Song of a Stranger: An atmospheric mystery set in Japan and the UK by Philip Bentall

Author:Philip Bentall [Bentall, Philip]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Ramsgard Press
Published: 2024-07-29T00:00:00+00:00

16

It was the station where I’d met the English teacher, Ryan, the day I’d fallen asleep coming back on the train. I couldn’t be that far away from Kamimoto, then, I thought.

I walked across the pedestrianised area towards the station, kiosks shuttered up for the night, bicycle lockups empty of bicycles.

When I came up the steps emergency services sirens rang out in the distance, and I wondered if the vehicles they belonged to were heading to the mountain tunnel that was closed.

A train was just pulling into a platform when I came into the station. An announcement going out over the tannoy.

I headed over to the ticket machine and tried to work out how to use it but couldn’t see any card reader. It appeared to be cash only.

Not again, I thought.

I looked around for a cashpoint but couldn’t see one. Then I noticed a man in the ticket office and reckoned I was in luck. I went over.

Seeing me, the man asked how he could help.

‘Can I have a ticket to Kamimoto, please,’ I said.

‘No more trains today,’ he said, and tapped his watch. ‘Sorry. Last train go.’

I just stood there for a second, not sure how to react. A young woman passed through the station, messaging on her phone. She had vibrantly coloured nail varnish and it reminded me of the woman in the bar who had similarly painted nails. It must be the fashion, I thought.

‘When’s the next train?’ I said.

‘Morning. Six forty-five. Only express train now.’

I nodded, trying to think what to do next.

The man said, ‘No more stop at Kamimoto.’

‘Is there a bank in town?’ I asked, thinking I’d get another taxi.

He took a leaflet off a pile beside him and, scribbling on the back of it, pushed the leaflet through the gap under the glass.

It was a map of the town. He’d circled the location of the bank.

‘Five-minute walk,’ he said.

‘Thank you.’

I left the station and walked down the steps, leaflet in hand.

Get some cash, then find another taxi, I was thinking.

I crossed the road and set off along the pavement. Buildings stood in shadows, doors and windows covered with roller blinds. I walked quickly now, almost breaking into a run, wanting to get some money as soon as I could. An ATM at a bank should allow the use of international bank cards, I thought, unlike ATMs at convenience stores, which tended only to accept domestic bank cards. I’d experienced this before when abroad, so I wasn’t unduly worried and imagined getting back and telling the old woman about my adventures at breakfast. No doubt she’d laugh, revealing her gold capped teeth, and reminisce about a time something similar had happened to her.

The bank was at the end of the road and I entered my card into the ATM and went through the various steps to try and take out some cash. But the machine soon informed me that I couldn’t access any funds. I tried again. Same result. Worried the machine may swallow my card, I didn’t bother again.

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