Belated Happiness
James wandered aimlessly through the unfamiliar streets of a sprawling city before finally arriving at the train station. His feet ached from exhaustion, and his mood was foul. He had been so eager to come here—never imagining he’d be leaving like this. He wasn’t guilty of anything, yet he scurried away like a scolded cat.
Spotting an empty seat in the waiting area, he sank down to rest. “I’ll catch my breath, then figure out the ticket situation. Another five minutes won’t change anything. At least I didn’t book a return ticket in advance. Thought I’d stay a week… Well, never mind.”
When his legs felt somewhat recovered, he hoisted his impossibly heavy duffel bag onto his shoulder and trudged to the ticket counters. As he queued, he watched the station’s chaotic bustle, wondering what he’d do if no tickets were left. But the clerk handed him one—though he’d have to wait over three hours for the train. No matter. The important thing was he had a ticket home.
James tucked it into his jacket pocket along with his ID and glanced around. Someone had already taken his seat. He stepped outside, where benches lined the station wall. A fast train stood ready at one of the platforms. The digital display above Platform 6 flashed departure times and destinations. All passengers had boarded, leaving the benches empty.
The stubborn stench of creosote and road dust mingled with cigarette smoke, stale alcohol, and unwashed bodies. Even the open air offered no relief. Thousands passed through the station daily—homeless, drunks, and commuters alike.
James settled on a bench with a clear view of the boards and platforms, resigning himself to the wait. In his mind, he replayed the argument with Helen’s grandson, scrambling for the words he should’ve said but hadn’t.
“Mind if I sit?” a young man’s voice cut in.
James looked up to see a man in a sharp suit, wheeling a small suitcase.
“Go ahead,” he said, shifting slightly, though there was plenty of room. He noticed others had claimed the remaining benches.
The man sat at the far end, loosening his tie before settling his suitcase beside him.
“Business trip?” James asked, craving conversation.
“Actually, heading back home from one,” the man replied distractedly, glancing at him.
“I’m going home too,” James sighed.
“Also from business?” The man raised a skeptical brow.
“No. Visiting someone. Thought I’d stay longer, but… it didn’t work out.” James dropped his gaze.
“Got kicked out?” The stranger’s tone softened.
“Something like that. Now I’m just waiting for the train to Southampton. You?”
“Bad timing for us both—long waits. I had to leave early too. Had to change my ticket.”
“What carriage are you in?” James asked.
“Carriage eleven.”
“Then we’ll be in the same one. Not in compartment five, by any chance?”
The man’s eyes narrowed. “Actually, yes.” He pulled out his ticket, checked it, then stuffed it back. “What a coincidence. You just bought yours?”
“Half an hour ago.”
“I was supposed to leave in two days, but my wife called—said my daughter’s ill. Too scared to even say what’s wrong, crying her eyes out. Had to cut the trip short.”
“Could’ve flown,” James suggested.
“Afraid of planes, honestly. Trains feel safer.”
Just then, the man’s phone rang. He answered briskly. James tactfully turned away.
“Yeah, at the station now. Got the ticket… I hoped so too. Miss you already. Don’t cry, I’ll try to work something out…” He listened, expression darkening. “Alright, I’ll call if anything changes. Bye. Love you.” He hung up, clearly deflated. Silence settled between them.
“Don’t pretend you don’t get it,” the man suddenly said. “Don’t judge me, old man. You don’t know the full story.”
“Not judging. None of my business,” James said.
“Good. Because I’d tear the world apart for my daughter. But my wife… I fell for someone else—like a lovestruck kid. Ever happened to you?”
“Once or twice. But I never cheated. Married means I owe my family responsibility. If she’d strayed, how would I live with that?” James admitted. “So these ‘business trips’ were cover?”
“You catch on. Every six months I come here, breathe a little. Then I can keep going.” His gaze fogged over.
“How old’s your daughter?”
“Twelve. And you? Visiting your kids? Son show you the door?” The man’s tone turned bitter.
“My son lives in London with his family. Always begs me to visit. But why? They’ve got their own lives. I won’t intrude.”
“Fair enough,” the man nodded.
“My wife died three years ago. Married her spitefully, trying to forget my first love. When she passed, I wanted to follow. Couldn’t stand being alone. Or maybe I did love her, just didn’t realize. Love’s funny like that. But life goes on. The pain dulls if you don’t poke at it.”
“Visiting relatives?” The man shifted—somehow, another’s troubles always made one’s own seem smaller.
“No. But I came to see the most important person in my life.”
“Go on. We’ve got three hours. Name’s Oliver.” He extended a hand.
“James.” They shook.
“Listen, my girlfriend packed fried chicken, pies—she’s a great cook. Fancy a beer run?” Oliver offered, as if they were old mates.
“Not for me. Don’t even feel hungry. Help yourself.”
“Fair enough. So, your story?” Oliver crossed his legs, settling in.
James sighed. “Loved a girl in school. Lost my head every time I saw her. But she never noticed me. Never confessed. Joined the army—actually thought about deserting, insane with jealousy.”
“While I was gone, she married my best mate. Had a kid by the time I got back. Ran into him, tried to talk. He asked if the kid was mine. Saw red. Punched him senseless.”
“Wait—was it yours?” Oliver cut in.
“Never even kissed her. Loved her from afar.” James shot him a look. “Tortured myself for years. Avoided their street. Thought marrying someone else would fix it. Fat chance.”
“Margaret was a good wife. Knew I didn’t love her, but she tried. Didn’t deserve her. My mum adored her. But you can’t force love. Couldn’t forget Helen. Even considered moving cities to escape the sight of her.”
“Then they left for London. Got easier. Could breathe again. Margaret gave me a son. Proudest day of my life. But we were never really a family. Still dreamed of Helen. When Margaret died, I nearly followed. Turns out, life without her meant nothing.”
“My son moved to London with his family. Left me a laptop for video calls. Taught me to use it. Surprised myself—started browsing, social media, reconnecting. One day, I found Helen.”
“Messaged her. Waited. No reply. Assumed she’d forgotten me. Then—short note. ‘Remember you. Glad you’re well.’ A year of letters. Finally admitted I’d loved her since school. She asked why I never said so. Turns out, she’d fancied me too.”
“All those wasted years. Though I’ve no right to complain—Margaret was good to me. Helen divorced long ago. Suggested video calls.”
“We’d talk for hours. Then her grandson moved in—‘closer to uni,’ he claimed. I reckon her daughter suspected something, didn’t want us getting close. With him around, Helen grew shy. We talked less.”
“So I suggested visiting. Couldn’t stand the distance. She agreed. Booked a ticket to London. Nervous as a schoolboy the whole way. But when we met—like old friends. Stayed up half the night chatting. Too wired to sleep. Just being near her was enough.”
“Three days flew. On the fourth, her grandson ‘fell ill,’ skipped uni. Helen dashed to the chemist, then the shops. The lad cornered me. Said he saw right through me—that I wasn’t here ‘just visiting.’ Told me the flat’s in his name. He’s the boss.”
“I swore I didn’t want his flat—I’ve got my own. Not moving to London at my age. But he kicked me out, threatened to call the police, have us both sectioned.”
“I was livid. Not for me—for Helen. All this wasted time. I packed my things and left. Now I regret it. What if he does have her sectioned? I can’t help from here. Should’ve waited, warned her—”
“Bloody soap opera,” Oliver muttered, shaking his head. “What’ll you do?”
“Don’t know. Write,As the train pulled away from the station, James squeezed Helen’s hand, knowing that whatever time they had left was finally theirs.
