Page 21 of The Christmas Express
‘Hi, guys.’ My voice comes out timid, forced. I don’t know these people any more; how do I talk to them?
Joss, in way of reply, says, ‘Guess what? We have to check our luggage for the whole journey. Thanks for mentioning that, Bryn.’
‘Just carry-ons allowed with us in our cabins,’ explains Joe.
I nod. ‘Oh, yeah, I think I saw something about that on the website.’ I mean, I know I did because I got up at sunrise and repacked my whole bag, prioritising thermal undies, PJs, toiletries and my Kindle. Yes, and that fuzzy sweater I’ve had for years that I remember Luke liked, okay.
Joe and Joss glance at each other, silence filling the space between the three of us as she goes back to rearranging her belongings.
‘So . . . how did you both sleep?’ I croak out because I can’t bear it any longer. But before either of the siblings’ report on their overnight slumbers, the urge to turn and look behind me sweeps over, and I do so, connecting eyes with Luke.
He walks towards us, his gait slow, like he’s moving through honey and he’s not sure if it would be easier to just . . . not. He has bed head, small bags under his eyes, a knitted sweater the colour of red wine and a bulky grey jacket under his arm. I can’t look away.
Luke holds my gaze as he gets closer. We’re probably both just too sleepy to look away, but as he reaches me, he keeps going, his body stepping in close to me, into my personal space, and my breath catches.
But then his gaze drags away and he’s holding out something for Joe – a phone charger, with a travel adapter dangling from it. ‘Thanks, man,’ Joe says, and Luke steps back, distance restoring between us. Jesus.
Sara is the last to arrive, moments after Luke. She greets the group with a nod. She has her signature sunglasses on her head, a coffee in gloved hands, and appears to have already checked her suitcase. Her eyes sweep our cases. ‘I guess we have a train to catch.’
The five of us cart our bags over to the baggage desk, an uncomfortable silence stretching between us as long as one of the platforms, leaving Sara to drink her coffee. When we return, lighter, but still with precisely zero conversational skills between us, I scrunch my eyebrows. ‘No Ember yet?’
‘She’s meeting us before the train?’ Sara asks over her coffee cup.
‘Yeah, I sent her a message. It says she read it.’
‘But she didn’t answer?’ Joss sighs.
‘No, but . . . let’s give her a couple of minutes.’
Two excruciating minutes later, and the rest of them are beginning to move towards the platform. I follow, mumbling to Joe, ‘You don’t think she would have bailed on us and got a flight, do you?’
Joe shrugs. ‘Maybe she went home.’
Where are you, Ember? I stop to scour the crowd, looking for that light-blonde hair. What colour coat was she wearing yesterday?
‘Come on,’ Joss barks.
She’ll be here, she promised, she’s just running a little late. I stop. ‘I’m going to wait.’
‘Cali,’ Luke says, my name in his low voice a highlight and a heartbreak all in one. ‘We can’t miss the train.’
‘We won’t, I won’t miss it, I just don’t want her to be on her own.’
He hesitates, like he’s going to wait with me, like a hundred memories are rushing through his thoughts, but clearly the bad ones win him over, because he nods and turns away towards the direction of our platform.
I watch him go. One of the things I always loved about him – even when we were ‘just friends’ – was that I always felt like I had someone. The two of us were always there if the other needed someone to wait with them, or to listen to a venting session. He’d always help me if I needed an extra pair of hands, I’d always come and watch reality competition shows with him so he’d have someone to discuss them with. And yes, sometimes I didn’t really need his help, not strictly, and he didn’t really need to curl his already-warm body under a blanket with me on his sofa, but the flirtations were all part of our closeness.
I miss the closeness, so much.
But this is probably for the best. We don’t need to spend four days making love–hate eyes at each other across an aisle.
I dawdle for a few minutes, standing on tiptoes, checking my phone, and I’m about to give up when, thank God, there she is.
Ember strides with confidence that’s betrayed by her face as she darts her gaze around the various electronic boards, trying to figure out where to go. I call her name and wave, and after a couple of attempts, she spots me, relief softening her features, and she comes my way.
She looks really well, you know. More rested than I do. And more herself, somehow, than when I knew her back in the day.
As she draws near, I say, ‘You need to check your— Oh. You don’t have a big suitcase?’
