The name, following another merger, had since changed to Fraser-Biochem in 1986. The main focus of attention for the company these days was research into the prevention of diseases of old age like Alzheimer’s and dementia, an expanding market the world over with people living longer and diseases associated with old age becoming more prevalent. Though some research was still carried out at the original Brentford building the centre of its massive global operations was based in the United States, where it first set up business in the Research Triangle Park, Durham County in North Carolina in 1963.
Gareth looked at the name and number on the piece of paper. What the hell, he thought. What harm can it do?
23
For him, Cardiff Central station was where it all began. Or ended. It depended upon your point of view. This place, right here, right in front of him, was where his mother had abandoned him. Through that door (OK, so it wasn’t that very door as it had been replaced ages ago) and in those same women’s toilets. 1976.
He’d often pictured it in his head. It was late, the platform thinning somewhat as the last dregs of commuters headed home. A woman clutching a small bundle to her chest, unnoticed, attracting not the slightest attention. But there again why should she? There was nothing unusual about her, a woman carrying a baby. Nothing unusual in the way she nipped into the toilets.
Gareth Davies wondered what her expression had been as she glanced about her to see if anyone were watching. Was it cold and calculating, indicative of a job to be done, to be got out of the way quickly, not even a hint of emotion? Or was it pained, remorseful, tearful? It depended upon which mood seized him, whether he wanted to despise or pity her, or even whether he despised or pitied himself.
He imagined her exiting, the bundle no longer at her chest. He even followed her path from the door, saw her faint shape scurrying down the platform and out of his life forever. She could only have gone that way, he thought, headed for the exit or another platform. She had walked this very platform, passed within inches of where he stood now.
He breathed deep as if to breathe in what remained of her presence, but all he could smell were the acrid fumes from throbbing diesel engines and strong coffee wafting from the cafe further down the platform.
As a consequence he hated this place for all that it represented. He’d been here a few times over the years and the feelings only grew stronger. What he should not have done was come to this platform in the first place. He needn’t have; his train didn’t even depart from here. But it was as if he were drawn against his will. But for what? To suffer abandonment all over again, to heat himself up with something he couldn’t change? Or to try and reach out for someone that was the only true link to who he truly was; to that woman who took with her, when she scurried empty-handed down the platform, his very identity, his sense of belonging; took away the very meaning to his life before it had even begun?
‘You’ll find it’s the door on the left,’ a woman’s voice said at his right shoulder.
It caused him to start. ‘Sorry?’ he said, turning to look at her.
She didn’t meet his eyes, though he could see hers were a vivid shade of green. Her hair was a luxuriant red, shining healthily and long, hanging just above her shoulder blades. She sported a short, heavily worn leather jacket and equally worn slim-legged denim jeans. She had her hands thrust deep in her jacket pockets. Attractive, he thought almost immediately and almost against his will. She was chewing gum like it was going out of fashion.
‘The men’s toilets are the ones on the left.’ She pointed limply, returning the hand to the pocket as if it were a shy creature unwilling to poke its nose out in daylight. ‘You appear confused. It’s the one marked with the little man wearing trousers.’
‘Oh,’ he said, expelling a nervous laugh. ‘No, not confused, thank you.’
‘Unless it really is the one with the little dress on — it’s none of my business to pry.’
Though he smiled at her remark she did not smile in return. Her head was making little darting movements, first looking down the platform to her left and then to her right. She met his gaze only briefly. A minimum of makeup, he thought, if any. Lips pale but full, the only colour on her cheeks brought on by the wind streaking through the station. He wondered whether the striking red of her hair was real or from a bottle. Couldn’t be real, he decided, but it looked good on her.
He stepped aside. ‘I apologise, I’m blocking your way.’
‘Not good to stand outside the women’s toilets and stare. People might get the wrong impression.’ She nodded upwards at a CCTV camera. ‘Careful, may be used in evidence and all that…’
She made him feel curiously embarrassed. ‘Oh no, I wasn’t doing that,’ he defended.
She looked into his eyes, unblinking. Then gave the tiniest of laughs with a shadow of a smile tagged on. ‘Kidding,’ she said, and the smile faded before it had really got going. Her jaws worked the gum hard. ‘He was found there,’ she said out of the blue.
‘Sorry, who was found?’
‘The baby. Abandoned. In the toilet cubicle, back in 1976. I was a year old then.’
Gareth struggled to pull together his words. ‘Why would you say that?’ he asked, frowning deeply, quietly disturbed by what she’d said.
‘Because it’s true, is why. In there; abandoned.’
He looked about himself uncertainly. Was this some kind of a sick prank being played on him? ‘How do you know about that?’ he said.
‘People know lots of things about lots of things. I know about that one.’
‘Why’d you pick me to tell it to?’
‘Making conversation,’ she said. ‘You looked lost.’
‘Is that all?’
‘What else would there be? It’s what people do all the time. I’m a facts person, queer little anecdotes. The correct one at the correct time makes you appear intelligent and well-informed.’
‘Is this a joke?’ he said. ‘Because if it is then it’s definitely not funny.’
She shrugged, her face impassive. ‘I don’t do jokes. Some people are born without the capacity to either receive or deliver jokes. I’m one of them. People have told me I have a dry sense of humour, which basically means it’s as acrid and as featureless as a desert. Sorry to disappoint.’
‘I’ve got to go,’ he said quickly, picking up his suitcase.
‘Sure,’ she said. ‘We’re all headed somewhere.’
He ordered a black coffee, noticing as he handed the money over to the man at the checkout that his hand was shaking. He carried his drink over to a small table in the corner of the room and sat down. The platform cafe wasn’t unduly busy and he was glad of the quiet. He was wondering what all that with the woman on the platform was when he saw her enter the cafe. She scanned the room. He bent his head down, avoiding looking at her. The next thing he knew she was sliding into a chair opposite him.