The Message

An entry for a competition

He spent his last £30 on a plate of oysters and a glass of champagne. 

As he slid onto an uncomfortable stool. A pretty, efficient waitress dressed all in black save for her white linen apron, took his order. He’d always been scrupulously careful with money, but that had changed in the short time they’d known each other. Ordinarily he would never have occurred to him do anything as reckless as this but she made him feel alive in a way that he never had before. He thought of the last time he had seen her, in a hotel room not so far from where he was right now. He hadn’t wanted to leave. He remembered looking at her face, the curve of her cheek. The way her skin seemed almost translucent in the predawn light. He squeezed his eyes closed.

‘No!’

The word burst uninvited from his mouth and he heard a sharp intake of breath. The waitress had returned with his oysters and was staring at him wide eyed. She placed the plate clumsily in the table in front of him, and darted back to the relative safety of the bar. He was clenching his fists so hard his finger nails were digging into his palms. He uncurled a hand and stared at the small row of crescent shaped indentations. 

He checked his watch. There was still time to change his mind, he could still make the train if he hurried. 

She had laughed when she’d discovered he still wore a watch, as though she found it delightfully charming and old-fashioned. “No one wears a watch anymore.” She’d said. And he had gazed at her, already lost in this enchantment, wondering how anyone could possibly be so unimaginably beautiful. Who could have predicted the dishonesty behind those perfect lips? 

He had been played, he understood that now. He had fallen like a stone into a vat of tar and now he couldn’t seem to get out again. He pulled out his phone and read the message again, hoping this time to see something different in her words, something that would allow for a change in his interpretation of them. 

There was nothing.

They had met at a conference in Milton Keynes, it was a dull affair. He’d caught the train there from this very station. Sipping a mouthful of his champaign he wrinkled his nose. Champaign never tasted as he imagined it would. He glanced absently down at the concourse below. It was filled with people moving purposefully, so far below they could be ants. He was reminded of how many insignificant occasions he had spent here, waiting for a train, buying a hurried lunch between meetings, using the station as a short cut to get to the taxi rank. He could never have imagined how that journey would transform his life. The moment he saw her leaning over a desk chatting to a colleague he had been transfixed. They had of course extended their stay, spending the weekend and hardly emerging from the hotel room. 

It had all been so simple. Looking back he still couldn’t understand how they’d gotten away with it. It had been her idea, he realised that now. She’d managed to make it seem to him like it had been theirs but it hadn’t. It wouldn’t be easy to prove his involvement but it would be obvious when he didn’t arrive at the office on Monday. He had trusted her so entirely, following all of her instructions like a child. Until he’d ended up here in the international departures lounge at St. Pancras station with no money, no job, no home; just a ticket for the Eurostar, and no one waiting for him at the other end. It seemed ridiculous now he thought about it, he’d hardly known her at all. 

He stood, leaving the oysters untouched, he had no stomach for them after all. As the enormity of the situation was beginning to settle; an oppressive weight around his shoulders. He picked up his briefcase and strolled with purpose towards the exit. He didn’t know where he was going but he knew he had to leave.  He hurried across the forecourt, pushing against the tide of people rushing to make their trains, going about their day, oblivious to his turmoil.   

 

As he stepped out into the cool night air and took a steadying breath somewhere behind him the 19.00 train to Paris pulled out of the station. 

Author's Note

The word limit was 750, i might try to do this more often, it felt like a good exercise working in those confines, made me far more conscious of every word I chose to use