Eight Perfect Hours by Lia Louis

Chapter Twenty-Four

The new autumn sun is shining extra brightly today, through the misty train window, as if it knows – today is like no other for me. Today is a special day – the start of something. Today is the day that I am going to Edinburgh. Away from home. And not only that, but when I get to the other end I’ll be working as a wedding florist. Yep. Me. Noelle Butterby, florist for events and weddings. And Ed – he’ll be joining me later, helping me, staying over with me, and in a five-star hotel no less. He just needs to finish his shift at the hospital. Life. I feel like I am living life, in this moment, with everyone else.

A woman scoots onto the train, pushing down the handle of a little ruby-red suitcase at her side and placing it onto the luggage platform. She finds her seat in front of me and plugs in her earphones, sips from a coffee, the steam wisping from the little spout, leaving behind a lingering gust of sweet, orchidy perfume. I walk past these trains most days, hear them tear by in the distance as I wash up, or take out the rubbish in our tiny little cul-de-sac. And now here I am on one, and it’s taking me miles away from my little safe world and into – well, the big wide world. A life that I want. A life I always hoped I could have one day.

The train driver speaks, muffled and deep, through the tinny speaker. He talks about the route, about the refreshments carriage and about the weather, and houses speed by in a watercolour blur, and I really feel like I’m being carried away. Everything in this moment, is perfect.

At half past ten, I listen to a podcast and break open the ham sandwiches I made last night as Mum shouted things she wanted to be sure I’d packed from the other room – ‘Deodorant? Paracetamol? Oh, and how many pairs of knickers have you packed? I don’t think four is enough, Noelle. Think about what Dilly says. Always account for two accidents. An extra pair for a bug, and a pair for a hangover.’ And at quarter past eleven, three hours into the journey, a phone call cuts through my music, smack bang in the middle of listing down everything I need to do when I get to Edinburgh in my notebook with one of twelve spare pens I panic-packed.

‘Noelle, it’s me,’ Dilly’s voice speaks through the phone when I answer. ‘I’m having a fucking ’mare.’

My heart stops. ‘What? What’s happened?’

‘Van’s conked out.’

‘What?’

‘Conked out on the motorway. We’re waiting for the AA. We didn’t have any breakdown cover so we had to call them and sign up first – and then they said––’

‘Dilly, I can’t hear you.’

‘Well, I’m on the hard shoulder!’ he shouts.

‘But – but when do you think you’ll be able to get home?’

Dilly sighs noisily, as a lorry swoops past him, its horn blaring. ‘I’m sorry, Elle, but we’re still in Newcastle.’

At that, I stand up, as if to attention. A woman feeding a baby on the seat opposite, looks up at me, her baby nothing but two tiny little kicking legs beneath a white cloth. I sit back down.

‘W-What time did you set off?’ I take a deep breath, but my heart is beating like it’s running a mini marathon, like it’s going to attempt it from here, if you don’t mind, to sprint to Scotland on its own. ‘How can you still be in Newcastle?’

‘Set off about half an hour ago, I reckon. Maybe forty minutes?’

‘Dilly, it’s gone eleven.’ I’m hysterical. And I know this because I sound hysterical.

I can’t believe this. I cannot believe he would leave it this late. Mum’s on her own and she isn’t expecting to be on her own for long. Something bubbles up inside me, like hot, acidic waves. Anger. Sadness. Panic. This is what I mean. This is what I mean when I say that I feel like people don’t see me.

‘Dilly, you are supposed to be with Mum––’

‘I know, I know, but what can I do, Elle? I’m not the driver, it isn’t my van – Elle? Elle, are you there?’

I hang up, stare down at my phone, as if for an answer to this total mess. Instead, I call Ian. It goes straight to voicemail. I stare down at the screen as a ‘sorry’ comes through at the top of my screen, from Dilly – a pathetic little window that is absolutely no help or consolation. A fart in a hurricane, as they say, a drop in the ocean.

Mum is alone. Dilly is stuck. And I can’t do anything about it because I’m on a fast train to fucking Edinburgh. In Scotland. Hundreds and hundreds of miles away.

Ed.

Ed finishes soon.

I quickly type out a text for him to call me as soon as possible, then another to Ian, and another text to Dilly to tell him to call Mum and tell her not to worry, because Noelle’ll sort it. She always sorts it. And I’m ashamed when ten minutes later, Mum rings and she rings again and I watch the call taper off because I know she’ll be worried – and I don’t yet have the solution, like I always do. I stand, pace the carriage as it rockets through the countryside. I want to get off. I want to stop the train and turn back. I feel sick. I feel sick. Like I might actually need those extra sodding standby knickers.

I go into the train bathroom, yanking open the door and slamming it. I pull down the window and suck in gusts of cool, clean air. It’ll work out. Something will work out. It always does. I look out to the passing greenery, the mossy blur of bushes, the endless blue skies. I think of Sam. I always think of Sam, lately, when I don’t know what to do. When I do know what to do. All the time really. He’s always there in my head. And like the universe takes pity on me, it throws me a bone. My phone vibrates.

‘Ed.’

‘Hey, Nell,’ says Ed breezily, ‘I’m just heading to the station now. Showered at work. Got off a bit earlier––’

‘Dilly’s broken down.’

‘What?’

‘Dilly. Did you get my text? He’s in Newcastle still. Stuck on the hard shoulder.’

‘But – he said he’d be with your mum at midday––’

‘I know, but his van, with his bandmates – it’s broken down.’

‘Ah, shit,’ he exhales noisily. ‘Bummer. Look, do you need me to pick up anything?’

‘No. No, actually, I was thinking maybe you could …’ I swallow. Why does this feel so hard? Why am I nervous? It’s Ed. The love of my life apparently. Why does it feel like this, when all I’m doing is asking him for help? ‘Would you go and sit with Mum?’

Ed pauses, a painful, loaded silence. ‘What?’ I can picture his face. Stone. A face that says ‘I see not a single ounce of logic.’

‘I know, Ed, I know it’s a lot to ask, but if you head there right now then she’s got someone there from twelve, and then I can try and get hold of Ian or perhaps even Gary at number twenty-one just to––’

‘Nell, no,’ says Ed. ‘No, I’m not doing that. I’m getting on a train and I’m coming to Edinburgh with you––’

‘But I can’t keep going to Edinburgh when––’

‘—this can’t go on––’

‘But right now I need to sort something and I can’t stop this fucking train, Ed …’

I’m shouting now, and I know people must be able to hear me from the other side of the door. This mad woman who had it all together, mere minutes ago, losing it slowly in a clinical train toilet that smells like pine and cheap body spray.

‘Nell, this is a massive opportunity for you,’ says Ed, ‘you are not turning back and letting it be ruined.’

‘Please go back. Just go and sit with her.’ I’m crying now, my words shaking and pathetic.

‘No, Nell. I’m sorry. I don’t agree. And if I go, nothing ever changes, and I’ll miss my train.’

I close my eyes, lean my head against the wall behind me. A tear falls down my cheek. A montage of memories like this, echo through my mind. Ed irritated, Ed despairing of my ridiculous life. Mum and everything she did for me, when I lost my way. Her gentle hands, sponging my back in the bath, trays and trays of food brought lovingly to my bedside. She put me back together. And where was Ed? Ed was at uni, ticking his stupid, empty, bloody McDonnell boxes.

‘Noelle, I care about being there for you. This is long overdue, this is––’

My phone bleeps in my ear. Ian is calling. ‘I’ll call you back.’

I hang up before Ed can say anything else. Within five minutes, Ian is getting into his car and heading for Mum. Dropping everything, just for her.