Subject: Re: Re: job application

Hi Maren

Thank you for your email.

Yes, I’d be delighted to attend this interview.

Kind regards,

Sophie Hallerton

A reply swooped back within seconds – wonderful, see you then – and I leaned back in my seat, my nerves pinging with excitement and adrenalin. Sophie and Seren sat in front of me sucking croissant flakes from their fingers and discussing baby names and birth plans, the job application long forgotten.

Next Wednesday was exactly a week away. The rail pass expired at midnight that day, though David could easily cancel it before then once he worked out it was missing. If he did, I didn’t have enough money to buy another ticket. Come to think of it, I hadn’t enough money to book a place to stay until then.

Using the last of my phone’s battery, I dialled Meg.

   3   

A PLACE TO STAY

Now

Meg didn’t answer her phone.

I sat on the train, watching the platform fill up with people making their way to the exit. I tried Meg again, and again.

‘Aren’t you getting off, miss?’ a train conductor asked from the aisle.

‘Oh. Yes,’ I said, trying not to be weird and twitchy, as David had often accused me of being. I hoisted up my bag and saw him eyeing the contents. I stepped on to the platform and headed for the exit. Outside I spotted a café, and in a series of highly focused non-weird and non-twitchy movements, I ordered a coffee and parked myself at a table.

What happened next wasn’t ideal. First, my phone battery died, then the waitress came and told me they were closing in ten minutes. I realized with shock that it was almost six o’clock in the evening. This is the thing with depression, and particularly with anti-psychotics – your internal clock goes AWOL, as does your libido, hunger, balance, focus, sense of humour, and short-term memory. So I wandered around trying to forage for a phone charger, then caved and got back on the train to Newcastle, which was now full of drunk, red-faced blokes shouting about a football match. I found a seat as far away from them as possible and curled up in a ball, hoping they wouldn’t shout at me, which they did. And then, at York, the train broke down. Signal failure. We had to get off, were promised we’d be refunded. It was freezing cold, the platform was swarming with aggressive football fans, and I had nowhere to go.

I approached one of the police officers who had – serendipitously – appeared on the platform.