Unspoken: A story of secrets, love and revenge by T. Belshaw (best reads of all time .TXT) 📗

There weren’t a lot of people about at that time of the morning so we could pretty much choose where we sat. Opposite us was a young couple with two, highly excited, children who ran up and down the carriage for the whole journey. Further along the carriage was an old lady wearing an acorn hat. She had a parasol with her, I hope she wasn’t expecting blazing sunshine if she was heading for the coast. Both Frank and I wore thick overcoats.

We reached Sittingbourne bang on time, and as we had forty minutes to wait for our connecting train, we went to the station café and ordered tea and toast. The tea was strong, as the navvies like it. The toast was chunky, a good shade of brown and was topped with a thick layer of butter.

We weren’t quite as lucky with seats on the Sheerness train. It had come from London and was carrying workers home for the weekend. A young man, noticing my bump, offered me his aisle seat and Frank stood alongside until the conductor came along. Frank took an instant dislike to him and to be honest, I didn’t think much to him either. He punched our tickets, instead of tearing them in half as he would have done for a single journey, then told Frank he would have to move because he was blocking the aisle.

Frank told him the journey was only twenty-five minutes long, and we were half way there already. The conductor didn’t seem to care.

‘What if someone needs to get by?’

‘Then I’ll move,’ said Frank, giving the man a hard stare. ‘I haven’t had to move as yet. No one has asked to get by.’

‘I want to get by,’ said the conductor. ‘Now, please don’t make me stop the train and call the railway police.’

Frank looked like he was about to give him an earful, but I tugged on his sleeve and shook my head. Frank sighed, and attempted to squeeze past the conductor to an area where the embarking door was.

The conductor spread himself across the aisle.

‘That way,’ he said, directing Frank along the full length of the carriage to the toilet area.

Frank glowered, but did as he was told. He kept an eye on the official as he clipped tickets in the next carriage. When he moved on from there, he came back.

‘Officious, little…’ He looked at me. I frowned. ‘…so and so,’ he finished.

Sheerness station looked pretty much like our local one, with a signaller’s building, a ticket office and a waiting room come café. The wind, however, blew the train’s smoke into our faces as we traversed the platform. We pulled our coat collars over our mouths and hurried to get out of the station.

‘I feel like I’ve just smoked a whole packet of fags at once,’ said Frank, hoarsely.

Outside the station we turned onto the aptly named Railway Road. About half way along it we found a pub, not surprising called The Railway. In the window was a sign advertising rooms with breakfast. Six shillings, double. Four and six, single.

‘What do you think?’ he asked.

‘Won’t it be a bit noisy?’ I said. The pub looked in good condition, on the outside at least.

‘It’ll be fine at this time of year,’ said Frank. ‘I have stayed here, but only for one night. I couldn’t afford nearly five bob a night out of the wages I was earning. I had to go into lodgings. It was a right flea pit too.’

He shuddered at the memory.

‘Let’s have a look at the room first,’ I said. My scalp started to itch. I resisted the urge to scratch it.

The pub was clean, and the landlady was friendly. She ordered a scrawny-looking man with a thick head of tightly curled, ginger hair to take my case and show us up to the double guest room. She noticed the anxious look on my face as he opened the door to the stairs.

‘I’d sleep in it,’ she said with a smile. ‘You’ll both be cosy in there.’

I was glad she didn’t use the phrase, snug as a bug in a rug.

Robert introduced himself as he led us up the one, steep flight of stairs. ‘I live with Irene,’ he announced, in a matter of fact way. ‘We’re not married or anything.’

I pulled my left hand up my sleeve so he couldn’t spot that Frank and I weren’t married either. I hadn’t even considered bringing a ring with me.

The room was nice, bright, and had a window facing the street, not the railway line that the rooms at the back of the pub must have overlooked.

It had a large, enamel basin and water pitcher on a shelf in the corner, clean towels, and a newish-looking double bed on the wall opposite the window. There was a single wardrobe and a round, oak table surrounded by four, rickety looking chairs.

‘The bathroom is at the end of the corridor. Just turn left, you can’t miss it.’ Robert hung around waiting for a tip, so I gave him a threepenny bit and he turned away.

‘Payment is in advance,’ he said suddenly. He spun around and looked at Frank. ‘Shall I show you the way down?’

Frank looked at me and shrugged.

‘We’ll be back down in a moment,’ I told him. ‘My husband will pay you then. Just the one night.’

When we returned to the bar, we found that Irene was in a far more business-like mood. The friendly smile had gone, and had been replaced by a steely-eyed stare.

I’d given Frank a ten-shilling note before we came down. He produced it with a smile.

‘There’s a five-bob deposit,’ said Irene. ‘In case of breakages. It will be refunded when you leave.’

I wondered what there was in the room that could be broken. There was only the bowl and pitcher and they looked sturdy enough.

‘Five bob?’ Frank exploded.

‘It’s the new rules,’ said Irene. She leaned over the bar towards us. ‘I’m already breaking one