The Last Text

He hadn’t slept a wink all night. Not because he’d fallen asleep in the armchair after work for three hours. But because he couldn’t stop thinking about the text she’d sent him. He’d woken up just as the ten o’clock news was about to start. He saw the red light flashing on his mobile. It was a text message from Sarah. He read it so many times that he could repeat it word for word.

“Catching the 8.23 from Kings Cross Station, platform 6. Going back up north and not coming back. So it’s goodbye. This is the last thing I’ll do on this mobile. Getting a new phone and new number. Time to start all over again. Unless you want me to stay?”

He and Sarah had moved in together last year. The first six months were true bliss. Then things started to change. She’d told him about her depression early on in their relationship but he hadn’t realised how serious it was until he actually saw it. She became moody and miserable; everything seemed to be an effort for her. He’d come home from work and find her crying for no reason. He wasn’t the most tolerant of men and couldn’t handle what was happening. They argued, fought and eventually she moved out three months ago. He hadn’t heard from her since, until the text last night.

He kept analysing the words in the text over and over in his mind. She was trying to tell him something, he was sure of it. The last few words, “Unless you want me to stay?” were the clue. She was telling him exactly where she’d be and at what time. All he had to do was stop her from getting on that train.

He looked at his watch, it was 5.15. He had three hours before she was gone forever. He couldn’t let her go. There must be medication or counselling that she could have. He’d help her. They would fight this illness together. He called his local cab firm.

“How much from Romford to Paddington Station, mate.”

“Forty quid.”

“Great.”

He booked it for six o’clock. Enough time for a shower and a coffee. He’d be there by seven, plenty of time to find her and stop her from leaving.

The cab arrived ten minutes early, he was ready.

The traffic was light for the time of morning and at twelve minutes past seven he was standing in front of the old impressive station. There was still plenty of time. He got himself a coffee and sat down at a table in the small café. He planned his surprise.

He would stand at platform six and wait for her. When she arrived he would tell her he loved her and couldn’t bear to lose her. She would cry, he would cry. Then he would ask her to marry him.

At seven forty five he walked to platform six and looked up at the departures board. There was no 8.23.

He found the information desk.

“Excuse me; I’m supposed to meet someone at platform six. They are catching the 8.23.”

“There is no 8.23 from platform six sir.”

“You sure?”

“Absolutely. The only 8.23 that goes from platform six, is the 8.23 every Wednesday evening. The next one is at 8.23 next week.”

A shudder went through his entire body. Today was Thursday.He looked closely at the text again. It had been sent at twelve minutes past six last night when he was fast asleep. She was already gone.