.”
“I was livid—not for me, for Margaret. Heartbreaking, after everything. Grabbed my things—thank god I’d packed light—and left. Now I wonder if I messedBut as he stood there holding Margaret’s hand, watching the conductor wave them aboard, David realized some chances only come once—and this time, he wasn’t letting go.
