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This was the first lesbian short story I wrote, for a writers' group I was part of at the time. It's also the only thing I've written recently that's fairly light. No pain and suffering, physical, emotional or mental, which is quite a change for me.
So...what do you think?
Captivation
I glanced out of the window as the train slowed into the station. There were only half a dozen people on the platform and she was rising from the bench right by my window. She seemed like a student – she was closing a book as she stood, a pad of paper marking her place, and it was early Sunday evening, the right time for her to be going back to uni, like me. That might have been what made me register her over the other people. That, or the violin case she picked up with her holdall. I always wanted to be musical.
She didn’t get on my carriage, but wandered a little further down the train. The violin case wasn’t that interesting and I turned back to my own book. The train whirred and shuddered away from the station, leaving a girl waving through tears and a conductor who ignored her.
The intercom welcomed everyone who had just joined this train, which would reach its destination in approximately thirty-two minutes, and reminded us to keep our personal belongings with us. Thank you. I turned the volume back up on my CD player and tried, again, to be gripped by religion and social change in Ireland. It was a challenge.
The door at the end of the carriage slammed closed loudly – guess this line didn’t have super-trains after all – and I glanced up again, expecting the ticket collector, or maybe the drinks’ trolley. It was neither.
She dropped her holdall in the luggage space by the door, but kept hold of the violin case and her notes. I would as well, having seen how much a decent violin costs. Despite not having a free hand, and the train having picked up speed, she moved gracefully down the carriage and took one of the few remaining seats, her back to me. A moment later, she, like me, was plugged into her head phones, her book open on the table.
That was that distraction over, then. Fields of cows or Irish history. I chose the history, but only just.
I tumbled off the train with the other passengers when it reached its destination, and went off to check the time for my connection. That done, I looked for a station café, thinking I could kill the twenty minute wait in there. There wasn’t one, only a window and a counter in the wall.
‘Closing in five minutes, love,’ the woman behind it informed me. When a train just got in? But there were few people about by then.
‘OK. Can I get a cup of tea, quickly?’
She heaved a long suffering sigh but obliged, even giving me a stirrer with the Virgin Trains logo on. I dragged my bag and tea back along the platform, looking for a bench, as the station apparently didn’t run to a waiting room either. I wasn’t cold, it was only April, but it was far from the most comfortable bench in history.
The tea was too sweet, with not enough milk, and I regretted not buying something to eat. And there were no bins either – as if anyone would bother to bomb a station as small as this.
The announcer’s voice interrupted my mental grumbling, and when I glanced up to listen, she was there.
Right in front of me again, studying the arrivals board, the violin case still in her hand.
The surprise froze me for a moment. I hadn’t noticed her on the platform before, although obviously she must have been there. I wondered if she was waiting for the same train as me.
Of course, I was still staring at her when she turned away from the board, and looked straight at me. Maybe she’d felt my eyes on her. She smiled at me, quickly, then picked up her bag and moved away before I could smile back.
The next train blew into the station, drowning out the end of the announcement. Several people appeared, from the walls as far as I could tell, since they hadn’t been there a moment ago, and boarded the train. Further down the platform, a small dog erupted into a fit of barking, tangling itself and its lead round the legs of the conductor as its owner tried to stop it and made things worse.
I watched, laughing, and sneaked a glance at her. She was laughing too, and she met me eyes for a second.
She was … captivating. Maybe it was the violin case, maybe it was her sudden appearance when I’d thought she was gone. But there was something about her that pulled my eyes back to her, again and again.
The lady finally managed to disentangle her dog and get it into the train, and the conductor waved it away, grumbling, before returning to his office.
Aside from him and the guy in the ticket booth, that left me and her, a couple with two young boys, an older man hiding behind The Times and two back-packers who must have been my age.
It seemed rude to sit and stare at her – desirable but still rude – and pointless to go back to my reading when the train was due in less than five minutes. I settled for studying a poster for the latest Ben Elton on the other side of the track.
Ten minutes later, I probably knew the poster better than Elton’s publicist and there was no sign of the train. The arrivals board, with typical Rail Track optimism, was still claiming than the 18.22 to Coventry was on time. That seemed a good moment to avail myself of the station’s limited facilities, especially since I’d read the Ben Elton already and it was nowhere near as good as FHM was enthusiastically claiming.
Back on the station, she was leaning against one of the pillars, reading a magazine while still holding the violin. Her position looked awkward and I wondered if she thought I might try and steal the instrument.
With much throat clearing, the announcer informed us that the train was delayed by fifteen minutes, as if that wasn’t already obvious, and would be calling at platform one in seven minutes.
Back to the bench, then, seriously beginning to wish I’d bought food, or accepted Gran’s offer to make me a sandwich or ply me with biscuits.
Five minutes later, the announcer amended the wait, adding another six minutes.
Two minutes after that, he informed us that a tree had fallen on the line a mile before the station, and the train would be delayed while they removed it. He did not suggest how long that might take; nor did he offer to reopen the coffee hatch.
Bored, I got up and wandered to the end of the platform. There was no sign of either tree or train, but maybe it was coming from the other direction. I wandered back the way I’d just come. No train the other way either, just a field and a nice hedge.
I repeated the entire process, a moment of excitement coming when the younger of the two children narrowly missed me as he ran away from his brother.
The third time I strolled towards the hedge, she looked up from her magazine. ‘Does it get better, or are you just hoping?’
‘No, just bored.’ I smiled at her and she smiled back. ‘Is your magazine good?’
She shook her head. ‘No. My sister lent it me, for the fashion tips.’ Said self deprecatingly, but I thought she looked fine. Dark blue jeans, white top and a pale pink cardigan. Not the height of fashion, but she looked good.
‘Are you being converted?’ I asked lightly.
She shook her head again. ‘I’m just not Top Shop. Their fashion sense is a mystery to me.’
‘Mm, me too. There’s no need for an 80s revival. Ever.’
That got a laugh. ‘Tell that to my sister. She rolls her eyes in despair every time she sees my jeans.’
‘Why? You look lovely.’ A little too enthusiastic for someone I’d just met, but she flushed slightly and said, ‘thank you,’ shyly.
Was I flirting with her? I wouldn’t normally have said what I’d said, but it wasn’t conscious. She didn’t seem to mind.
I wasn’t sure where to go from there, whether this was a brief exchange to pass the time and I should go, or if we were talking.
She solved it for me by saying, ‘We were on the same train, I think. Have you come far?’
Something inside me hiccupped when she said that, to know she’d noticed me as well. ‘From Blackpool, I was visiting my gran for the weekend. Hence the clothes.’ Flat black sandals, knee length skirt, short sleeved shirt, and she’d still tutted over my denim jacket. ‘What about you?’
‘Visiting a friend at another uni.’ Her face twisted slightly, as if it hadn’t been a pleasant experience, but her voice was distracting and I couldn’t think quickly enough to ask subtly. ‘I should have stayed here and studied.’
‘Oh, where do you go?’ I wasn’t sure if I wanted her to be at Warwick or not. I thought I’d have seen her there – it’s not that big – but maybe I really was drawn to the violin case, not her.
‘UCE, in Birmingham?’ I nodded. ‘Media and Communications, second year.’
‘That sounds interesting.’
‘Mm, mostly. I’m more interested in producing that journalism, so it’s good. You’re a student as well?’
‘Yeah, English Lit at Warwick.’ I was glad she wasn’t there as well; I didn’t want to have passed her by because she didn’t have the violin. I didn’t want to be only drawn by that. ‘We’re neighbours, kind of.’
It was a silly comment, but she smiled, a genuine smile as far as I could tell. ‘Neighbouring stations, at least,’ she agreed. I wondered if she was pleased by that or just being friendly.
I hoped for the former and said, ‘I’m Sara, by the way.’
‘Connie. Short for Constance.’ Half a smile, half a grimace, and I thought it seemed too old for her. I imagined her friends shortening it again, to Con. I’ve a thing for boys’ names on girls, especially girls as pretty as her, and I liked it.
For a moment we both stood, smiling at one another, searching for a way to continue the conversation. Would she break the silence if I just kept smiling, or would she walk away? I decided I didn’t want to risk finding out and asked, ‘How much longer do you think we’ll have to wait?’
She shrugged. ‘It’s annoying, to be so close to home but not actually able to get there.’
‘Mm. I guess that’s one advantage of being single, no plans to break.’ That was more deliberate than the comment about her clothes, and hardly subtle.
‘Oh, shit. You just reminded me, I’m supposed to be going to the cinema.’ She aimed a glare at the track, then dropped her magazine to fish in her pocket for her phone. ‘I’ll have to ring and tell them I won’t make it.’ She looked back at me, her expression vaguely worried. ‘Will you – I’ll be back in a minute, will you, um, wait for me?’
The awkwardness was sweet. ‘Sure. Shall I hold onto your violin?’
She glanced down at it. ‘No, it’s OK. I’ll be back in a minute.’
She wandered a little way away, dialling, her back to me. I watched her, analysing the awkwardness, and her question. I wasn’t likely to leave the station, but she’d asked me to wait; it had been important enough for her to ask. Maybe she just wanted someone to watch her stuff.
She glanced back at me, meeting my eyes and smiling. Telling the other person about me, then. I wished I could hear the words. I wondered why she was still ‘she’ in my head. I tried Connie, but it didn’t work, and I couldn’t nickname her without her permission.
‘They’ve decided they’re happy to go without me,’ she said in the same self-deprecating tone as she’d spoken of her clothes.
‘What were you supposed to see?’
‘Evelyn? With, um, Pierce Brosnan?’
‘Oh, I wanted to see that, my best friend said it was really good.’
‘Yeah, me too.’ She looked at me, and I thought, for a second…
But the train pulled in, and the conductor yelled, ‘Delayed for Coventry,’ and she stooped to collect her bag, and the second was gone.
‘Where’s your stuff?’ she asked.
‘Um…’ I glanced around, honestly no longer sure. ‘By the bench, hold on.’
She waited at the train door for me, and let me on first. It was mostly empty, the family taking the other end of the carriage. I slipped into the window seat, expecting her to follow me as the train pulled away.
Instead, she remained stood in the aisle. ‘Pass me your jacket?’ The train wasn’t that warm, but I shrugged out of it anyway, and she stowed it in the parcel rack, with her cardigan. The white top turned out to be a strappy vest, revealing a flash of a small blue star on her right shoulder as she slid in next to me.
I wanted to touch it.
‘What’s your tattoo?’ I asked, hoping she’d show me again.
‘My star?’ She twisted slightly, and looked over her shoulder to speak to me. ‘I only got it a few weeks ago. Do you like it?’
‘It’s pretty.’ She smiled. ‘What made you get it?’
‘The person I was seeing didn’t like them. I got it when we broke up.’ Her face slipped into a resigned half smile. ‘Touch it if you want, it doesn’t hurt.’
I reached out, shy, and ran one fingertip over the star. I expected to be able to feel the ink, but it was as smooth as the rest of her skin. ‘Very sexy.’ I laughed a little as I said it, just in case, but… She said person, where most people would say guy.
She twisted back, her body slightly turned into mine, and looked at me.
I felt a mix of fear and nerves in my stomach, wondering what she was going to say. ‘You look serious.’ I tried to speak lightly, but my voice sounded funny.
‘No, I was just wondering something.’ Her expression stayed serious and she didn’t continue.
The nervousness fluttered again. ‘What were you wondering?’
‘What would happen – if I kissed you.’ There was something of her awkwardness on the station in that pause, like maybe she was nervous too.
‘Maybe you should try it and see,’ I whispered.
Her expression melted into a tiny smile, and she reached out her hand, her fingertips light on my face. She tilted my head slightly, and kissed me.
A soft, gentle kiss, but the world faded out, shrank down to her lips against mine, her hand on my face, and I kissed her back and everything blurred. My hand on her shoulder, the tip of her tongue on my bottom lip, a curl twisted round my finger, her hand sliding across my throat, the skin under her shirt, her touch tingling over me -
‘Ahem. Excuse me, ladies, can I see your tickets?’ The voice intruded sharply and I opened my eyes.
Her hand was inside my bra.
Awareness flooded back, and we pulled apart, fumbling for our tickets. I held mine out first. ‘Sorry.’
He clipped it with disapproval. ‘There are young children in here, girls.’
‘We were only kissing!’ Not that I suppose I really expected anything else.
He glanced down at me, then back to my face; the top buttons of my shirt were open, showing the lace of my bra. Maybe he had a point.
He handed Con’s ticket back to her and moved away.
‘So,’ I asked lightly, ‘was that what you were expecting to happen?’
She smiled. ‘Without the interruption though.’ She brushed a strand of hair back from my face and behind my ear. My skin tingled under her finger and I sighed.
‘Why did you kiss me?’ I wasn’t sure I wanted the answer, if this was just a thing to pass the time on a boring train journey. I wanted to kiss her again.
‘I wanted to.’ Con left her hand on the edge of my jaw. ‘I kind of like you.’ She paused, then: ‘why did you kiss me back?’
Her touch, like her voice, was distracting. ‘The violin.’ She frowned slightly. ‘On the station, I noticed your violin and then I couldn’t stop staring at you.’
That wasn’t the reason, not exactly, but I couldn’t explain that I found her captivating, something like magic holding me to her.
‘Interesting.’ Con nudged the violin case with her foot. ‘I’ll carry it around more if it’ll attract girls like you.’ She was smiling, but that frightened me. I didn’t want to imagine not seeing her again.
‘Do you want to?’ I asked quietly.
Her expression turned serious. ‘No. I wouldn’t mind meeting you again though.’
I felt my face heat up with a mix of embarrassment and pleasure. I ducked my head to hide it, and realised my shirt was still open.
Con’s hands brushed mine away. ‘Ill do it.’ She bent her head, as though she was having trouble seeing the buttons, and then she kissed the slope of my breast, lightly.
‘Con,’ I murmured, the nickname slipping out without thought.
She looked up again, tilting her head. ‘Con? No-one calls me that.’
‘Do you like it?’
‘Yeah.’ Her face scrunched like a happy baby; I decided it was time I moved first, leaned forward and kissed her. She kissed back and things started to fade again.
Maybe she was magical.
‘This train will shortly be stopping at Birmingham International. Birmingham International, our next stop.’
‘Don’t think they approve of us,’ I laughed as we separated.
Con was reaching for her phone. ‘Give me your number, this is my stop. In case you’re passing through again.’
I rattled it off, fastening my forgotten buttons as I did. ‘Put yours in my phone as well.’
She put Con.
‘I wondered, if you might be passing through Coventry next Friday?’ I asked tentatively. Even after what she’d said, I wasn’t sure how far she wanted to take this. ‘I was, er, thinking of going to see Evelyn.’
The train was slowing into the station. Con started to gather her things.
‘Will you come then?’ I suppose I was panicking. ‘I can meet your train.’
She kissed me again, quickly. ‘I’ll call tomorrow with a time. Will you walk me to the door?’
She took my hand as we made our way down the carriage. The conductor held the door for her to step out, but she didn’t let go.
‘Sara, listen.’ She spoke quickly – the stop at International is never long. ‘The violin isn’t mine, my ex borrowed it off my sister and I went this weekend to get it.’ Her voice was urgent, serious.
I pictured her on the station where I’d first seen her, then erased the violin case. The picture didn’t stick though. Con’s tense face and the impatient conductor slipped through.
I lifted her hand and kissed it. ‘I thought you were captivating,’ I told her. ‘That was why I kissed you.’
The conductor finally lost his patience and slammed the door between us, nearly trapping our hands as we let go, but I still saw her smile. ‘See you Friday,’ she called.
Con waved until the train went out of her sight.
I watched her.
copyright 2005
So...what do you think?
Captivation
I glanced out of the window as the train slowed into the station. There were only half a dozen people on the platform and she was rising from the bench right by my window. She seemed like a student – she was closing a book as she stood, a pad of paper marking her place, and it was early Sunday evening, the right time for her to be going back to uni, like me. That might have been what made me register her over the other people. That, or the violin case she picked up with her holdall. I always wanted to be musical.
She didn’t get on my carriage, but wandered a little further down the train. The violin case wasn’t that interesting and I turned back to my own book. The train whirred and shuddered away from the station, leaving a girl waving through tears and a conductor who ignored her.
The intercom welcomed everyone who had just joined this train, which would reach its destination in approximately thirty-two minutes, and reminded us to keep our personal belongings with us. Thank you. I turned the volume back up on my CD player and tried, again, to be gripped by religion and social change in Ireland. It was a challenge.
The door at the end of the carriage slammed closed loudly – guess this line didn’t have super-trains after all – and I glanced up again, expecting the ticket collector, or maybe the drinks’ trolley. It was neither.
She dropped her holdall in the luggage space by the door, but kept hold of the violin case and her notes. I would as well, having seen how much a decent violin costs. Despite not having a free hand, and the train having picked up speed, she moved gracefully down the carriage and took one of the few remaining seats, her back to me. A moment later, she, like me, was plugged into her head phones, her book open on the table.
That was that distraction over, then. Fields of cows or Irish history. I chose the history, but only just.
I tumbled off the train with the other passengers when it reached its destination, and went off to check the time for my connection. That done, I looked for a station café, thinking I could kill the twenty minute wait in there. There wasn’t one, only a window and a counter in the wall.
‘Closing in five minutes, love,’ the woman behind it informed me. When a train just got in? But there were few people about by then.
‘OK. Can I get a cup of tea, quickly?’
She heaved a long suffering sigh but obliged, even giving me a stirrer with the Virgin Trains logo on. I dragged my bag and tea back along the platform, looking for a bench, as the station apparently didn’t run to a waiting room either. I wasn’t cold, it was only April, but it was far from the most comfortable bench in history.
The tea was too sweet, with not enough milk, and I regretted not buying something to eat. And there were no bins either – as if anyone would bother to bomb a station as small as this.
The announcer’s voice interrupted my mental grumbling, and when I glanced up to listen, she was there.
Right in front of me again, studying the arrivals board, the violin case still in her hand.
The surprise froze me for a moment. I hadn’t noticed her on the platform before, although obviously she must have been there. I wondered if she was waiting for the same train as me.
Of course, I was still staring at her when she turned away from the board, and looked straight at me. Maybe she’d felt my eyes on her. She smiled at me, quickly, then picked up her bag and moved away before I could smile back.
The next train blew into the station, drowning out the end of the announcement. Several people appeared, from the walls as far as I could tell, since they hadn’t been there a moment ago, and boarded the train. Further down the platform, a small dog erupted into a fit of barking, tangling itself and its lead round the legs of the conductor as its owner tried to stop it and made things worse.
I watched, laughing, and sneaked a glance at her. She was laughing too, and she met me eyes for a second.
She was … captivating. Maybe it was the violin case, maybe it was her sudden appearance when I’d thought she was gone. But there was something about her that pulled my eyes back to her, again and again.
The lady finally managed to disentangle her dog and get it into the train, and the conductor waved it away, grumbling, before returning to his office.
Aside from him and the guy in the ticket booth, that left me and her, a couple with two young boys, an older man hiding behind The Times and two back-packers who must have been my age.
It seemed rude to sit and stare at her – desirable but still rude – and pointless to go back to my reading when the train was due in less than five minutes. I settled for studying a poster for the latest Ben Elton on the other side of the track.
Ten minutes later, I probably knew the poster better than Elton’s publicist and there was no sign of the train. The arrivals board, with typical Rail Track optimism, was still claiming than the 18.22 to Coventry was on time. That seemed a good moment to avail myself of the station’s limited facilities, especially since I’d read the Ben Elton already and it was nowhere near as good as FHM was enthusiastically claiming.
Back on the station, she was leaning against one of the pillars, reading a magazine while still holding the violin. Her position looked awkward and I wondered if she thought I might try and steal the instrument.
With much throat clearing, the announcer informed us that the train was delayed by fifteen minutes, as if that wasn’t already obvious, and would be calling at platform one in seven minutes.
Back to the bench, then, seriously beginning to wish I’d bought food, or accepted Gran’s offer to make me a sandwich or ply me with biscuits.
Five minutes later, the announcer amended the wait, adding another six minutes.
Two minutes after that, he informed us that a tree had fallen on the line a mile before the station, and the train would be delayed while they removed it. He did not suggest how long that might take; nor did he offer to reopen the coffee hatch.
Bored, I got up and wandered to the end of the platform. There was no sign of either tree or train, but maybe it was coming from the other direction. I wandered back the way I’d just come. No train the other way either, just a field and a nice hedge.
I repeated the entire process, a moment of excitement coming when the younger of the two children narrowly missed me as he ran away from his brother.
The third time I strolled towards the hedge, she looked up from her magazine. ‘Does it get better, or are you just hoping?’
‘No, just bored.’ I smiled at her and she smiled back. ‘Is your magazine good?’
She shook her head. ‘No. My sister lent it me, for the fashion tips.’ Said self deprecatingly, but I thought she looked fine. Dark blue jeans, white top and a pale pink cardigan. Not the height of fashion, but she looked good.
‘Are you being converted?’ I asked lightly.
She shook her head again. ‘I’m just not Top Shop. Their fashion sense is a mystery to me.’
‘Mm, me too. There’s no need for an 80s revival. Ever.’
That got a laugh. ‘Tell that to my sister. She rolls her eyes in despair every time she sees my jeans.’
‘Why? You look lovely.’ A little too enthusiastic for someone I’d just met, but she flushed slightly and said, ‘thank you,’ shyly.
Was I flirting with her? I wouldn’t normally have said what I’d said, but it wasn’t conscious. She didn’t seem to mind.
I wasn’t sure where to go from there, whether this was a brief exchange to pass the time and I should go, or if we were talking.
She solved it for me by saying, ‘We were on the same train, I think. Have you come far?’
Something inside me hiccupped when she said that, to know she’d noticed me as well. ‘From Blackpool, I was visiting my gran for the weekend. Hence the clothes.’ Flat black sandals, knee length skirt, short sleeved shirt, and she’d still tutted over my denim jacket. ‘What about you?’
‘Visiting a friend at another uni.’ Her face twisted slightly, as if it hadn’t been a pleasant experience, but her voice was distracting and I couldn’t think quickly enough to ask subtly. ‘I should have stayed here and studied.’
‘Oh, where do you go?’ I wasn’t sure if I wanted her to be at Warwick or not. I thought I’d have seen her there – it’s not that big – but maybe I really was drawn to the violin case, not her.
‘UCE, in Birmingham?’ I nodded. ‘Media and Communications, second year.’
‘That sounds interesting.’
‘Mm, mostly. I’m more interested in producing that journalism, so it’s good. You’re a student as well?’
‘Yeah, English Lit at Warwick.’ I was glad she wasn’t there as well; I didn’t want to have passed her by because she didn’t have the violin. I didn’t want to be only drawn by that. ‘We’re neighbours, kind of.’
It was a silly comment, but she smiled, a genuine smile as far as I could tell. ‘Neighbouring stations, at least,’ she agreed. I wondered if she was pleased by that or just being friendly.
I hoped for the former and said, ‘I’m Sara, by the way.’
‘Connie. Short for Constance.’ Half a smile, half a grimace, and I thought it seemed too old for her. I imagined her friends shortening it again, to Con. I’ve a thing for boys’ names on girls, especially girls as pretty as her, and I liked it.
For a moment we both stood, smiling at one another, searching for a way to continue the conversation. Would she break the silence if I just kept smiling, or would she walk away? I decided I didn’t want to risk finding out and asked, ‘How much longer do you think we’ll have to wait?’
She shrugged. ‘It’s annoying, to be so close to home but not actually able to get there.’
‘Mm. I guess that’s one advantage of being single, no plans to break.’ That was more deliberate than the comment about her clothes, and hardly subtle.
‘Oh, shit. You just reminded me, I’m supposed to be going to the cinema.’ She aimed a glare at the track, then dropped her magazine to fish in her pocket for her phone. ‘I’ll have to ring and tell them I won’t make it.’ She looked back at me, her expression vaguely worried. ‘Will you – I’ll be back in a minute, will you, um, wait for me?’
The awkwardness was sweet. ‘Sure. Shall I hold onto your violin?’
She glanced down at it. ‘No, it’s OK. I’ll be back in a minute.’
She wandered a little way away, dialling, her back to me. I watched her, analysing the awkwardness, and her question. I wasn’t likely to leave the station, but she’d asked me to wait; it had been important enough for her to ask. Maybe she just wanted someone to watch her stuff.
She glanced back at me, meeting my eyes and smiling. Telling the other person about me, then. I wished I could hear the words. I wondered why she was still ‘she’ in my head. I tried Connie, but it didn’t work, and I couldn’t nickname her without her permission.
‘They’ve decided they’re happy to go without me,’ she said in the same self-deprecating tone as she’d spoken of her clothes.
‘What were you supposed to see?’
‘Evelyn? With, um, Pierce Brosnan?’
‘Oh, I wanted to see that, my best friend said it was really good.’
‘Yeah, me too.’ She looked at me, and I thought, for a second…
But the train pulled in, and the conductor yelled, ‘Delayed for Coventry,’ and she stooped to collect her bag, and the second was gone.
‘Where’s your stuff?’ she asked.
‘Um…’ I glanced around, honestly no longer sure. ‘By the bench, hold on.’
She waited at the train door for me, and let me on first. It was mostly empty, the family taking the other end of the carriage. I slipped into the window seat, expecting her to follow me as the train pulled away.
Instead, she remained stood in the aisle. ‘Pass me your jacket?’ The train wasn’t that warm, but I shrugged out of it anyway, and she stowed it in the parcel rack, with her cardigan. The white top turned out to be a strappy vest, revealing a flash of a small blue star on her right shoulder as she slid in next to me.
I wanted to touch it.
‘What’s your tattoo?’ I asked, hoping she’d show me again.
‘My star?’ She twisted slightly, and looked over her shoulder to speak to me. ‘I only got it a few weeks ago. Do you like it?’
‘It’s pretty.’ She smiled. ‘What made you get it?’
‘The person I was seeing didn’t like them. I got it when we broke up.’ Her face slipped into a resigned half smile. ‘Touch it if you want, it doesn’t hurt.’
I reached out, shy, and ran one fingertip over the star. I expected to be able to feel the ink, but it was as smooth as the rest of her skin. ‘Very sexy.’ I laughed a little as I said it, just in case, but… She said person, where most people would say guy.
She twisted back, her body slightly turned into mine, and looked at me.
I felt a mix of fear and nerves in my stomach, wondering what she was going to say. ‘You look serious.’ I tried to speak lightly, but my voice sounded funny.
‘No, I was just wondering something.’ Her expression stayed serious and she didn’t continue.
The nervousness fluttered again. ‘What were you wondering?’
‘What would happen – if I kissed you.’ There was something of her awkwardness on the station in that pause, like maybe she was nervous too.
‘Maybe you should try it and see,’ I whispered.
Her expression melted into a tiny smile, and she reached out her hand, her fingertips light on my face. She tilted my head slightly, and kissed me.
A soft, gentle kiss, but the world faded out, shrank down to her lips against mine, her hand on my face, and I kissed her back and everything blurred. My hand on her shoulder, the tip of her tongue on my bottom lip, a curl twisted round my finger, her hand sliding across my throat, the skin under her shirt, her touch tingling over me -
‘Ahem. Excuse me, ladies, can I see your tickets?’ The voice intruded sharply and I opened my eyes.
Her hand was inside my bra.
Awareness flooded back, and we pulled apart, fumbling for our tickets. I held mine out first. ‘Sorry.’
He clipped it with disapproval. ‘There are young children in here, girls.’
‘We were only kissing!’ Not that I suppose I really expected anything else.
He glanced down at me, then back to my face; the top buttons of my shirt were open, showing the lace of my bra. Maybe he had a point.
He handed Con’s ticket back to her and moved away.
‘So,’ I asked lightly, ‘was that what you were expecting to happen?’
She smiled. ‘Without the interruption though.’ She brushed a strand of hair back from my face and behind my ear. My skin tingled under her finger and I sighed.
‘Why did you kiss me?’ I wasn’t sure I wanted the answer, if this was just a thing to pass the time on a boring train journey. I wanted to kiss her again.
‘I wanted to.’ Con left her hand on the edge of my jaw. ‘I kind of like you.’ She paused, then: ‘why did you kiss me back?’
Her touch, like her voice, was distracting. ‘The violin.’ She frowned slightly. ‘On the station, I noticed your violin and then I couldn’t stop staring at you.’
That wasn’t the reason, not exactly, but I couldn’t explain that I found her captivating, something like magic holding me to her.
‘Interesting.’ Con nudged the violin case with her foot. ‘I’ll carry it around more if it’ll attract girls like you.’ She was smiling, but that frightened me. I didn’t want to imagine not seeing her again.
‘Do you want to?’ I asked quietly.
Her expression turned serious. ‘No. I wouldn’t mind meeting you again though.’
I felt my face heat up with a mix of embarrassment and pleasure. I ducked my head to hide it, and realised my shirt was still open.
Con’s hands brushed mine away. ‘Ill do it.’ She bent her head, as though she was having trouble seeing the buttons, and then she kissed the slope of my breast, lightly.
‘Con,’ I murmured, the nickname slipping out without thought.
She looked up again, tilting her head. ‘Con? No-one calls me that.’
‘Do you like it?’
‘Yeah.’ Her face scrunched like a happy baby; I decided it was time I moved first, leaned forward and kissed her. She kissed back and things started to fade again.
Maybe she was magical.
‘This train will shortly be stopping at Birmingham International. Birmingham International, our next stop.’
‘Don’t think they approve of us,’ I laughed as we separated.
Con was reaching for her phone. ‘Give me your number, this is my stop. In case you’re passing through again.’
I rattled it off, fastening my forgotten buttons as I did. ‘Put yours in my phone as well.’
She put Con.
‘I wondered, if you might be passing through Coventry next Friday?’ I asked tentatively. Even after what she’d said, I wasn’t sure how far she wanted to take this. ‘I was, er, thinking of going to see Evelyn.’
The train was slowing into the station. Con started to gather her things.
‘Will you come then?’ I suppose I was panicking. ‘I can meet your train.’
She kissed me again, quickly. ‘I’ll call tomorrow with a time. Will you walk me to the door?’
She took my hand as we made our way down the carriage. The conductor held the door for her to step out, but she didn’t let go.
‘Sara, listen.’ She spoke quickly – the stop at International is never long. ‘The violin isn’t mine, my ex borrowed it off my sister and I went this weekend to get it.’ Her voice was urgent, serious.
I pictured her on the station where I’d first seen her, then erased the violin case. The picture didn’t stick though. Con’s tense face and the impatient conductor slipped through.
I lifted her hand and kissed it. ‘I thought you were captivating,’ I told her. ‘That was why I kissed you.’
The conductor finally lost his patience and slammed the door between us, nearly trapping our hands as we let go, but I still saw her smile. ‘See you Friday,’ she called.
Con waved until the train went out of her sight.
I watched her.
copyright 2005
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