Wishful Thinking (a journey that will change lives forever) Read online

  Wishful Thinking

  Melissa Hill

  First published in Great Britain by Hodder & Stoughton, 2008.

  Copyright Melissa Hill 2005

  The right of Melissa Hill to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author. You must not circulate this book in any format.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Thursday October 20: 8.40 a.m.

  She was not going to miss this, she told herself. Come hell or high water, she was not going to miss it.

  But the rumbling was getting louder by the minute, so, despite her spiky heels and slim-fitting pencil skirt, she had no choice but to make a run for it – an extremely awkward run, that no doubt made her look like she were competing in a three-legged race.

  Very classy.

  But she’d already been late twice this week and once again the previous week, so she knew that if she missed the train today she was in big trouble. It looked as though she wasn’t the only one running late this morning either, she thought, seeing another harried-looking commuter rush towards the ticket office.

  Luckily, she already had a travel-pass and once inside the train station, she scurried through the barrier and breathed a huge sigh of relief to find that the train was still at the platform. Just in time.

  Breathing heavily as a result of her sprint, she nipped inside the double doors just seconds before they shut – and nearly catching the hem of her precious John Rocha pink trench coat in the process. Now that would be a disaster!

  But the person behind her hadn’t been fast enough and, as the train pulled off, she felt for the unlucky commuter who would undoubtedly have to wait some time for the next train.

  She shrugged and repositioned her handbag on her shoulder. Such was life.

  The morning service to Dublin was a busy run, and by the time the train reached this station there was normally only standing room in the carriages. But to her immense relief, today there was an unoccupied seat a little way down, one that the other commuters obviously hadn’t yet seen. She smiled softly to herself and quickly made her way to the seat, thrilled to be able to sit down – especially after all that running. But as she pushed through the standing crowd, her handbag slipped off her shoulder and down along her arm before falling awkwardly onto the ground. Typical! The one time she decides to bring her precious Orla Kiely handbag to work and she has to go and drop it on a dirty floor! Inelegantly, she bent down to try and pick it up – the train’s forward movement, as well as the weight of the briefcase in her other hand, unbalancing her.

  “Here you go!” Another passenger, a young blonde girl sitting nearest the aisle, had retrieved the bag for her. She gave the pretty pink and white-patterned bag a blatantly appreciative glance before handing it back. “An Orla Kiely, isn’t it?”

  “Yes – thanks a million,” she replied breathlessly, and with relief continued on towards that precious seat, which at this stage she needed very badly.

  The backs of her thighs were already aching from their unaccustomed exertions, and as she sank gratefully onto the seat and put her briefcase on the floor and her prized handbag on her lap, she reminded herself once more that she really should start going to the gym.

  As she dusted off the bag, she shuffled exaggeratedly on her seat, trying to give a not-so-subtle hint to the man beside her to move his things so she could sit comfortably. She’d noticed a bit of extra padding on her backside lately but this was ridiculous – the man and his belongings were sprawled all over the place! Eventually, Mister got the message and grudgingly, she thought, moved his jacket and laptop to give her some more room.

  She caught the eye of an older lady sitting directly across from her and the woman gave a slight conspiratorial smile as if to say ‘typical men!’. She was reading one of those fluffy romance novels and, judging by her age and the relaxed manner in which she carried herself, was most likely the only person on the train today not on her way to work. Then again, she decided, catching sight of some guy in a tracksuit (not your typical be-suited professional) trying to push his way through the standing crowds, who knew what people might be doing?

  Lucky thing though, she thought, eyeing the older woman enviously and trying to remember the last time she had been able to lose herself in a cosy read. Speaking of which . . . She reached for her briefcase and, groaning inwardly, withdrew the documents that needed going over for this morning’s meeting. Cosy reading it wasn’t.

  Flicking through the documents, she began to read, but soon found that she couldn’t really concentrate. Her mind absently kept going over what the love of her life had said to her the night before.

  “We need to talk,” he’d announced. God, that was such a cliché, but they knew each other inside out, and seemed to be getting on really well lately, so what on earth could be wrong? Her mind raced as she tried to come up with a few possible scenarios – was he going off her, had he decided that they shouldn’t be together after all or . . .

  And then it hit her. Of course! He was going to propose! Thinking back on it now, it hadn’t been a serious ‘we need to talk’ – it was more of a nervous ‘we need to talk’! So after all this time, he’d finally cottoned on to the fact that he couldn’t live without her! She hugged herself excitedly, crumpling her work papers in the process. But at a time like this who cared about work?

  She could be wrong of course, and could very well be jumping to hasty conclusions, but somehow deep down she knew she was right! She had to be! They had a fantastic time together, and were madly in love, so what was the next step only marriage? Thinking of proposals and engagement rings, a horrified thought struck her. Please, please may he not have picked out the ring himself! The man was perfect in every other way, but God love him, he had terrible taste in jewellery! She remembered the time he had given her this absolutely hideous, tacky-looking silver chain one Christmas – it looked as though he had picked it up in –

  Just then, her thoughts were cut off by this tremendous . . . incredibly overpowering . . . ear-splitting . . . screeching sound, and she instantly put her hand to her ears to try and block it out. What was going on?

  Then, all of a sudden, the train began to shudder, and although she had no idea what was happening, her body tensed and the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. She looked wildly around the carriage, wondering if everyone else had heard it, or was she the only one? No, the older woman across from her looked terrified, confused . . . everyone looked bewildered . . . and then there was this incredible roar, a sound so deafening it was unlike anything she had ever heard before, so loud it was as though it had invaded her mind, her body, her entire being. Her heart hammered, her brain flooded with this other, even more excruciating noise . . . and then her seat jerked forward . . . and for a strange few moments, it seemed as though time had slowed to a crawl and everything was happening in slow motion. Surreally, the entire carriage seemed to have lifted off the tracks, and the train was now travelling on thin air. But that couldn’t be the case, could it, she thought absently, as a tremendous force winched her out of her seat.

  Trains couldn’t fly, could they?

  ******

  Thursday October 20: 10.10 a.m.

  The normally self-assured and flawlessly composed Clare Rogers today looked
ragged and white-faced. She stared unseeingly into the camera, as if she wasn’t quite sure where she was and what she was doing.

  When she spoke, her words sounded panicked and uncertain – totally inappropriate for a professional TV journalist – but then again, she thought, when had she ever needed to report something like this?

  In her earpiece she heard the voice of Richard Heffernan speaking live from the RTE news studio.

  “Our correspondent, Clare Rogers, is at the scene of this mornings’ train derailment on the east coast. Clare, can you tell us anything concrete at this stage?” he asked.

  Clare began slowly. “Well, Richard, the emergency services have just arrived at the location, so details are very sketchy at this time.” Her voice trembled slightly as she spoke. “All I can confirm is that this train is a very busy commuter carrier serving the east coast to Dublin city centre. However, it seems very likely that the route suffered a signalling failure, which resulted in the train’s derailment here near Merrion Gates.”

  “And is there any indication as to what might have happened to cause this derailment?” Richard prompted.

  “Again, Richard, we can’t confirm anything at present. I do know that Rail Ireland will be making a statement in due course, so we should know more then. However, before we went on air, I spoke to a number of witnesses – commuters sitting in traffic and waiting to pass through the gates – who’ve helped me reconstruct the scene. They saw, or rather heard the train braking loudly from some distance, which would suggest that the train driver may have spotted traffic passing through the crossing, and identified immediately that there was a problem with the signal. Seconds later, the train derailed a few yards from the gates. It then careered across the tracks and through a concrete wall before ending up on the strand here.” Clare swallowed hard. “Luckily, there were no southbound trains coming the other way at the time,” she added quietly.

  “So the driver tried to stop the train in order to avoid crashing into the early-morning traffic?”

  “Perhaps – again we’re just not sure. No doubt there will be a full investigation, but at the moment, the emphasis is of course on the rescue efforts.” Once more, Clare’s professional façade dropped slightly, and her eyes betrayed her inner distress.

  “Now, a signal failure, this is something that is most unusual for this country’s rail network, isn’t it?” Richard went on – evidently intent on getting to the bottom of the situation.

  “That’s right,” Clare confirmed. “Derailments can unfortunately be quite common for our neighbours in the UK, simply because of the fact that there are a number of rail companies operating and using the line network there. The system is well organized, but signals can get confused. Which,” she said, once more struggling to keep her voice even, “can lead to accidents like this one.”

  “But we have only one rail carrier operating here in Ireland, Clare, and as a result mistakes are very rare, aren’t they?”

  “Usually, yes. But Richard, over the last couple of months, Rail Ireland have been carrying out a number of upgrades throughout the network. Although it is only speculation at this stage – and as I said, the company will be making a full statement soon – it would appear that the signalling system on this particular level crossing may have failed.” She swallowed hard.

  “Which would obviously have serious implications for the company,” Richard finished solemnly.

  Clare looked directly into the camera. “Very serious implications, Richard,” she agreed, her voice grim. “At this time of morning, the train would have been full of commuters, regular users of this service, and – as I’m sure our viewers can tell from our camera footage of the scene – there will be a high number of serious injuries, and undoubtedly some fatalities.”

  “Thank you, Clare – we’ll come back to you later for the Rail Ireland press conference.” The footage of the wreck disappeared from the screen, and the picture cut back to the newsroom studio. Richard looked solemnly into the camera before adding, “Our thoughts go out to the friends and families of any viewers at home whose loved ones might have taken this particular train to work this morning. Stay tuned for further updates.”

  FOUR MONTHS EARLIER

  Chapter 1

  June 21st, 8.00 a.m.

  Rosie Mitchell waited patiently at the platform. The train was a little bit late this morning, she thought, checking her watch. Not that it mattered to her. Unlike all the young hassled-looking people here, Rosie wasn’t in any hurry. At this stage, she was long past her rushing-around days, and unlike these poor misfortunates, had no big mortgage to worry about, or loan or car repayments to meet.

  Thank goodness for the train all the same, she thought, otherwise these days she’d be really stuck. Martin had always been the one to do the driving, and God knows he went on at her enough to learn, but she never had any interest.

  To be honest, she liked the train, enjoyed being able to sit back for the journey to Dublin and admire the beautiful views along the coast, gaze at the birds weaving in and out over the cliffs between Greystones and Bray, or stare in awe at the stunningly beautiful Killiney Bay. Or, if the day was cloudy, and the scenery not so spectacular, she would sit and read a book. Sometimes she’d be so stuck in the story she was reading that she wouldn’t even notice the journey going.

  So Rosie loved the train and she wouldn’t dream of getting a car. What was the point? The station was a short walk down the road from the house and, with the train going three times a day to Connolly station, she had plenty of options. She could nip into town whenever she fancied a bit of window shopping, and the house in which her old friend Sheila now lived was close enough to the rail line, as was her daughter Sophie’s place. For the moment anyway.

  The train finally pulled into Wicklow station, and Rosie stood back and waited until the cluster of younger commuters were happily seated before she herself boarded. The upside of this was that she wouldn’t get pushed and shoved while stepping onto the train. Since putting her back out in a badminton match a few years ago, Rosie’s balance wasn’t as sure as it used to be, and she liked to take her time for fear of slipping into the huge gap between the train and the platform. Of course, the downside of waiting until everyone else had boarded was that she was often left without a seat. But Rosie didn’t mind. These people all had hard day’s work ahead of them whereas she didn’t have a care in the world.

  In fact, wasn’t she the lucky one – a lady of leisure going off to view houses with her only daughter? She’d hate to have to face a day’s work now like all her poor fellow passengers. You could almost see the tension in their expressions – all preoccupied with whatever awaited them at their jobs. It was a shame really, the lengths that people had to go to these days just to keep their heads above water.

  It had been a lot different when she and Martin were starting out. Neither of them had to spend hours of their day commuting back and forth like that and, she thought, they were much the better for it.

  Martin had worked in his father’s gardening business since he was old enough to use a trowel, and Rosie had worked in the Civil Service, which of course back then was one of the cushiest numbers you could get. They’d bought the house in Wicklow town so she could walk to work, while Martin went off in his van to wherever he happened to be working that day.

  She smiled sadly as she thought of poor Martin. There wasn’t a day that she didn’t think of him, of course, and miss him dreadfully, but yet she couldn’t really complain. They had had a wonderful marriage, two wonderful children in David and Sophie, and in their many years together rarely a cross word had passed between them. She and Martin had both known for some time before his death that the day would soon come when she would be left on her own. High blood pressure was in Martin’s family, and when he suffered two near-fatal heart attacks in his last year, it became clear that a simple change in lifestyle or the tablets he was taking weren’t going to save him. But it was lovely that he had died doing what he loved
, tending the roses out in the back garden – the evening sun just beginning to fade when Rosie found him.

  So, eighteen long months ago, Rosie had buried the one great love of her life, having made him a promise that she would keep going, keep laughing and smiling and enjoying life in the same way she always did, so that it wouldn’t seem all that long until she saw him again. At times it was very hard, but she was doing her very best to keep that promise.

  Anyway, she was very lucky. Her two children were happily married and with good jobs, David to a lovely Liverpool girl named Kelly (although there were no sign of kids yet, and Rosie wouldn’t dream of asking) and working as a builder over there. Sophie and Robert had little two-year-old Claudia and had good jobs, but were still searching for a house. Rosie shook her head. That was another real hardship for the younger people these days. The house prices in Dublin were legendary and it would only get worse!

  Anyway, today Sophie was taking her to see a house she had her eye on out in Malahide. “Mum, it’s perfect!” she’d enthused on the phone the day before. “You have simply got to see it!”

  Rosie was delighted with her daughter’s enthusiasm but couldn’t help feeling a little bit disappointed that Sophie would want to live all the way out there, and so far away from her. It was far enough as it was with her living in Santry, and having to take the train and then a bus just to visit her.

  Still, it would be nice to see the three of them settled in something other than the rented apartment they were in now. There wasn’t much space, and what with Claudia hitting the terrible twos it couldn’t be good for them all living in what was basically one big room. And the height of the place! Imagine if the child somehow opened or even fell through that big front window? Rosie didn’t even like to think about it. No, it would be better for all concerned if this place Sophie wanted her to see today was a nice little tidy semi like Rosie’s own house, with a safe back garden for Claudia to run around in.