Hello Stranger

They coincided.

She shifted her knees and flicked a gaze up at me every time they moved, and I felt it.

She was nervous again. A sweet little bag of nerves beginning her day.

I wanted to say something. I wanted to ask her how her evening had gone, and what she was reading today.

I wanted to ask her where she was going, and why she always seemed to look like the grinning centre of a hurricane, bounding between platforms.

I said nothing. Just kept my gaze steady on my pages and kept them turning.

I kept my gaze steady on my pages past the line of oak trees beyond the Sunnydale viaduct, and the corner shop sign with its fresh newspaper headline on Callow road, and the five red doorways along the station at Wenton.

I kept my gaze steady on my pages while the woman tapping on her phone stepped onboard at Eastworth, and while the man with the messy blond beard at Newstone cursed under his breath as he found his rail pass.

I turned the pages as the elderly woman at Churchley – with the permanent scowl and the floral scarf she’d been wearing for years – stepped on by us in the carriage.

And all the while, Chloe’s knees kept on shifting, and her eyes kept on flickering.

Harrow drew nearer.

Her knees shifted wider, her eyes flickered more.

She was struggling. I could feel she was struggling – wrestling with words she wanted to say.

And so was I.

I was struggling too.

She blew her hair away from her forehead as they announced the next stop was Harrow, and her knees shifted fresh, but it was me who finally bridged that gap.

It was me who cleared my throat and asked her the question, picking just the right moment for her eyes to slam into mine.

“What book are you reading?”

Her smile over at me was the absolute world.

She held up the cover, and I was shocked all over again. Genuinely shocked to the pit of me.

“Mythago Wood by Robert Holdstock,” she said.

I nodded, and the accompanying smile was neither cold nor concrete this time.

The metallic blurt of the speaker hit loud. Harrow. The next station is Harrow.

“Crap,” she mumbled, and grabbed her bag and checked her zipper was up on her sweater.

She was up on her feet before I spoke again. I was about to put my book in my briefcase, but she didn’t hang around long enough to see.

“Lavondyss,” I told her, as she stepped away into the aisle. “My favourite Robert Holdstock novel is Lavondyss.”

She twisted back to face me, eyes open wide.

“Lavondyss,” she repeated. “I love that one too.”

I didn’t doubt it. It was written all over her face.

“Bye,” she said.

And with that she was off like the white rabbit, all over again.8ChloeI never thought he’d like Lavondyss. He looked anything but a Lavondyss kind of guy.

I was thinking more historical fiction, or political satire. Or maybe even some non-fiction about Saturn’s rings. But not Lavondyss. No way Lavondyss.

It just made me tingle all the more as I dashed away when we got to Harrow.

I tried not to think about it. About him with a copy of Lavondyss in his cultured fingers. That’s how I thought of them – cultured. Long fingers, but masculine. Intelligent.

Long, masculine, intelligent, cultured fingers with no wedding band on them.

They moved carefully. Considered. Skilled.

There was a whole fresh swirl of tingles as I thought about his skilled fingers on my skin.

On my…

No.

No.

I couldn’t do that.

I couldn’t.

Harrow District came into view, and my sweater was already half off me as I dashed into Kingsley Ward. It was Vickie on reception when I shot on past, and she laughed at me. She actually laughed out loud.

“Easy, tiger. Do you always move everywhere at eight hundred miles per hour?”

She had a point.

I probably did move everywhere at eight hundred miles per hour.

“Morning,” I said, and flashed her a wave along with a smile.

I dumped my bag, complete with Mythago Wood, into the staffroom, and started up my workday.

It was a good one. One full of smiles and being helpful and learning how to change bandages the right way. I was learning from Caroline, and she was funny, kind, and making the patients laugh along with her.

I wanted to be like that. I wanted to make them all happy, even though I was nervous as hell with every breath that day.

I thought I was in trouble when Wendy Briars beckoned me into Consulting Room 6 after my lunchbreak – but that was always my natural reaction. Uh oh, Chloe, you’re in trouble. Late nights and no sleep, and too much thinking about Pontius Pilate.

But no, I wasn’t in trouble.

She had some paperwork in her hands and gestured to the seat opposite her.

“I’ve been noticing you at work,” she said, and I felt my cheeks blush.