Chapter Text
Beaconsfield Junction wasn’t a busy place—just a modest station tucked along the countryside route, mostly passed through rather than visited. But inside the café, the air was always warm, filled with the aroma of steeped tea and toasting bread, enough to keep Celia on her feet most hours of the day.
She’d been running the place for eight years now—even before the war. It had started as necessity more than ambition. Her ne’er-do-well husband lost his job during the Depression and never kept one long enough to pay rent or buy more than his next bottle.
“You can’t expect me to be a cook-housekeeper during the day and a loving wife in the evening just because you feel like it,” Celia said, wiping down the counter with brisk strokes. “So, I left.”
Beth, perched on a stool with her apron loosely knotted, looked up wide-eyed. “Didn’t you ever go back?”
“Never. I went to my sister’s, then to a friend’s. Took every job I could till I saved enough to open this place.”
Beth frowned. “What happened to him?”
“Dead as a doornail within three years.”
“Well, I’ll be,” Beth exclaimed.
She was a sweet girl, Beth—pretty but a little dim, more suited to idle chatter than hard sums. Celia hadn’t intended to take her on, but her mother had insisted, and Beth turned out to be good help. She gossiped too much, but it was mostly harmless stuff.
Beth leaned toward the window now, whispering conspiratorially, “Do you think something dodgy’s happening there?”
Celia followed her gaze. At the table in the far corner of the refreshment room sat two women. Regulars. Quiet.
One was blonde—Kara, Celia remembered. The first time Kara came into the shop, Celia had nearly dropped her teapot at the sight of a woman wearing trousers so sharply creased. Celia had seen many things in her day, but none like a woman who wore trousers as everyday wear. Still, Kara always tipped well and was friendly whenever she came in.
Today Kara wore dark wool trousers and a navy-blue shirt. Its narrow collar peeked from beneath a slim charcoal blazer. A simple silk scarf knotted at her throat was her only nod to convention. Kara seemed nervous; her eyes flicked to the station clock now and then.
Across from her sat a brunette, a little older, in a black wool coat with the collar turned up just so. Her gloved hand rested neatly on the table; a matching hat lay beside her, a modest veil draped forward. Celia recognized her—she was also a regular, but had never caught her name.
They both whispered in hushed tone. Celia didn’t like poking into other people’s business if it didn’t concern her.
She arched a brow. “You say that about everyone." She continued wiping the counter
“Yes, but look at them,” Beth insisted. “They look miserable.”
Before Celia could reply, the café door swung open with a rush of cold air.
“Good evening,” came a bright voice.
“Evening, love. Want a cuppa?” Celia asked and pushed Beth out of the stool so her customer could sit.
“Yes, tea would be lovely.” she returned the greeting with a practiced, wide smile. Celia reached for the teapot but paused when she noticed the woman heading directly to the table in the corner toward kara and her company.
“Lena! What a lovely surprise!” she greeted them.
“Oh—Andrea,” the brunette answered, almost shocked.
“I thought you were in London this week? Jack said you were with your mother,” Andrea inquired.
“Plans changed,” Lena said smoothly.
Andrea’s eyes slid toward Kara. There was a flicker there—delighted, perhaps, or recognition. “And this is…?”
“This is Doctor Kara Danvers.”
Kara stood to greet her. “How do you do?”
“Fine.” Andrea smiled, then held out a coin. “Would you be a dear and get me my cup of tea?”
Kara hesitated, then gently waved off the money. “No, please.” She stepped away to fetch it.
Andrea leaned in toward Lena as soon as Kara was out of earshot. “My dear… who is she, really? You’re quite a dark horse. I haven’t seen you in ages. I was meaning to pop by, but Father’s not well—you know how it is. And I had that awful fuss about Russell…”
“Oh, how dreadful,” Lena murmured, distracted. Her eyes had already drifted back to Kara at the counter.
Kara returned shortly with the tea. “Thank you so very much.” Andrea took a sip and made a face. “Oh, dear.”
“The sugar is in the spoon,” Kara said with amusement, never taking her eyes off Lena.
Andrea laughed unconcerned as she mixed her sugar. “Lena, I wish I’d known you were coming in today. We could have come together, lunched, and had a proper gossip. I loathe shopping alone.”
A bell rang on the platform. The loudspeaker crackled: “Train arriving on Platform Two for London.”
Kara’s head turned toward the platform.
“There’s your train,” Lena said, voice low.
“Yes. I know.” Kara’s words hung in the air, heavy.
Andrea chimed in, oblivious. “Aren’t you coming with us?”
Kara began gathering her things. “No. I go in the opposite direction. I have to go to London tonight.”
“Oh, I see.”
“Doctor Danvers is going to America next week,” Lena offered quickly. “She and her sister are opening a hospital.”
“How thrilling,” Andrea said, though her tone was vaguely patronizing.
The sound of Kara’s train grew louder. She turned to Lena. “I must go.”
“Yes. You must,” Lena whispered.
“Good-bye.”
“Good-bye.”
Kara shook Andrea’s hand, gave Lena one last look, and then, in a quiet, almost imperceptible gesture, placed a comforting squeeze on Lena’s shoulder before disappearing through the café door onto the platform.
Lena stared after her, unmoving. Andrea, meanwhile, rummaged through her handbag, pulling out a compact and lipstick. “She’ll have to run or she’ll miss it,” She said with a laugh. “Do you remember that time at college? We missed our train back for the holidays, and your mother was livid? My father nearly killed the poor train conductor…”
A whistle blew outside.
“Is that the Wallingford train?” Andrea called over to Celia.
“No—that’s the express,” Celia replied.
“The boat train,” Lena added quietly.
“Oh yes—that doesn’t stop, does it?” Andrea moved to the counter. “I want some chocolate, please.”
“Milk or plain?”
“Plain… no, maybe milk. Do you have any with nuts?”
As the roar of the express thundered past, Andrea paid for her chocolate and turned back toward the table—only to find Lena gone.
“Oh, where is she?”
“I never noticed her leave,” Celia murmured, eyes scanning the room.
Then—the door to Platform creaked open.
Lena stepped inside, white as a sheet, her hand clutching the doorknob for support.
“My dear, where did you disappear to?” Andrea said, moving toward her. “Are you feeling ill?”
“I just wanted to see the express go through,” Lena said, voice brittle.
She allowed Andrea to guide her back to the table. “I do feel a little sick… but I’ll be fine in a minute.”
Andrea tucked a dark strand of hair behind Lena’s ear, studying her face. “You’re really not well.”
Before Lena could respond, the station bell rang again. “That’s our train,” she said, rising abruptly.
They crossed the room and made their way to the platform. A porter opened the door to a third-class compartment, and they climbed inside. The door slammed shut behind them. Through the window, Lena could see the opposite platform vanishing behind the train’s slow movement.
Andrea arranged her parcels and leaned toward her. “I really am worried about you, dear. You look terribly peaky.”
“I’m all right—really. I just felt faint for a moment, that’s all.” Lena managed a smile—forced but passable.
Andrea fell silent for a moment, then said with a smirk, “She was certainly very good-looking.”
“Who?”
“Your friend—that Doctor, whatever her name was.”
Lena turned to the window. “Yes. She is nice.”
“Have you known her long?”
“No… not very long.” Lena offered a thin smile. “I hardly know her at all, really…”
Andrea prattled on, her voice a distant hum: something about American hospitals, prejudice against women doctors, and how people always needed roots. Lena barely heard it.
I wish you were dead, her mind whispered—not from cruelty, just exhaustion. No, that’s unkind. I just want silence. She rested her head against the rattling glass and let the rhythmic thrum of the train dull the ache in her chest.
“What’s the matter, dear? Are you feeling ill again?”
“No… just dizzy. I think I’ll close my eyes.”
“Of course—poor darling. I won’t say another word. If you fall asleep, I’ll wake you at your stop.”
“Thanks, Andrea.”
The train’s motion blurred into shadow. Lena’s thoughts drifted back to Kara—to her voice, her touch, the faint warmth of it. Misery gripped her tightly now, but she clung to it. She didn’t want it to fade. She wanted to remember every second—always, always—to the end of her days.
A jolt. The train stopped. “Wake up, Lena! We’re here!” Andrea nudged her.
They walked down the platform together, the station lights falling in bands across their faces. Outside, in the cool evening air, Lena shook off the heaviness.
“I could come with you,” Andrea offered. “It’s not far out of my way.”
“It’s sweet of you,” Lena said, “but I’m perfectly all right now. That little nap did wonders.”
“You’re quite sure?”
“Absolutely positive.”
They passed through the ticket barrier. A whistle blew behind them, and the train groaned into motion.
“Thank you for being so kind,” Lena said, hugging Andrea.
“Nonsense, dear. I’ll telephone in the morning—just to check. Good night. Give my love to Jack.”
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