THERE was a dampness in the air that fell in a low fog in the early hours of the morning. Francis had almost given in to his exhaustion when a figure made its way towards him. It was Clara. She had wiped the make-up from around her eyes and was wearing one of Alan’s jackets.
“You’re still here?”
He lifted his head.
“You came back?”
She looked at him the way he imagined people look into the casket at a funeral of someone they used to know. Looking like she had already been through the five stages of grief, she used what was left of her strength to extend her hand to pull him to his feet.
The walk to their returning point was cold, not only due to the plummeting temperature around them, but due to the space between them. Neither said a word until they got there.
Assuming their positions one last time, they joined hands and closed their eyes. It was difficult to focus on their surroundings and the feeling of the present when the silence they shared was so palpable.
When Francis could feel the warmth of the familiar sun on his eyelids, he took a moment before opening them, wishing he could hold on for just a little longer. Clara slowly dropped his hands and let out a deep sigh.
“I’m not sure what will happen now. Was it all for nothing?”
He could hear her frustration in the break of her voice.
The buzz of the city slowly resumed all around them. There was no escaping this present. Clara pushed a few loose strands of hair from her face, to compensate for the physical side-effects time jumping was having on her.
“I can handle it. I told you I was fine.”
“It’s not just the effects I can see on you, Clara. The emotional turmoil of this day has been too much. I wanted to be able to share the load but I can see now I’m not ready.”
Her eyes were red and puffy, he could tell she wanted to cry again but she had no tears left. He couldn’t help but cry for her.
“I wanted this to work. I thought we’d be able to fix us.”
His heart broke hearing those words. She still loved him and she had always known he loved her. They were like opposing ends of magnets, no matter how hard they tried to be together, his negative pull was the force that pushed him away from her. Maybe there was no such thing as the right place, the right time. They had been everywhere at every time and somehow were still in the same position they had been.
Francis stood close to her and cupped her face in his hands.
Her eyes began to mist over as he continued. Seeing the look on her face was causing him to choke up.
“I want you to keep your promise. Don’t ever go back, move on, and keep living your life in the present.”
For the last time he kissed her head, then knelt down to pick up his bags and walked out of her life and into the swarmed city.
It had taken Clara some time to grieve the loss of him and despite her promise she still needed to make one last time jump.
A few months after they last spoke, she travelled back to that familiar day on the train one last time. The rhythm of it all ticked like the beat of an ever-swaying metronome. This being the time she had returned to most, she had picked on most of the repetitive motions in that space. She stood on the pavement overlooking the platforms at Mallow Station surrounded by other passengers engaged in their own greetings or farewells. Being careful to avoid unwanted attention, she watched the train on the far side. There was Francis. He was not so subtly smirking at the old lady across from him as she blocked off a seat. Returning to his previous state of boredom soon after. A bittersweet expression painted itself onto her face. As if sensing her presence, he looked out the window. No one-was there. He looked back down into his phone, sighing at its lack of power. He felt a slight sense of deja vu.
Overhead, a final announcement was made for passengers to board. Clara, now hiding behind a corner, looked down at her ticket. She had returned so many times to this day and this was the only time she had felt hesitance.
She thought of the promise she had made him… the promises he had broken to her. Despite it all this instant was still important. It always would be.
He wouldn’t remember their shared adventure, but she hoped he’d carry some of its sentiment forward regardless. She walked up to the carriage door seconds before they closed shut. In defiance of the sudden wash of melancholy that swept over her, she wore a quiet smile on her face.
Her hands trembled as she looked down at the ticket and ripped it in half, letting Francis go as she dropped its two halves into a nearby bin. For once she controlled her emotions, not letting them control her.
Having cried all of her tears in the last several hours, she felt a sense of pride being able to carry on. She stepped out into the open air, feeling a refreshing spring breeze. The train slowly chugged forward and so did she.
If you would like to read our Summer Soap from the start see here
