The railway track

If you have experienced the trauma of loss you may be familiar with that need to seek and hold on to those things which keep the loved one feeling close. A picture, some clothing, a gift...as if doing so might somehow bring them back. The need to remain connected with them, to touch them in their absence, through objects and places where they - and you - once were.

Longing to stay connected with him in whatever small way possible, Coppelia made her journey that cold, wet, dark Saturday morning. This was not a rational choice, it was just something she had to do. If she could just see his house, walk by the same river where he used to walk to phone her, sit in the bar where they had met so many times, then these things might bring him to her somehow, make her feel his presence.

She shivered as the relentless rain cooled the summer air. Floods had devastated much of the country, especially in the west, where he was, at his brother's in Bristol. She used this as an excuse to send him a message, enquiring after his safety.

She was sitting in the bar of the Drapers Arms. The same table, the same smell of food and beer, the noisy hum, the dark wood, the mirrors...nothing had changed, yet everything was different. She wanted to stay there forever. The memories soothed her, knowing he had been there was a comfort, and if she sat there long enough she could not believe he would not, eventually, walk through the door one day just as he had done so many times.

He sent a warm reply to her message, the floods weren't too bad. He asked if she was alright. How could she answer this? Pleased that he was at least communicating, she told herself that what bound them together was stronger than what had parted them.

Yet as she turned to leave the comfort of being there turned to mockery, to a chill around her heart. Fool! She was kidding herself. Looking around at this familiar place she had to face it - they may never again be here. No kind of magic would conjure him back.

Outside, a blackness wrapped itself around her like a shroud as she wandered over the familiar crescent railway bridge, along the busy main road and on to the quiet close where he lived.

She stood briefly and gazed up at the bedroom window where they had spent many delicious and serene hours, whilst H was away. She had brought with her the letter she had written to him in purple ink, ready to post through his letter box. Yet something made her wait. What if H picked it up when they arrived home next week? This was not the right time. Maybe it never would be.

She left the close and crossed the green to the river, then walked along the river path to The Boathouse Inn. Quite often he would call her from here, but she had never been there herself, until now. He had described it all and so she knew exactly where to go.

Was this really her, this pathetic lone figure of slow, deliberate steps, watching the water as the soft rain punctured its grey surface, staring around her as if she had just landed from another planet? She could not take it in, even now, how quickly the life and love she had known, had withered to this eternal misery. They had skipped by rivers, strolled arm in arm by rivers, paddled, splashed, shared silences ... Coppelia's mind swam with his words, over and over, every cruel and hurtful word, every loving and passionate word, every promise...
Should she jump in the river? It looked quite deep and she couldn't swim. Too many people. The railway track. Maybe the railway track.

She ordered a drink in The Boathouse and sat away from the other customers in a quiet area overlooking the river. Angry and confused, Coppelia could not remember ever feeling so alone as she did then, and the tears came. For a long time she sat, quietly sobbing, drinking, not caring where her despair might take her. Wishing it would take her where this pain would stop forever. The railway track.

Taking out a small notebook she wrote:
'In the Boathouse with a large glass of red wine, in the corner, crying over you. Again.
Please, don't do this to us.'

When she left she wandered back to the station by the river path. She could not face seeing his house again. The rain had stopped. She was hungry but the thought of food made her feel sick.

Under the Crescent Bridge she found a way to reach the railway track.