Small Places by Matthew Samuels

Author:Matthew Samuels [Samuels, Matthew]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-08-02T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

The next morning, Melusine is waiting for me at the station, still looking vaguely annoyed and still – as far as I can tell – in the same clothes that she wore yesterday.

I greet her with a nod and a grunt, and she hands me a pair of tickets for the next train to London. I hurry over to the small newsagent and buy a bottle of water and a chocolate bar, tucking them into the small rucksack I’ve brought with me.

“Come on,” she says. “It’s almost time.”

It’s early and we’re travelling first class, so the carriage is relatively empty – and it’s just as well, because Melusine gets a couple of stares from kids as we pass through the train. She scowls at them, parents instinctively drawing their children closer as she walks past.

We find a set of four seats with a table in the middle, and Melusine pulls a huge leather-bound tome from her bag, dust flying everywhere as she drops it on the table. I sneeze, but try not to say anything as she reads, muttering under her breath.

I half expect an incident as she gives death stares to both the ticket inspector and the man pushing the tea trolley. I try to apologise on her behalf, but they’re both halfway down the carriage before I can get a word out. I’ve never seen a drinks trolley move that fast and honestly, I was kind of hoping for a coffee.

“Freaky white-haired kid and his creepy fucking grandma,” I hear the refreshments guy say as he retreats.

Suddenly I don’t fancy that coffee after all.

Thankfully, Mel is too absorbed in her book to notice, and stays that way for the rest of the journey.

I almost lose her in the crowd at Paddington, a train arriving alongside ours and disgorging a barrage of tourists that threatens to separate us. Thankfully, although she’s not tall, her hair – still complete with small sticks, bone charms and things that might be hairpins or small daggers at a push – provides a handy reference point.

She pauses after the ticket barriers, glancing around before heading in the direction of the underground, before surging forwards and zipping through the gate line with remarkable alacrity. I thank my lucky stars that some of the Bakerloo line trains start at this station, and, more to the point, that there’s one in the platform as we arrive.

Mel takes an end seat, and I wedge myself next to her, trying to form some kind of protective bubble for the other people getting on the train. She does scowl at a few of the other occupants of the carriage, but then seems to lose herself in her huge spell book or whatever it is. There’s also what seems to be a stag party at the other end of the train, which is proving to be a useful distraction to the rest of the tube.

I never thought that I’d be grateful for a crowd of obnoxious, slightly drunken lads on a train, but there you go.

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