Travels Through An Imaginary Landscape

An awed hush settled over the carriage as the steady drum of clanking footsteps drew closer. Everyone instinctively huddled in the centre of the car, all eyes fixed upon the door. William’s mother threw a protective arm around her son; Charters and Caldicott, standing shoulder to shoulder, drew themselves up to their full height; the businessman gripped the nearest table more tightly than ever and let out a murmur of dismay. Flanked by the tall, upright figures of Michael and the accountant I concentrated hard on the suddenly tricky business of remembering to breathe. Continue reading →

It proved to be a disappointingly simple task to exchange at the station our bartered tickets to Madrid for two returns to Marksville. During the transaction I tried to probe the ticket clerk for details of this so-called ‘conflict’ taking place at our destination, endeavouring to determine whether Sturridge’s reassurances were in any way reliable. But the railway employee proved irritatingly officious in his replies. Yes, he conceded, he was aware of some slight trouble in that particular region but it was the railway company’s policy never to get involved in any hostilities occurring anywhere along its operating routes. All he was prepared to say was that the daily scheduled train had been leaving at 2pm prompt for Marksville every day for the last six months and he had never seen any passengers back at his window complaining about the service they’d received en route. Continue reading →

It was a little over half an hour later when Michael and I located the Café del Mar, which I approached rather more in hope than expectation. Inside we found a warm, bustling place with a vaguely Bohemian air. The clientele were a decidedly mixed bunch; young and old, male and female, down-at-heel and well-to-do, all maintaining a steady hum of chatter above the clink of cups and the rustle of newspapers. Despite a careful scrutiny of the various faces though I failed to spot anyone in the crowd bearing the faintest resemblance to Sturridge. Continue reading →

We stood on the concourse of Marston Railway Station and stared up at the departures board, attempting to select a destination. For the last two weeks Michael and I had been randomly zig-zagging our way through the landscape in an attempt to throw off the seemingly inexhaustible pursuit of the Explorer’s Club. When we’d arrived in this relatively small backwater town in the early hours of the morning we felt like we might finally have succeeded in giving them the slip. But after a hearty breakfast it was decided that perhaps one more arbitrary journey might be a good idea just to be sure. Continue reading →

I woke the next morning to find the bright Autumnal sunshine had been banished by a dark and stormy sky. Anyone who wished to disturb the peace with a spot of early morning drilling today would have to struggle to make themselves heard over the regular claps of thunder and pouring rain. Hunched over against the harsh conditions, I marched purposefully to the day hospital. Despite arriving almost fifteen minutes early for my appointment I found myself ushered straight into Dr Pierce’s office. Continue reading →