Stonemouth

Then it’s the night before I have to head south, then it’s that morning, and then she drives me to the station.

‘Few more people around this time,’ I say, hoisting my bag up onto my shoulder.

We walk across the car park towards the main entrance. There are little groups of people, cars and taxis turning up, and people just off the shuttle bus are still sorting out themselves and their baggage.

‘Yeah, and you didn’t need a ticket, either,’ she says.

We enter the station, the information screens and ticket barriers discordant notes amongst the crenellated mid-Victorian fussiness. I take my ticket through the turnstile. Ellie gets through the manned gate with just a smile and we join the scattered, straggled crowd on the platform beneath its curved roof of iron-framed glass, waiting for the eleven-fifteen. A few faces turn towards us.

I choose my spot on the stretch where the first-class carriages will stop, put my bag down.

‘Well,’ she says, standing looking sort of compressed, her heels together, hugging herself, her head down as though she’s staring at my bag. The weather’s turned chillier though the day is bright. She’s in boots, jeans, a blouse and fleece. She glances up and down the platform, perhaps seeing the couple of small groups of people staring at us or just furtively snatching glances then muttering something to the people they’re with. Then she looks up at me and smiles. ‘Still hate goodbyes?’

‘Doesn’t everybody?’

A quick, tight smile. ‘I suppose. I’ll just go. That okay?’

‘Yeah, I suppose.’

‘Okay. Call me from Edinburgh. See you soon.’

‘Okay,’ I tell her.

It’s an awkward goodbye kiss. We both sort of go the same way at the same time, then she almost trips over my bag, then we even seem to get our arms tangled, reaching the wrong way at the wrong time, too high, too low.

Finally, like useless teenagers, we manage a hug and and a slightly rushed kiss. She squeezes me on the arms with both hands, then turns and walks away.

I watch her go, not seeing anybody else. She strides up the platform, neatly swinging between people and groups of people, her limp almost gone now, and I think, That was a shit goodbye. We can do better than that. I lift up my bag, shoulder it again and start up the platform after her.

The train appears, coming round the tree-lined curve a couple of hundred metres away to the north: banked, slow, segmented, insectile. I see her glance in its direction, then look down again, keep on walking, arms folded.

She’s almost at the entrance into the main building and I’m about five metres behind her when I see her stop. Her shoulders drop a fraction and she seems to look away to one side, then — as if making up her mind about something — she appears to nod to herself. She straightens, becomes centimetres taller, uncrosses her arms and turns round. She takes one stride back the way she’s just come. Then she sees me, and smiles.

She holds both hands out to me. I put my bag down again and take them.

‘Yes? What?’ she says.

‘A proper kiss.’

She laughs. ‘Yeah, that one didn’t really take, did it?’

We kiss properly; slowly and deeply, my hands round her waist, hers round my neck. I think I hear somebody whistle. The platform rumbles beneath us as the front engine unit of the train noses into the station. I feel her laughing. She breaks off, says, ‘Ground’s moving.’

I take a breath, then catch it. I was about to blurt out, Come with me. But that was an idiotic thing to say five years ago, and still a mildly stupid, over-impulsive thing to say now.

She reads my hesitation. ‘What?’ she says, with just a hint of a frown, her gaze flickering over my eyes.

I shake my head. ‘I was going to say — and this isn’t a way of still suggesting it — but I was about to say, Jump on the train. Come to—’

She shakes her head, though she’s still smiling. ‘No.’

‘Yeah, I know. Wasn’t actually going to—’

‘I’ve stuff to do; driving to Peterhead to see Mum—’

‘I know, I know. I realised before I said it, it’s—’

‘It’s a romantic thought, but no.’ She takes a deep breath. ‘But, otherwise, yes. That’s what I was coming back to say. I’ve…I realise I’ve decided. I don’t need another night to sleep on it. Let’s get together. You and me. Let’s give it a go. Okay?’

‘Very okay.’ We kiss again as the train pulls screeching and squealing to a stop; a kiss that goes on until the train doors start slamming shut again. ‘Fucking brilliant okay,’ I tell her breathlessly. I can feel myself grinning from ear to ear. ‘You sure?’

‘Not entirely,’ she admits, with a quick shake of her head.

‘Still need to be convinced?’

‘I guess.’

‘I’ll do my best.’

‘Please do.’

‘See you very soon,’ I tell her.

‘Good.’

I lift up my bag again, pull her to me by the small of her back — there’s a tiny yelp — plant a smacker of a kiss on the girl, then let her go, turn and swing onto the train.