The Railway Station Man by Jennifer Johnston Page A

Hot bath. Feet up. Here you, Kevin … it is Kevin, isn’t it …? Carry that machine out to Mr Hawthorne. He’s gone to get his car. And the records. Don’t drop it for heaven’s sake … and don’t let those records get wet’
    Helen took the folded plastic bag out of the coat pocket and carefully put the two pictures back into it.
    â€˜Mad as a hatter,’ said Mary.
    â€˜Who?’
    â€˜That railway station man.’
    â€˜A grumpy bear, I’d have said. Mother had one of these. I always thought they were lovely.’ She was folding a green velvet bridge cloth with gold tassels at each corner. ‘I stole it once and wore it to a fancy-dress party. Wrapped round me like a cloak. I felt so rich. I spilled something on it, lemonade … something like that. There were ructions.’
    She put it into the box they were filling.
    â€˜I suppose people don’t play bridge with such formality any longer.’
    â€˜In and out of hospitals for years. Reggie and Anne know his people. He’s been a thorn in their flesh for years. He buys railway stations.’
    â€˜A fairly harmless thing to do, I’d have thought.’
    â€˜One thing leads to another.’
    Helen laughed. ‘Don’t be silly, Mary. He’s a harmless bad-tempered crank. You’re making him sound as if he were a homicidal maniac.’
    â€˜You just never know, dear, with the deranged when something terrible may bubble up to the surface. His family consider him to be deranged. Norfolk or somewhere like that they come from. There, I think we’ve done enough, dear. The others can cope with the final clearing-up. Just let me dispose of the cash and I’ll drive you home.’
    â€˜I have the bike, thanks.’
    â€˜You’ll get wet.’
    â€˜No matter.’
    â€˜Rain never hurt anyone.’
    â€˜So they say.’
    â€˜Run along then, dear, and thank you. See you soon. Tooraloo.’
    â€˜See you soon.’
    Helen tied a scarf around her head in the doorway before stepping out into the rain. Dismal chiaroscuro street disfigured by prosperity. What a dismal thing to think. What nobility is there in the picturesque hovel? A horn hooted as she stepped into the road. Patience, she muttered. Her bike was leaning against a concrete lamp standard. Should I get a flashy new one? Gears? Thin wheels? All that sort of thing? Keep up with the times. Or keep old faithful for ever.
    Old faithful, we’ll roam the range together.
    The horn hooted again.
    Old faithful, in every kind of weather.
    Old faithful never knew about the North West of Ireland, that was for sure.
    Damn! Hole in a sole and water seeping … now that was one of the world’s most unpleasant sensations. Water seeping across the sole of the foot, clammy tights, cold, squelch.
    â€˜Squelch.’
    â€˜I’ve been blowing the horn at you for two minutes and all you say is squelch.’
    He leaned over awkwardly and opened the door of the car. ‘Get in.’
    â€˜I …’
    â€˜It’s too wet to argue, just get in.’
    â€˜My bike …’
    He gestured impatiently with his hand. ‘In, woman. In, in, in.’ Goodbye, old faithful. She got in and closed the door.
    â€˜That’s better,’ he said. ‘I thought we might go for a drive and then I’ll leave you home.’
    â€˜It’s not a very nice day for a drive.’
    â€˜If you want to drive any day will do.’
    He did things with his feet and the car moved off.
    â€˜Perhaps you have other plans?’
    â€˜Perhaps I have.’
    â€˜I won’t eat you,’ he said gently.
    â€˜I feel I’m being kidnapped.’
    â€˜That’s right. Only temporarily though. You don’t need to be nervous. I handle a car very well.’
    She felt her face going red.
    â€˜I’m not nervous.’
    â€˜This car cost a lot of money. If I were to pass out at any moment