Page 27 of Take a Moment

Though I’m following quite a committed ‘healthy living’ plan, I can sense a longing for that celebratory feeling. It feels quite fitting right now. I’m certainly viewing this move as an achievement and a new adventure. My neurology consultant didn’t expressly forbid alcohol either. He suggested I limit my intake and apply common sense, particularly when I experience symptoms like balance issues that might be made worse by alcohol. I decide that one drink isn’t going to do me any harm.

Once she’s finished with the other passengers, the jolly woman turns towards me. ‘Anything to drink, madam?’

‘Yes, please. Could I have a gin and tonic? Actually, can I be cheeky and ask for two cans of tonic so it’s not as strong?’

‘Of course. Good choice, gin.’ She dumps some ice and lemon in a plastic tumbler and places it in front of me on a paper coaster. ‘You go home or away?’

‘Sorry?’ I blink at her. I’m certainly not going to be opting for takeaway.

‘Home or away? Holiday, business or go home?’

‘Oh… I’m…’ I realise I don’t know how to answer. ‘I don’t know. I’ve just left home. But I’m moving to Birmingham today, so I guess I’m going to my new home.’

‘You have two home. Like me. I have home in Hungary, but also now here in UK. Enjoy.’

She places a miniature bottle of gin and two cans of tonic water in front of me, along with an equally miniature packet of crisps. Then she releases the brake on her drinks cart and moves along the carriage to the next table.

Alone once more, I pour my drink and just sit for a moment, watching the bubbles dance in the plastic cup. Two homes? I never really considered the question of ‘home’ in my decision to move. But one thing is clear: home is where you feel comfortable and safe. At the moment neither Glasgow nor Birmingham can tick both those boxes. I’ve just got to hope that Birmingham will – and right now I feel positive about that.

By the time we’re approaching Oxenholme station, I’m tentatively anticipating the arrival of my tablemate and sincerely hoping they won’t be incredibly annoying. I’ve also had an enjoyable lunch of a chicken and chorizo flatbread, paired with my ‘long’ gin and tonic, and I’m feeling quite chipper. My drink has very much added the air of celebration I was seeking to my trip. But it has also depleted my attention span, causing me to cast aside my book in search of something more interactive.

I pick up my phone and start scrolling through Twitter. I’m in the process of commenting on someone’s rather unfortunate encounter with an overzealous sheep at a petting zoo, grinning to myself as I do, when a voice comes from above me.

‘You look like you’re enjoying yourself.’

I half-glance up to see that my tablemate has arrived. He appears to be squeezing a hiker’s style backpack into the luggage rack overhead.

‘Oh, hello,’ I greet him briefly, unable to drag myself away from my Twitter discussions.

I continue to dip in and out of various discussion threads, some funny, some political, some involving more emotive and important issues like mental health. As I do, I become aware that my now seated tablemate is watching me. I look up from typing a tweet in support of an environmental activist group, and my breath catches in my throat. It’s the Brummie man from the train all those months ago.

‘We meet again.’ He smiles warmly at me and my senses feel like they’ve taken a dive into a cake mixer.

I remember him being quite attractive. He’s not. He’s absolutely bloody gorgeous. His well-manicured beard gives him a look not dissimilar to Dom’s, but those dark chocolate eyes paired with his chestnut hair and that bone structure take him to a whole other level. He’s also wearing trendy outdoorsy gear that makes him look like Bear Grylls. It certainly explains the athletic physique: about right for someone who evidently hikes in the Lake District.

I set my phone down on the table in front of me and try to breathe normally. ‘We do indeed.’

‘How are you? How’s the career going?’

It’s an obvious conversation starter, given where we left off before, but with my changing circumstances, I’m not keen to chat about myself.

‘It’s… fine. I’m fine. And you? You’ve been hiking, I assume?’

‘Sure have. Three days, three peaks. Just ticked Scafell Pike, Helvellyn and Old Man of Coniston off my list.’

‘Right… I’ve heard of Scafell Pike. But not the others.’

‘They’re the three highest peaks in the Lake District.’

‘Gosh, you’re keen.’

‘Can’t get enough of the outdoors.’ He gazes longingly out the window at the hills and woods scooting past. ‘I’d live in a tent on a mountainside if it weren’t so impractical.’

‘The commute would certainly be a bit of a bitch.’ I smile at him and he chuckles in amusement. ‘I’ve never done the full-on hiking thing.’

‘You should try it. Once you get a taste, you’ll never go back. Promise you.’

‘Not sure I’m a stay-in-a-tent-with-no-running-water-and-pee-outside-in-the-middle-of-the-night kind of girl.’

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