The Long Way Home by Phillip Overton
Chapter 3
March 1981
William Small sat gazing out the window of the 10.15am from Central. He had made the same trip regularly during the past five years, boarded a train at Chatswood only to change trains a short while later at Hornsby. Sure it was a pain, but it was the best way to connect with a train headed north to Gosford without having to travel all the way back into Sydney. All trains stopped at Hornsby.
He always looked forward to seeing his grandson. However, today was special. It was his grandson’s birthday. Today his only grandchild was going to turn five years old. He smiled as he clutched gently at the small birthday present he held in his lap.
It was always nice too, spending time with his own son, hearing about how his job was going, seeing what progress he had made on the house. He was proud of Doug. He tried hard at most things, but especially at his marriage. It couldn’t have been easy, after all, they’d been separated a couple of times during their seven years of marriage. Both times when they got back together, Doug had said himself that they were going to put more effort into it for Simon’s sake. Try harder, not make the same mistakes.
He respected that honesty in a man. It was more than he could say about his younger son Barry. Although three years younger than Doug, it didn’t seem right in his eyes for a 28 year old grown man to be chasing after women around town like a frog hopping from one lily pad to another. William was 62 years old now. He didn’t know if he would ever live to see the day Barry would finally settle down. Therefore he couldn’t expect any grandkids from him unless, God forbid, he accidentally got one of them pregnant. Neither could he expect any more grandkids from Doug. The doctors believed Rowena had suffered some kind of depression after Simon came along and had advised both of them against them having any more children. Doug quietly had a vasectomy operation performed, which left Simon as their only son, and William’s only grandson.
The train lurched forward as it pulled slowly out of Hornsby station. The whine of the accelerating electric motors matched only by the shuddering transition from one track to another as the stainless steel interurban crossed the points. Again a second time it shuddered to the right and lurched finally one last time onto the mainline, heading due north out of Sydney. The sound came rasping in through the partly opened windows like a mechanical symphony.
Doug was a busy man it seemed. His job as a real estate agent soaked up most of his time, and what little time he had left over was spent working around the house. Adding to the market price he’d always say. Simon had required a lot of his time also, until recently when he had started school. For the first time, he had said over the phone when they last spoke, Rowena finally had some time to herself while Simon was at school. The house was certainly tidier for it and he hoped it would do them both some good as a couple. Things were looking brighter.
Simon would have a lot to tell him. When he last visited a month ago, it was the weekend before school started and the little kid was all excited to be going. He’d get to hear all about his first month of school, his teachers, friends, what he’d been learning about and everything else that is a big deal to a young boy. He smiled at the thought of what he could expect, a big birthday party complete with a fancy cake, decorations and a backyard full of other kids running around playing happily. He took the birthday present he had been holding all this time from off his lap and placed it on the vacant seat beside him.
All week he had looked forward to today. He’d dressed in his best navy blue trousers, shined his black dress shoes and had ironed a clean white shirt. Ignoring the wrinkles that had permanently taken up residence under his eyes and upon his forehead, not to mention the folds of skin under his chin that had once been more recognizable as a neck, he had combed back his thin, white hair trying to look the best an ageing man can be. He had grown accustomed to living by himself these past five years but it was so good not having to spend a Sunday alone.
Outside the window, the train continued accelerating past the Hornsby car sheds. Lined up neatly on tracks leading into the huge train depot, readied for the Monday morning rush hour, were double deck electric suburban trains, their stainless steel sides gleaming in the weekend sunshine. Outside, more of the older venetian red suburban single deck trains, some carriages repainted in blue and white, that for so long had plied their trade on the rails throughout Sydney sat faded and worn alongside the mainline.
One time Sundays hadn't been so bad. He'd start the morning by getting the milk bottles from the doorstep and the paper from out of the flower bed, or the small shrub near the letterbox, or over by the side fence but never on the front path where the paper boy aimed for, and then return to his chair at the kitchen table where his breakfast would be ready. Usually on Sundays he'd have scrambled eggs on toast, a cup of tea and Petula in his ear telling him to get his nose out of the paper and make sure he was ready for church. That was five years ago. God he missed her.
She was a deeply religious woman, never missed church on a Sunday. ‘Going to be with my Lord now William, going to be with my Lord,’ were the last words she had spoken before he heard her last breath sigh past her lips right there in the hospital. She had been sick for months. Doctors had said that there was something wrong with her liver, had given her some pills, said at her age there wasn't much she could do but rest and left him to take care of her. For the last few weeks she was mostly bed ridden but still managed to get to church one last time before she took a turn for the worse and wound up in hospital, a few days later she was gone. The funny thing was that he hadn't been to church since. These days it was just the one milk bottle, just the toast and he sat there reading the paper 'till lunchtime.
The city fell away behind him now as the train left the suburbs behind. Out both sides of the window, the houses gave way to steeply graded bush land that sloped irregularly down to the Hawkesbury River. The electric train whined as it began the descent, the sun gleaming off its stainless steel body as it snaked its way around the rugged mountain side. The front of the train disappearing from view regularly as it curved first to the right, then to the left, before slicing through one of the many sandstone cuttings. The smell of gum trees drifted in gently through the open window and the warmth of the sun stroked the side of his face as he closed his eyes and settled back into the hard chair as best he could. The rocking of the train and the rhythmic clacking of the steel rails let a relaxed smile crease in the corner of his mouth and he found himself reaching for his wife’s hand beside him. There was nothing there. Then the world went black as the train charged into a tunnel, a cold gust of breeze, tinged with a smell of dampness slamming into his face, wiping away the warmth of the sunshine from his face, and taking the smell of gum leaves from his nostrils.