I pulled back the door to the next carriage and ducked in. Inside there were restrooms, washbasins and a lounge area. The air was smoky. A few men were playing cards, bottles of whiskey on the tables between them. They looked up and away as I entered, and I hurried into the ladies’. Inside there were three small cubicles with toilets. The lids were down and when I opened one I saw why: beneath was cold black air, which rushed up to meet me. I sat on the seat and let the stream of urine go; I could smell the steam from it and, though I was probably imagining it, I thought I could hear it hit the ground beneath. At the speed we were going it would be long gone. I don’t know what got into me but the thought of it made me laugh out loud. Those men would think I was strange if they heard me. And I was strange: I was foreign, I spoke funny and looked different and didn’t really know where on earth I was, in this train, speeding towards a destination where I might not be welcome. And yet I felt inexplicably happy—as though the past and all its burdens were gone, down the toilet, already miles behind us. And here I was: light as air, cheeks flushed, and cold to my very teeth. Strange and empty. Hollow and free.

•

Sleep didn’t come until dawn, and then I slept half the morning and missed breakfast. When I woke again, the woman beside me introduced herself—her name was Mary—and told me when they would be serving lunch in the dining car. We spoke a little about where we were each going and our husbands, but I’d had enough of that chatter. It seemed very old to me now; it made me want to sleep for the rest of the journey.

‘I’m ravenous,’ I said. ‘I’ll go wait for the dining car to open.’

‘Do you want me to come along?’

‘That’s alright, I know the way.’

It felt rude, but I wanted nothing more than to be left alone with my thoughts. Where had the grief gone? What had changed?

Pausing between carriages I saw we were travelling through a different landscape now: flat, with grass which undulated in the wind, grass which glowed gold against the sky, stretching on endlessly, with barely a hill or tussock in sight.

‘Wheat,’ said a voice beside me. ‘We’re in Colorado now—wheat country as far as the eye can see.’

I turned, but I already knew it was him.

Jim was leaning on the railing of the little platform, legs wide to steady himself. He was still in his officer’s uniform. I wondered if he wore it even when off duty just to make himself feel important.

‘Are you following me?’ I said, but I smiled as well, squinting up at him.