flashing.
“Fancy,” she said.
“Wave to Pen. She’ll be mad I didn’t bring you by. Unless you want to go in?”
She shook her head—that would be too much. Maybe on her way back out of town. She didn’t want that feeling of despair and loneliness that she felt every time she thought about work to invade her here. She was here to get away from police work, from her job, her life, her mistakes. All she wanted was a quiet place to heal. And hide.
Memphis’s mobile rang and he excused himself, murmuring into the headset. Taylor watched the people of London. It felt like New York, but with bigger smiles and a British accent. Everyone looked cold; they were hurrying about, scurrying, really. It was a blustery winter day, chilly and cloudy with heavy rain expected later in the evening.
Everyone they drove past looked so nonchalant and buttoned-down. It made her feel flashy and childish. Too enthusiastic. She’d have to remember to be more subdued—physically, at least. She had the mousy quiet thing down already.
The drive to King’s Cross Station took another five minutes. The driver deposited them and their luggage at the entrance, and Memphis produced two tickets.
“We’re in first class, and we’ve got seats on the right side of the train. It’s lovely once we get up toward the border.”
The seats weren’t crazy luxurious, as Taylor expected when thinking first class and train. They were roomier than the regular seats, only four across instead of six, a few with completely separate single two-top tables. The food was better, the drinks higher quality. And less crowded; she could see into the train car behind them at the seething mass of people crowding in. One small boy caught her eye—he stuck out his tongue at her and turned into the car with his frazzled mother scooting along right behind.
The last time she’d been on a train was the Caledonian Sleeper from Inverness to London, after a rousing tour of Loch Ness with a gaggle of rowdy teenagers. She remembered purple bunk beds, stainless steel washbasins, tea and toast to soak up their evening’s excess. They’d gotten plowed on the train (thrilled to be able to say they were appropriately pissed, in the local lingo) and disembarked with legs that wouldn’t hold them properly, giggling and swaying through the train station like a mustering of newborn storks.
Things were more seemly now that she was an adult. Their seats were reserved with a small piece of paper stuck to the top. They faced one another, with a tan plastic table in the middle.
“Forward or back?” he asked.
She motioned to the forward seat. The idea of riding backward made her nauseous.
They took their places. Taylor turned her phone on so she could check her messages, was relieved to see she had none.
And sad, at the same time. It used to be she couldn’t go five minutes without a call, but now her phone sat silent and unused. Unloved. She sent Baldwin a quick, needless text that they were on their way, and stowed the phone.
The train’s doors closed. The cabin around them was full. The movement began with a gentle tug, then built into a rhythm. Quickly, a girl with a trolley came by. Taylor followed Memphis’s suggestion and ordered tea, fruit salad and a bacon sandwich. She was delighted when it showed up—the bacon was crisp, the wheat toast warm and crunchy, and the side was a large dollop of what she first thought was barbeque sauce, but quickly discovered was HP Sauce, similar, but more peppery than what she knew. It was delicious, and she immediately felt at home. Bacon and barbeque sauce in first class on a northbound train to Edinburgh. She could get used to this.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Taylor watched the green fields roll by, surprised by their verdancy, considering it was so late in the year. Wintertime, but at sea level, the constant wet kept things lush. The villages along the way were charming, even the smallest, poorest close elegant in its barrenness.
“Fancy,” she said.
“Wave to Pen. She’ll be mad I didn’t bring you by. Unless you want to go in?”
She shook her head—that would be too much. Maybe on her way back out of town. She didn’t want that feeling of despair and loneliness that she felt every time she thought about work to invade her here. She was here to get away from police work, from her job, her life, her mistakes. All she wanted was a quiet place to heal. And hide.
Memphis’s mobile rang and he excused himself, murmuring into the headset. Taylor watched the people of London. It felt like New York, but with bigger smiles and a British accent. Everyone looked cold; they were hurrying about, scurrying, really. It was a blustery winter day, chilly and cloudy with heavy rain expected later in the evening.
Everyone they drove past looked so nonchalant and buttoned-down. It made her feel flashy and childish. Too enthusiastic. She’d have to remember to be more subdued—physically, at least. She had the mousy quiet thing down already.
The drive to King’s Cross Station took another five minutes. The driver deposited them and their luggage at the entrance, and Memphis produced two tickets.
“We’re in first class, and we’ve got seats on the right side of the train. It’s lovely once we get up toward the border.”
The seats weren’t crazy luxurious, as Taylor expected when thinking first class and train. They were roomier than the regular seats, only four across instead of six, a few with completely separate single two-top tables. The food was better, the drinks higher quality. And less crowded; she could see into the train car behind them at the seething mass of people crowding in. One small boy caught her eye—he stuck out his tongue at her and turned into the car with his frazzled mother scooting along right behind.
The last time she’d been on a train was the Caledonian Sleeper from Inverness to London, after a rousing tour of Loch Ness with a gaggle of rowdy teenagers. She remembered purple bunk beds, stainless steel washbasins, tea and toast to soak up their evening’s excess. They’d gotten plowed on the train (thrilled to be able to say they were appropriately pissed, in the local lingo) and disembarked with legs that wouldn’t hold them properly, giggling and swaying through the train station like a mustering of newborn storks.
Things were more seemly now that she was an adult. Their seats were reserved with a small piece of paper stuck to the top. They faced one another, with a tan plastic table in the middle.
“Forward or back?” he asked.
She motioned to the forward seat. The idea of riding backward made her nauseous.
They took their places. Taylor turned her phone on so she could check her messages, was relieved to see she had none.
And sad, at the same time. It used to be she couldn’t go five minutes without a call, but now her phone sat silent and unused. Unloved. She sent Baldwin a quick, needless text that they were on their way, and stowed the phone.
The train’s doors closed. The cabin around them was full. The movement began with a gentle tug, then built into a rhythm. Quickly, a girl with a trolley came by. Taylor followed Memphis’s suggestion and ordered tea, fruit salad and a bacon sandwich. She was delighted when it showed up—the bacon was crisp, the wheat toast warm and crunchy, and the side was a large dollop of what she first thought was barbeque sauce, but quickly discovered was HP Sauce, similar, but more peppery than what she knew. It was delicious, and she immediately felt at home. Bacon and barbeque sauce in first class on a northbound train to Edinburgh. She could get used to this.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Taylor watched the green fields roll by, surprised by their verdancy, considering it was so late in the year. Wintertime, but at sea level, the constant wet kept things lush. The villages along the way were charming, even the smallest, poorest close elegant in its barrenness.
Similar Books
