‘It’s like Groundhog Day.’ Tom muttered under his breath as he shoved his hands deep into his pockets and leaned back against the glass panel, sighing and shaking his head wearily. Two years to the day that his wife Penny had abandoned him to the pointless existence of a widower. His eyes burned. He quickly turned to stare out of the window at the fleeting roads, houses and trees; the Tyne sparkling in the blinding morning sun.
Two stops and Smiley Lady would get on, fidgeting with the hem of her blouse. She would look straight at him and smile shyly. Penny had never been shy, not even as a young lass. He wasn’t shy – never had been – he just didn’t like people making a fuss of him, or looking at his mouth when he smiled, or asking him questions in front of people.
There she is.
She reached for the button to open the door, stepping alongside the train before it had come to a stop. As the doors scraped and slammed open she stepped onto the Metro, tugged at her blouse, and looked straight at him, the corners of her eyes creasing as her mouth curved into a smile.
‘Alreet?’ Tom’s eager smile crept up to his mouth from a warm forgotten place. Heat and colour rushed up his neck and cheeks and set his ears burning. Lowering his eyes, he examined the laces on his shoes as he waited for the Metro to pull into Monument.
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