Page 47 of The Last Train Home
But he reins himself back in. ‘Look, I’ve not even applied yet. I’ve been thinking about it since we spoke about it the other week, but I didn’t want to pursue it until I thought it might actually work for us. I’ve had a brief look, and there’s a few jobs that look good. Why don’t you see what’s out there and we’ll talk about it another day? If you think you could move countries with me, for a while – not for ever, obviously – I’ll start applying for some jobs.’
I breathe in hard, exhale. ‘OK,’ I agree. ‘I’ll have a good look online and … wow, we might be moving to another country.’
Sean moves in to kiss me, and I kiss him back. I’m still too stunned to do anything else.
‘Singapore?’ Natasha says one evening while we’re enjoying drinks on our balcony. I’ve not been at the flat in about a week, so I thought I needed to put in an appearance. Our deal, that I’d be on reduced rent in exchange for making sure Natasha eats all her vegetables, has backfired on both of us.
I’m relaxed, sitting here with my best friend, and that’s when it often happens: flashbacks of that night, as a whoosh of bright light enters my mind. And then it’s replaced bydarkness. I flinch at the sudden memory of the train derailment that I’ve allowed to enter my brain, then close my eyes and count to five. I thought these flashbacks would have eased off a bit more, given that it’s been almost a year since that night on the train.
Natasha sees my reaction. ‘You OK?’ she asks.
I swallow, my mouth dry. ‘Yep,’ I say.
The sun is retreating behind the horizon and we’re sticking it out until the bitter end. I pull my cardigan closer around me. Summer’s coming to a close. But things always end.
And new things begin.
‘Singapore,’ I repeat. ‘I think Sean’s really keen. And I think I am too.’
‘It’s nice there,’ Natasha says, still watching me warily to check I’m OK. ‘I was there for a fortnight for work a couple of years back and decided I could very easily live there.’
‘Really?’ I ask. And Natasha tells me more. Although I think, at this point, I need very little encouragement. I have spent hours on expat forums looking at advice, and on tourism websites staring at the white colonial buildings, the beautiful hotels and bars, the rooftop nightclubs, the museums, the restaurants. It looks like Singapore knows how to eat well. And then, when I’d satisfied my idle curiosity, I realised it was no longer idle curiosity. And I went on jobs forums and looked into how much I could earn, and explored editorial jobs in magazines and supplements. I got carried away, set up an account with a recruitment website and started adding jobs to my favourites list. I think even Sean hasn’t made this step yet.
‘I haven’t told Sean I’m on board with this idea yet, though,’ I tell Natasha. ‘He’s been patient and hasn’t evenmentioned it once, although I can tell he’s itching to talk to me about it. It’s been a fortnight since we spoke about moving there together and he’s been out at work functions, and so have I.’
‘You’ve been thinking about moving to Singapore for a fortnight?’ she asks. ‘And you’ve not told me?’
‘I just wanted to be sure before I said anything.’
‘But you’re sure now?’ she asks. And then, ‘Oh, crap, I haven’t thought this through. My best friend is moving away.’
‘Possibly moving away,’ I clarify.
‘No, it’s awful in Singapore,’ she says. ‘You don’t want to go, actually. Nasty place. Horrific. Big mistake. Stay here with me in our flat for ever.’
‘I’m hardly ever here anyway,’ I reason.
She nods. ‘Neither am I much, really.’
‘I’ll miss you,’ I say.
‘I’ll miss you too.’
I’ve decided I am going to say yes to Sean’s idea. And then he’s going to start applying for jobs or putting in for a transfer and, once that wheel is in motion, he’ll be unstoppable. Perhaps I’ll tell him tomorrow, so I can enjoy one last day of calm before the storm begins.
Chapter 33
Tom
November 2006
‘It’s your turn,’ Samantha says as I hear Teddy crank up on the baby monitor. He’s upstairs in a crib in our room and we’re downstairs trying to watch a rerun ofGoldenEye. I don’t think either of us is really into it. We know we get a good ten-minute run in and then Teddy will cry again. It puts us both on edge, never quite able to settle in, relax.
‘I don’t know why we don’t leave him down here with us in the evenings. I could hold him on my chest, if you don’t want to,’ I say as I stand to go and fetch our son. ‘Or we could pop him in a Moses basket.’
‘Because he needs stability and routine,’ Samantha says.
‘He needs to feed off your boobs,’ I retort. ‘And they’re down here and he’s up there.’
