Crossly she dug her hands into her pockets. She could look for somewhere else around here, she supposed. But nobody had anywhere apart from a spare room above the pub, which she really didn’t want, and certainly it would be nothing like as nice. Meanwhile Orkney had said there was a lovely vacant farmhouse she could rent, all modern fixtures, super-cheap rent, and by the way, if she could bring twenty to thirty thousand other young people to help repopulate the islands while she was at it, that would be great, thanks.
She sighed at the dilemma and stomped on. Before she knew it, she was approaching the train crossing, her heart full of regrets.
When she saw the tree, she stopped and gasped.
It was completely covered in books, all tied to the branches with shoelaces, cascading down like low-hanging fruit. It was strange and oddly beautiful, a tree full of books on a deep blue summer’s night, in the back end of absolutely nowhere at all.
Nina stared at it. Oh, Marek, what on earth have you done? she thought. There was history, fiction, poetry, many of the books in Russian or Latvian, but some in English; several were waterlogged, which meant they had been there for a little while, and some pages had come loose and plastered themselves to the trunk, which had the added effect of turning the tree itself into a huge book made of papier mâché.
As Nina stood back and gazed, entranced, a breeze passed by and the books spun and danced in the wind, paper back to pulp, back to the wood where it had once begun.
“Oh my,” she breathed to herself, and pulled out her phone.
Then she put it away again. No. No, she wouldn’t. She couldn’t.
She glanced at her watch. It wasn’t long. Not long until the train was due. Maybe it couldn’t hurt to see him once more before she left. Just to say thank you, maybe? His feelings, she saw now, were much stronger than she’d realized.
But weren’t they too just the yearnings of a lonely, romantic heart? And shouldn’t two hearts like that be together?
No, absolutely not. There was a little boy involved. There was a family. She wouldn’t do that to anyone else’s family, she couldn’t.
She swallowed hard. SO. She would turn around. She would walk away.
In the distance, she heard the quiet note of the low whistle, the delicate rattling she’d come to know so well, and her heart started to beat in time with the rhythm of the rails.
Chapter Twenty-nine
It was as if she was frozen to the spot. Slowly the train came up the line, trundling its precious cars behind it, and throwing caution to the wind, she ducked under the barrier and waved her arms, hugely, flapping them as if she had no idea what she was doing, as the train slowed down and down.
Heart pounding, she tried to think what she was going to say: simply no, or it’s not possible, or a proper good-bye, a sad look at chances missed and timing gone wrong . . .
She stood there, stock-still now. Blinking. A million different things racing through her mind. Jim was up in the cabin, and she called his name. He didn’t look around. He didn’t even seem to be stopping. But at last he did, just farther down the line, so that Nina was directly facing the very last car, the one with the little balcony on the back.
Marek was sitting on it, his legs dangling. Not in his uniform, in plain clothes.
She looked up at him. “Hey,” she said, unsure what to do. “Hey,” she said again, stepping forward, as he still didn’t meet her eye. “The tree,” she said. “The tree. It’s so beautiful. But . . . I mean, it’s lovely, but . . .”
He stood up. “Nina,” he said, and his voice was sad and low. “I came . . . I came to say good-bye.”
“Why?” said Nina. “Why? Where are you going?”
“Oh, I got in trouble. Slowed the sleeper too many times, yes?”
“No,” said Nina. “They’re not . . . you didn’t lose your job?”
Marek shrugged. “No picnics on the railway,” he said and smiled. “It was all my fault.”
“No!” Nina said. “You can’t! You can’t get fired! Won’t they go on strike for you?”
A thought struck her.
“Is that why Jim isn’t talking to me?”
“He is very cross with you,” said Marek. “He blame you for everything.”
“Oh God,” said Nina, in agony. “I’m so sorry. I really, really am, so, so sorry.”
Marek shook his head. “Was not your fault. Was not, Nina.”
“I didn’t help,” said Nina miserably, thinking of all the huge favors she’d let him do for her; how she’d encouraged him to play fast and loose with his job. “Won’t the men come out for you, though?”
“Of course,” said Marek. “I am good train engineer. Who does naughty things sometimes. But . . .”
There was a pause.
“Will you get another job?”
“Oh no,” said Marek. “No, no. No job. I cannot stay in Britain, huh.”
Nina was horrified. “Oh my God,” she said. “You’re being deported! You can’t be deported!”
She swung onto the railway line and climbed up the steps.
“Even this is naughty,” said Marek.
“I don’t care,” said Nina hotly. “They can’t deport you. Let me take the blame!”
“Maybe it is time,” said Marek sadly. “I was fooling myself. Playing that I was in a romance with you, huh? A big storybook romance, like the poets write.”
Nina looked at his huge dark eyes and spiked lashes and felt her own eyes fill with tears.
“But you were right. It was not real. I have a life. Everybody does. And my life is Aras and Bronia. This is pretend life. I want real life.” His face was full of pain.
“You’re . . . you’re going?” said Nina.
Marek nodded. “Oh yes. I am going home. I will find a job. I can fix engines, many types of engines. There are always jobs for people who can fix engine.”
Nina blinked. “But,” she said. “But . . .”
Without warning, there was a loud honk. Jim had started to move the engine.
“Good-bye,” said Marek.
Nina stared at him. The great train was starting to move.
“Get down, Nina,” said Marek. “Get down, it’s not safe.”
“But . . . ,” said Nina. The train was starting to gather speed.