May Flash Fiction (1)

The train pulls out of Euston on time, dead on four o’clock.

An hour into the journey and already it seems we’ve run out of things to say. We’ve had a brief discussion about the conference ahead. We’ve asked and answered a few questions about each other’s home life and after a very short while realised we really don’t care much about each other’s partners, children, pets, friends, if the truth were told.

For the last five minutes she’s been gazing out of the carriage window as the backs of houses fly past. Her jaw-line is tautened by the turn of her head. In the pallid spring sunlight I notice for the first time that her cheek is covered with the finest golden down. For a moment, unexpectedly, I wonder how it would feel against my lips.

Suddenly she turns to look at me. “I’m looking forward to this conference,” she says, “it’s been a long time coming.”

The phrase hangs in the air, and for a second our eyes lock, and then, coward that I am, mine skid away. When I find the courage to look back she’s smiling. “I’m a bit like that myself, sometimes.” she says, and turns her face to look out of the window once more.

The houses turn to woodland, then to fields and distant hills dappled with shadow and glowing in the westering sun. I pick up my newspaper, pretend to read, and dare to wonder what the next few days might bring.