Page 128 of If We Were Young

“I’m going to go and tell him.”

She sunk down onto the floor, almost lying on Ma’s carpet and I shook my head. “We are going to sort this, Ange. But right now, I have to go.” I ran for the hallway, leaving her muttering behind me.

I grabbed at my coat hanging on the banister and flung it on, shoving my phone and the small envelope I still clutched into my pocket, then I yanked open the front door.

Bugger. I didn’t know where he could be. I didn’t see a car but then I hadn’t been looking for one. I’d been too busy staring at his face.

Okay. He could be packing up his rental now he didn’t need it anymore. I ran out the cul-de-sac and hooked a left and then a right. It was only a couple of streets away; bloody blindingly obvious why he’d rented it now.

Oh my god, I was so stupid.

I gasped for air as I ran up past the railings and banged on the door. There weren’t any lights on and once I’d almost broken the door down with my bare hands, I knew I had to give up.

Shit.

“What do you want?” A woman leant out of her window above.

“I’m looking for the guy who lived here for a few days? Moody, tall, Scottish.”

She gave a smile—not a smile I relished. Eight-five percent perverted. “Yes, I know. What’s he to you?”

“He’s my friend. I need to find him.”

“He left with a suitcase earlier. Ages ago now. I’ll miss watching his fine piece of arse leave for work in the mornings as I drink my coffee.”

“Err. Okay. Thanks.”

“His rental car company came and collected the car too. Such a shame.”

This was useful information. He wasn’t in a car.

The train.

I grabbed my phone and checked the time. The sleeper train would leave in an hour.

Opening Facebook Messenger I sent him a message:

Please don’t get on the train.

I wasted precious moments waiting to see if he’d read it, but when nothing happened, I shoved it back in my pocket and started to run back to the main road.

A cab could get me there in time.

“Please, any ticket. I just need to get on the train.”

The train attendant sucked air through his teeth. “There’s only first class left.”

“First class, really? How much?”

“Two hundred and twenty-five.”

“What the shit?” I held myself together. I was close to exploding. “Okay. I’ll take it. And you’re sure this is the only train to Edinburgh this evening?” I couldn’t even think about if he might not be on there or not. I slid over my card and tapped my toe as the man in the navy and red striped tie within the Perspex ticket office nodded and then spent about a decade plugging in the numbers into the handheld card reader.

I tsk’d in a way Ma would have found gratifying until he handed me the small rectangle of a ticket and my card. I ran for the gate, pushing old grannies and children out of my way.

Please let him be on the train. Please let him be on the train.

What are you going to say, Ronnie?