I don't like this train

The noise woke Beth, heart racing. Was someone in the house? Was she going to be murdered in her bed?

‘Don’t worry, dear. Everything is going to be fine.’

The tone was kind, repeating the words she’d said the day they told her. It gave her the courage to remember the new neighbors, how they’d clump up the stairs. He wore heavy boots, and she was in high heels, ridiculous at her age, and up they would go, Clump, clack, clump, clack, clump, clack. It was just the Burtons.

There would be no-one there when she opened her eyes.

‘What?’

Her breath caught and she felt pain through her chest. Was this how she would die? Scared to death by faces: brown eyes peering through bottle-thick spectacles, a lady in a green hat, a man with bulging cheeks and red nose like a nightmare Rudolf. Her eyes darted side to side looking for an escape.

There it was. The man in blue, with the badge. The band across her chest loosened and she heard her breathing start. She could ask the policeman.

‘What’s happening?’

‘You’re on a train, Beth. The Finisvitae Express.’

A train. Under her hand her heartrate slowed. A train made sense of the strangers, of the noises around her. Behind the faces she saw seats, a crosshatch pattern of blue and grey, the window beyond them flashing colour as the world went past. She’d always loved trains.

Clump, clack, clump, clack.

The red leather was new and shiny under her dress. It was slippery, so she had to push herself right back into the seat with her legs dangling awkwardly over the edge, white socks and black shoes hanging six inches above the floor. She wanted to swing them, back and forth, excitement released in movement, but of course she didn’t.

Not much, anyway. Not after she accidently kicked the gentleman who glared and humphed and muttered about how children were better behaved in his day. He had a bristly mustache that wriggled when he frowned, just like a cartoon, and she had to pretend to cough when it made her laugh. Old people were so funny.

Clump, clack, clump, clack.

Her mouth quivered and she brought her hand up to hide it. She remembered trains but she didn’t remember why she was on this one. It had been happening more often lately, this not remembering. It worried her.

‘Are you alright?’

‘Yes.’ She tilted her chin. It was important to hide her confusion. If they knew they’d stop listening to what she said. She’d heard her grandchildren talk about having a voice, but no one was silenced like the old. ‘I’m fine.’

‘You seemed a little disoriented.’

‘I just woke up.’ That was a good excuse. ‘Everyone’s a little dis, disor, confused when they first wake up. Nothing wrong with that.’

‘I suppose not.’ He didn’t sound convinced. ‘You do know where you are?’

‘I’m on a train.’ She turned her head to the window before he could talk again. ‘I’ve been on trains before.’

Clump, clack, clump, clack.

The telegraph wire swooped and flashed like a magpie and in her stomach nerves and excitement squabbling like seagulls. She’d know teaching was her dream, but she hadn’t realized it would mean travelling so far; heading six hundred miles north to the edge of the desert and a town built from opals.

‘You can do this, Beth.’ Her fingers tightened, clenched around the purse that contained her gloves. She should be wearing them, but they were new and white and there was dust on the hand rests, grime edged into windowsill. It would dirty them in moments unless she sat still, nine hours of travel contained in perfect inertia. She knew herself better than that. She would never be quiet while the world flashed by.

Clump. clack, clump clack.

The noise reminded her of home, of the Burtons climbing the stairs. That’s what she remembered, not this new train. Why was she here? The nosy man with glasses had gone and it was the lady in green who sat across the aisle. She looked familiar but it was probably just the colour of her hat. Her daughter Penny loved green hats.

Clump, clack, clump, clack, went the train.

‘It’s the Burtons,’ Beth told the lady in green. ‘She wears these high heels, quite ridiculous at her age.’

‘The Burtons?’

‘That’s right.’ She shot the woman a glance, but she didn’t have that look. The one the doctor wore when she explained the noises to him: scrunched eyebrows, bored eyes and a half smile that said he wasn’t listening. The lady didn’t look like that. She looked interested.

‘Tell me about the Burtons.’

‘He wears heavy boots, and they clump when they go up the stairs and she wears…’ Beth’s voice trailed off and she felt the tremor begin in her hands. “I don’t know why I’m here,’ she whispered. It was terrifying to admit it, but she had to tell someone. ‘I don’t remember getting on the train. I haven’t been on a train for years.’

‘I know.’ Was that sadness on the lady's face? ‘But I’m sure you have a reason.’

‘A reason.’ Beth smiled. She liked that idea. A reason would mean she wasn’t a silly old woman who couldn’t look after herself. ‘Of course, I have a reason.’

‘Yes, you do.’ Her eyelids creased and Beth knew she’d been right. It was sadness she saw in the woman's face. ‘Perhaps you’re taking a holiday.’

‘A trip to the sea.’ Beth felt light again. She reached out and patted the woman’s hand, wanting to make her smile. ‘We’re going on a trip to the sea.’

Clump, clack, clump, clack.

Beth leant her face against the window feeling the warmth from the sun. Outside the rail ran along the shore, grass yellowing near the edge, green blending into golden dunes and a darkening sea.

‘I can see the smoke.’ Her daughter's nose pressed against the glass like a monkey, startlingly like her mother’s as she grinned with joy. Travelling by the old steam train had become a tradition, a chance for Beth to share her memories with her daughter. Now they would both see the smoke packed like cotton candy along the stick of the sky, hear the piercing whistle and smell the cinders that spat through the air. Her daughter wriggled on seats that were still red, though the leather was cracked with age. There was even an old lady sitting opposite who glared and humphed and talked about how children were better behaved in her day.

Penny learnt over to whisper in Beth’s ear. ‘Old people are funny, Mum.’

‘Yes, they are, love, but we can still be nice.’

Clump, click, clump, click.

‘Tickets please.’

Beth’s smile died. She didn’t know where her ticket was. She didn’t even remember buying one. Her hands trembled as they clutched at her bag. They were becoming more frequent, these memory lapses. They frightened her. Like the noises in the night and the odd taste to her food. She’d stopped eating the meals they delivered, they didn’t taste right. Perhaps she would get a snack on the train.

She’d need her purse. Hands shook as she searched her bag. She couldn’t afford to lose it again. All that money gone. Her lip trembled as she pulled items out: tissues, a diary, the phone her daughter bought that she didn’t know how to use, the folded umbrella and packet of biscuits, her glasses case, her other glasses case and there it was. Heart still in her mouth Beth touched the cracked brown leather. Her purse was here.

‘Tickets, please’

Tickets? She thought they were asking about her purse. She was sure that’s what she’d been looking for. First her purse then her tickets. It was too difficult. And it was the man with the glasses. She didn’t like him. He asked questions and didn’t listen to her answers. She wouldn’t give him a ticket. He couldn’t be trusted. She was sure he’d put her on the wrong train.

Clump, clack, clump, clack.

She’d seen so much out of this window. Wide hills, dotted with rocks and sheep, grass shifting from emerald to khaki and then in summer to the golden grey that meant beaches and bushfire season. The brick red dirt of the outback and the houses built inside the earth, geopolitically correct long before her grandchildren marched to save the planet. Tiny towns with a clapboard station and a pub that doubled as general store, post office and fuel stop for the metal beasts that crossed the land. Larger cities with their hidden glimpse into terraced back yards, dogs and children and lines hung with washing. All of it seen from a window, close and far; separate and together. She was a teacher and could recognize a metaphor: the train was life.

‘I don’t like it.’

Beth peered through the glass. She’d tried the red glasses and the blue glasses and even the sunglasses she’d had for years but it refused to come into focus. So hard to think, as she peered through dirty glass, foggy and unpleasant and the view wasn’t worth the effort.

The green-grey hills were gone along with the broad expanse of sky and sea and the variety of city life. All she could see now were ruler straight streets, narrow and plain with cream-colored houses and identical flower beds. Were they even real? She’d never been much of a gardener but didn’t flowers move in the wind, weren’t tulips and jonquils and roses all different heights? Aren’t flowers as individual as people?

‘I don’t like this train.’ Her voice sounded querulous, but Beth was afraid. Afraid of the closed in houses and the antiseptic smell. Trains should smell of bubblegum and steam, cinders in the air and the dust of a thousand stations. This train smelt wrong.

‘I want to get off.’

The conductor’s eyes turned down under his cap. ‘This is the Finisvitae express, Beth, you can’t get off.’

‘But it’s the wrong train.’ Her lip quivered. ‘I’m not supposed to be on this train. I don’t have a ticket.’

‘That’s alright.’ His voice was kind. ‘I have your ticket here.’

‘You do?’ Weak tears came into her eyes, fear and relief sliding down her cheeks. ‘I am supposed to be here.’

‘Yes, Mum.’ That was the lady in green. ‘You’re supposed to be here.’

‘And look.’ The conductor opened the window, houses and stations flying past. ‘The train is speeding up; it won’t be long now.’

Clump, clack, clump, clack, clump, clack.

The noise woke Beth, and she waited for fear to clutch her chest. But it never came. Though the bed was too small to be home, and the walls were too blue, she knew this sound. It was the thump and click of wheels against the rails. She was on a train.

‘Are you awake?’

Beth smiled as she tried to see. The woman looked familiar but that was probably the hat. Her mother had loved green hats. ‘I’m on a train.’

‘Yes.’ She didn’t understand why the woman looked so sad. ‘The Finisvitae express.’

‘It’s a special treat.’ Beth wanted to tell her. ‘A special death day treat, but somehow the words wouldn’t come. Instead, she heard the train, felt the rocking of the carriages. It was like a cradle, as if she’d returned to babyhood, hearing her father’s boots on the steps, her mother’s high heels. The sound of home.

Clump, clack, Clump, clack, Clump….

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‘Why a train, Josh?’ Penny reached out for one last touch of her mother’s hand. ‘Why did she think she was on a train?’

The doctor’s eyes were wet. ‘Have you read the description?’

The woman’s head shook slowly, as if it was an effort. ‘I never had time to read it, or heart. I didn’t want to know.’

He touched her shoulder. ‘Read it now.’

You wake up on a train, you never bought a ticket, and you have no memory of how you got there. Oh, and one more thing, the train shows no sign of slowing down.

‘Do you see?’

‘I see.’ It was then Penny started to cry. ‘It’s someone dying of dementia.’