The Passenger by Daniel Hurst (ready to read books .TXT) 📗

‘So why aren’t you doing it full time?’

‘Well, I’m not getting paid for it yet.’

‘No, but you will do one day, right? You have to believe in yourself.’

I smile again, and the longer this conversation goes on, the more it reminds me of how much I have needed one just like this. It would have been nice for Louise to be the one saying these things to me, but she doesn’t approve of my goals and thinks I’m wasting my time. Yet here is a complete stranger who seems to think that I have what it takes to make it as an author.

Maybe I was wrong.

Maybe my luck with guys is starting to change.

‘Well, actually, I’ve recently quit my job in London, and my last day is on Friday,’ I confess, feeling my heart beginning to race as I do. But I don’t feel quite as nervous now as I did when I told my boss that I was leaving. He was shocked to hear me tell him that I was handing in my notice, but he was even more stunned when I told him the reason why.

‘Are you sure you know what you’re doing?’ were his exact words after learning I planned to make a go of it as a writer, and it was hardly the confidence boost that I needed to assure me that I was doing the right thing. But thankfully, I get a better reaction this time.

‘You have? That’s amazing!’ he cries. ‘Well done, you!’

I accept the praise graciously, but my heart is still hammering away inside me. It feels good to talk about myself with somebody else, but it’s a little nerve-racking too. I guess I’m afraid of somebody telling me that I’m making a massive mistake and that I’ll be broke and living on the streets when my book flops and I can’t get another job.

Somebody other than my daughter, of course.

‘Thank you. But the hard work starts now,’ I say rather sensibly, and I mean it. I have a mountain to climb if I want to escape this train ride for more than just a year or two, and I know there will be some rocky times ahead.

‘In that case, I’ll let you get back to it,’ he replies, and he settles back in his seat and takes out his phone.

I appreciate the fact that he is willing to let me get on with my writing, but now we have spoken this much, I don’t want the conversation to end here. It was going so well.

The sensible part of my brain is telling me to start typing again, but the part that is seeking adventure makes me blurt out the next question.

‘And what is it you do for work?’

The man looks up from his phone, and I hope he doesn’t mind me returning the questions.

‘Have a guess. But I’ll give you a clue. I’m not an erotic author.’

I laugh. ‘Okay, thanks for the heads-up.’

I take a moment to think of my answer. Judging by his appearance, he is clearly an office worker, but his confidence leads me to think that he isn’t just some lowly guy at the bottom of the chain. He could be a bit of a high-flier. A lawyer? A banker? A CEO? Then again, he is on the half-five train out of London, so he obviously avoids any overtime as much as I do.

Hmmm, I’m not sure. I’ll just have to take a shot.

‘I think you’re an accountant,’ I say, veering towards finance because it seems like a safe bet.

To my surprise, the man’s expression lets me know that I am correct.

‘Wow, good guess. I’m impressed.’

‘My talents extend beyond simply punching a keyboard on a crowded train,’ I jest, and when I see him laugh again, I can’t help but feel like this is actually leading somewhere positive.

I wonder which station he gets off at. I wonder if he is going all the way to Brighton. That would give us another forty-five minutes to get to know each other even more.

I think I would like that.

‘So where’s home?’ I ask him, my desire to know overpowering the part of me that is trying not to appear too keen.

‘I’m all the way at the end of the line,’ he replies. ‘And you?’

‘Same,’ I tell him, trying to keep a blank expression to not give away how happy I am that he lives in the same place as me.

A nervy glance at his left hand confirms that there is no wedding ring either.

This could be my lucky day.

‘Looks like we’re stuck with each other for a little while yet, then,’ he says, and I can’t hide the smile that spreads across my face after that comment.

‘It looks like we are.’

8 STRANGER

The train comes to a halt at its first stop outside London, and I watch as several passengers disembark, stepping out onto the sun-kissed platform and scurrying off to their homes, where the comforts of a warm meal and several hours spent in front of a television set await them. Those with a shorter commute are now free. It’s just those hearty souls like Amanda who still have so much more journey time to endure.

The train is still relatively busy but not as bad as it was when we first left London, and I have been waiting for this particular stop before I make my move on the woman opposite me. We’ve been chatting innocently for most of the journey, and I can tell that Amanda likes me based on both how the conversation has been going and the fact she keeps self-consciously fiddling with her hair and glancing up at me whenever she thinks I’m not looking. She currently has her eyes back on her laptop screen, but I bet she is just dying for me to say something else to her again, so I’d better not disappoint her by keeping her waiting too long. A quick check on my stolen watch also reminds me that I’m not