Away Day

Many people have to travel for business. Best advice is: don't leave home... unless you have a good reason to go back.

(First published in Runshaw Writers' Write Lines magazine)

Just another commuter, Lizzy thought, as she stood at the barrier, collecting tickets. Everyone in London always in a hurry. Never time to stop and exchange pleasantries. Pity – he had a certain look about him she liked.

" ‘Morning," he said, courteously. "This is Farringdon Underground station, isn’t it?"

Ah, she thought, not local. "Big city, isn’t it?"

"Vast," he replied, struggling with briefcase and unnecessary raincoat as he passed her his ticket.

That settled it – definitely a Lanky accent. Like her Dad’s. "This is the wrong ticket," she said, patiently.

"How much more is it? I’ve got a job interview at half past. I’ve only come from Euston."

It flashed through her mind how her Dad had "got on his bike" and come down to London from the Northwest looking for work in the Eighties, and had never gone back. "You’ve given me given me your Virgin Day Return ticket – you’ll be wanting this back. It’s your Underground ticket I need to see."

He swapped the ticket for the Virgin Return to Wigan North Western. "You see, this job means a lot to me if I get it and I’m running late. I’ll have to be fast."

"This is the right ticket," she said.

He thanked her then sprinted for the station exit.

He sprinted back a moment later. "You couldn’t tell me where Saffron Hill is, could you?"

She told him.

"Thank you – must dash."

He was back within the hour. His pace was rather more measured but he seemed no less agitated. "Excuse me."

"Yes?"

"I – I’m awfully sorry, I don’t even know your name."

"Lizzy."

"Nice to meet you. I’m Arnold. Lizzy, I was wondering if I could ask you a favour."

"Well… I get off in half an hour so you might be lucky," she grinned. She was kidding with him, but wasn’t quite sure he realised.

"Oh. Ah. That’s jolly kind of you. Thank you. You have a nice laugh. But what I really wanted to say was – I don’t suppose by any chance anyone has handed in a Virgin Day Return ticket, have they?"

"You mean this one?" She held up the little card. "You must have dropped it before. I didn’t notice it till you’d gone."

"Yes, that’s it…"

Lizzy noticed that her customer had suddenly gone rather quiet, as if a final burden of anxiety had been taken from him. But not in a good way. "I expect you’ll be down South here again before long."

He hesitated. "I wouldn’t bet on it."

"Oh? Why’s that?"

"I don’t think the interview went that well. In fact, not awfully well at all."

"You can always hope," she said.

"I think when they say, ‘We don’t want you, you’re not adequately qualified and you don’t have the necessary experience,’ it’s hard to take it as a good sign."

"Oh," she said. She looked him up and down. He was about her age, clean-cut – smartly dressed, if a little crumpled. Did he really want to come and live down here? If her father hadn’t come South, would she herself have moved anyway? She could imagine Arnold, setting out that morning neat and tidy and eager, hopeful and optimistic. Now all he had was a return ticket and a long journey home. "You’ll be going back to Euston then?"

"With these Away-Day tickets or whatever they’re called, you can only travel on certain trains. The return is not till early this evening. I was expecting the interview to last a little longer. I suppose I’ll just have to find a way to pass a few hours."

She studied him again. "You know," she said, "I wasn’t joking when I said I was getting off-duty. Perhaps I could join you. How does Kew Gardens take your fancy?"

"I was hoping you’d suggest something, I didn’t like to ask."



They had explored the hot-houses of white-painted wrought iron and glass with their exotic foliage, climbed the spiral stair cases up to the walkways just below the roof, and looked down on the succulent fronds, while exchanging idle chit-chat that had been about nothing, yet told each everything that needed to be known by the other. Now, sated and not a little tired, they went outside.

"You’re a Lancashire lad, aren’t you?"

"How d’you mean?" Arnold said.

"‘Vast, pass, dash, laugh,’" she recited.

"What on Earth are you talking about?" Arnold was puzzled.

She burst into giggles. "No Southerner would pronounced them the way you do!"

"Really?"

"No – it’d be all ‘Varst, parss, darsh and larf!’ You say them proper, like me Dad.

"In that case, he grinned, "let’s sit on the grass."

"I like coming here," Lizzy announced, gazing at the parkland as if it were her own private garden. "Me Dad grew up in the country, so he said."

"I like countryside. Do you?"

"When I can get to it. Either here or Richmond Park. That’s almost real countryside."

He rolled on his side to look at her. "I suppose so. I’ve never been. But isn’t it still inside London?"

"It feels like countryside. I once saw a deer. Don’t tell me Wigan is countryside."

"I don’t live in Wigan."

"Where do you live, then?"

"It’s a village, outside. Called Appley Bridge."

"What’s that like? Is that countryside?"

"Oh yes," said, turning away. "It’s in a beautiful river valley, full of fields and trees. I live in a small old house near the Leeds and Liverpool canal. I bet you’d love it."

She looked round at the park, with its strolling visitors and pathways and its feeling of being ersatz – familiar, totally explored and well-trodden by countless feet. Not wild and strange and fresh. "Why do you want to move down here then?"

"Job, career, prospects… Don’t know really."

"You mean – it’s someone else’s idea of what’d make you happy."

He considered her remark. "You’re probably right, Lizzy. In fact, now you mention it, I’m sure you’re right!" It was as if an epiphany had befallen him. "I don’t want to move down to London at all! It’s just a big sprawling city that some people think is important. There are other important things." He stopped, as if another thought had struck him. "But you live down here."

"Why should that matter?"

"Well…"

"Yes?" she teezed.

"I wouldn’t like the thought of not seeing you again. Meeting you has been the nicest thing that’s happened to me today. The nicest thing in a long time."

"What a sweet thing to say," she said, making fun of his grave tone. Then, herself, more serious: "In fact – actually – Arnold, this has been the nicest day I’ve had for a long time, too."

He plucked a green stem from the lawn. "Oh, Lizzy," he said, mock-serious. "What are we going to do?"



Euston Concourse, early evening. People bustling over the black rubber tiles, heaving luggage, dragging reluctant children, staring nervously at the annunciator board, checking arrivals and departures.

"Tickets, sir?" said the inspector at the gate.

"Here," said Arnold. "One return…" he turned and took Lizzy’s hand. "And one single."

The End