Late Happiness
Robert had wandered the unfamiliar streets of the great city for what felt like hours before finally reaching the station. His legs ached from exhaustion, and his spirits were low. He had travelled there with such joy, never imagining he would be leaving like this. Guilty of nothing, yet he was fleeing like a scolded cat.
He spotted an empty bench in the waiting area and sank onto it, grateful for the respite. *Just a moment to catch my breath, then I’ll see about a ticket. Five minutes won’t change anything now. At least I didn’t book a return ticket in advance—planned to stay a week… Ah, well.*
When his legs felt a little steadier, he hoisted his heavy duffel bag over his shoulder and made for the ticket counters. As he waited in line, he watched the bustle of travellers, wondering what he’d do if no tickets were left. But the clerk handed him one without issue, though the train wouldn’t depart for another three hours. No matter—the important thing was that he had his ticket home.
Tucking it and his passport into his coat pocket, he glanced around. His seat was already taken. He stepped outside, where more benches lined the station wall. At one platform, an express train stood ready to depart. The electronic board above Platform Six displayed its destination and departure time. Most passengers had already boarded, leaving the benches nearly empty.
The sharp scent of creosote and railway dust mingled with cigarette smoke, stale alcohol, and the sweat of unwashed bodies. Even the open air offered little relief—thousands passed through the station daily, some homeless, some drunk.
Robert settled on a bench with a clear view of the boards and platforms, resigning himself to the wait. In his mind, he replayed the argument with Helen’s grandson, belatedly conjuring the right words and reasoning when, in the moment, he had been too stunned to speak.
“Mind if I join you?” A younger man’s voice broke his thoughts.
Robert looked up. The man wore a sharp suit and wheeled a small suitcase behind him.
“Of course, have a seat,” Robert replied, shifting slightly despite the ample space. He noticed the other benches were filling too.
The man sat at the opposite end, loosening his tie before settling his suitcase beside him.
“Business trip?” Robert asked, craving conversation, the sound of another voice.
“Returning from one,” the man answered curtly, eyeing Robert briefly.
“Same here. Heading home,” Robert sighed.
“You were on business too?” the man asked skeptically.
“No. Visiting someone. Thought I’d stay the week, but it didn’t work out.” Robert hung his head.
“Kicked you out?” There was sympathy in the man’s tone.
“More or less. Now I’m waiting for the York train. You?”
“Bad luck for both of us—long wait. I had to change my ticket, leave early.”
“What carriage?” Robert asked.
“Eleventh.”
“Then we’re in the same one. Not in compartment five, by any chance?”
The man frowned, reaching into his pocket to check his ticket. After a moment, he nodded. “Fifth. Funny coincidence. Did you just buy yours?” He studied Robert more closely now—they’d be sharing the journey.
“Just now.”
“I was meant to leave in two days, but my wife called—my daughter’s ill. Said she was afraid to even say the diagnosis aloud, crying her eyes out. Had to cut the trip short.”
“Could’ve flown. Faster,” Robert remarked.
“Afraid of flying, truth be told. Trains are safer.”
Just then, the man’s mobile buzzed. He answered it, and Robert turned away, granting him privacy.
“Hello? Yes, at the station… Got my ticket… I hoped so too… I miss you as well. Don’t cry, I’ll try to come sooner…” He listened a long while, his gaze distant. “Alright, I’ll call if anything changes. Bye, love you.” He ended the call, slipping the phone back into his pocket. His mood had darkened.
Robert said nothing.
“Don’t pretend you don’t understand,” the man suddenly broke the silence. “Don’t judge me. You don’t know a thing.”
“I’m not judging. None of my business,” Robert said.
“Good answer. I’d tear anyone apart for my daughter. But my wife… Fell in love like a schoolboy. Ever happened to you?” The man turned to him, waiting.
“Once or twice. Never cheated, though. When you marry, you take responsibility. How would I live if she’d strayed instead?” Robert admitted. “So the ‘business trips’ are a cover?”
“Clever. Every six months, I come here, and my soul breathes again.” His gaze grew distant. “Then I can keep living.”
“How old’s your daughter?” Robert asked.
“Twelve. What about you? Visiting family? Son showed you the door?” The question was barbed.
“My son lives in London with his family. Always asking me to move in. But why? They’ve got their own lives. I won’t intrude.”
“Wise,” the man nodded.
“My wife died three years ago. Married her out of spite, to forget my first love. When she passed, I wanted to follow. Couldn’t stand being alone. Maybe I loved her and never knew. Love comes in different forms. But I manage. Don’t poke the wound, and it aches less.”
“Visiting relatives, then?” the man asked.
Such was human nature—when troubled, another’s sorrow could shift focus, dulling one’s own pain.
“No. Visiting the dearest person in my life,” Robert said.
“Tell me. Three hours to kill. I’m Oliver.” He offered his hand.
“Robert.” They shook.
“Listen, my Alice packed roast chicken, pies. She cooks well. Fancy a beer run?” Oliver asked as if they were old friends.
“Not for me. Not hungry either. Help yourself.”
“Fair enough. Go on then,” Oliver said, crossing his legs, settling in.
“What’s to tell?” Robert began. “Loved a girl at school. Lost my head whenever I saw her. But she never noticed me. Never confessed. Then I was drafted—thought about deserting, mad with jealousy.”
“She married while I was away. Had a daughter. My best friend’s child. When I got back, I confronted him. Asked if it was mine. I saw red—laid him out flat.”
“Was it yours?” Oliver leaned in.
“I told you, never even kissed her. Loved her from afar.” Robert shot him a sharp look. “Suffered for years. Bit my lips bloody seeing them together. Avoided their street. Thought marriage would dull it. No such luck.”
“Margaret was a good wife. Knew I didn’t love her but tried anyway. Didn’t deserve her. My mother adored her. But the heart wants what it wants. Couldn’t forget Helen. Even thought of moving cities to avoid seeing her.”
“But they left for London. Things eased. Breathed again. Margaret bore me a son—proudest day. But we were never truly a family. Still dreamed of Helen. When Margaret died three years back, I nearly followed. Life without her? Meaningless.”
“My son had already married, moved north. Left me a laptop—taught me Skype. Took to it, browsed the web, searched old friends. Found her one day.”
“Messaged her. Waited. No reply. Thought she’d forgotten me. Then—a short note. She remembered. A year of letters. 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. Yet no complaints—Margaret was good to me. Helen had divorced years ago, been alone since. Suggested video calls.”
“We talked for hours. Then her grandson moved in—‘closer to university.’ But I think her daughter suspected something. With him there, she grew shy on camera. We spoke less.”
“So I suggested visiting. Couldn’t bear the distance. She agreed. Bought a ticket, nerves like a schoolboy. But meeting her—perfect. Embraced like old friends. Talked all night. Couldn’t sleep, stunned we’d finally met. Wanted nothing but to see her, be near her.”
“Three days gone in a blink. On the fourth, her grandson claimed illness, skipped lectures. Helen rushed to the chemist, then the shops.”
“Then he cornered me. Said he saw right through me—I hadn’t come just to visit. The flat was his, he said. He was master here.”
“I swore I didn’t want it—had my own place, no plans to move. But he threatened police, called us lunatics, said he’d have us committed.”
“I was furious—not for myself, but for her. Packed my things—thank God I’d travelled light—and left. Now I wonder if I was wrong. What if he has her declared unfit? Calls the authorities? I’d be helpless. Should’ve stayed,Then their train whistled in the distance, and he turned back to Helen, tightening his grip on her hand—wherever she was going, he would follow, and this time, they wouldn’t let anyone part them again.
