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Chapter 15: Jim was home

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The platform was empty. His family wasn’t waiting for him, at least not from what Jim could see through the window. The train was creeping to a halt, the platform not even a blur anymore. He pressed himself further against the glass, nose squishing against it and breath fogging his view. Jim craned his neck to look up and down the stretch of concrete, but it was abandoned. 

Jim breathed out a heavy sigh, screwing his eyes shut to prevent the tears from spilling out. 

Had they forgotten him?

He sat back against his seat and began slowly gathering his things.

How could they?

His backpack and trunk were difficult to get off the train. He found a trolley resting near the ticket office and loaded his belongings onto it, heaving with all his might to lift the trunk on his own. When it was all settled, he huffed, wiped his palms on his coat, and began pulling the cart behind him. 

The pavement was rough, but it was better than mud. A few puddles splashed over his shoes as he walked, making his socks damp and the hem of his trousers cold. The air was cool, though, and the sun not overly bright. He could make the forty minute walk to his home. He’d done it a few times before, always with his mother. 

Now he was alone. It was quiet. A few cars drove by him, most of them slowing to not splash him with the water that filled the street. The others didn’t seem as considerate, spraying Jim with a wave of muddy water. 

Jim wiped his sleeve across his face after one particularly wet spray, and only after his face was dry did he realise his eyes were wet. 

“How could they?” had been echoing constantly within the depths of his thoughts, a metronome to which he walked. 

He stopped walking, let the trolley grind to a halt just behind him, and looked up. The air was cool on his eyeballs as he held his eyes open to dry them. He didn’t want to show up to his house covered in tears. He was a big boy now, he could walk himself home from the train station. After being gone for six months. 

Jim’s shoulders were shaking. 

“No, I’m fine,” he breathed, his voice anything but steady. He sounded small, scared, and upset. Jim kicked a large rock away from his foot, breathed deeply, held it until his tiny lungs ached, and then let out the air slowly. 

Every bone in his right arm seemed to separate from its neighbour as he tugged on the trolley again, but he set it in motion. 

Jim began to hum softly to himself, determined to make it home. The trumpet fanfare from movement four of Dvorak’s Ninth kept him company the next several blocks. 

The feeling in his right hand was disappearing from where he grasped the trolley’s handle. He positioned himself directly in front of the handle, grabbed it with his left hand, and released the tension in his right before shimmying across so the bulk of the cart was more to his left than directly behind him. 

He made it another ten minutes before he had to switch hands again. 

At one moment, all of the feelings inside his little body made way for the overwhelming piece of joy that came when he thought of how much worse this would be had he lived in a very hilly town. 

~

He pulled the trolley around, tipped it forward to rest on the front feet, and plopped down on the steps. His hands ached fiercely. He tried blowing on them to alleviate some of the pain with cool air from pursed lips, but that did little.

Jim was resigned to sit on his own front steps, hands in his pockets and his belongings in a stolen trolley cart beside him, with no clue where his family or their staff was, as the front door had been locked. Jim hadn’t had the energy to walk around the house to try other doors, but he had stood knocking and ringing the bell for long enough that anyone in the house would’ve heard him, had they been in. 

Tears threatened to spill down his cheeks–he took up his humming again, having moved on from Dvorak to orchestral snippets he had memorised from various pieces. 

It was an hour after Jim had walked through the front gates, and two hours since his train had stopped at the station, when Jim finally saw the Moriarty car. 

It drove steadily down the road, slowed to make the turn onto the driveway, and paused at the gate so the driver could enter the code. Jim pulled his feet closer to him on the step below him and propped his elbows on his knees, placing his chin in his hands. 

He wanted to look bored. Maybe a touch pitiful. 

They had forgotten him. 

The car slowly came down the drive, Jim’s eyes locked on it the entire time. It followed the curve of gravel and stopped parallel to the house, the passenger side door closest to Jim. He wondered who would get out first. Wondered if his parents felt guilty, or if it had been intentional. Maybe–

Sebastian pushed the back door open and fell out of the car, landing on the gravel with a thud. Instantly he was on his feet, large dust prints marking the knees and arms of his school uniform. 

“Jamie!” He was sprinting towards Jim, who barely had any time to react or set his face before Sebastian had landed on top of him, pushing him back and squeezing him with all his might. 

Jim fought to breathe; all the air stored in his small lungs had been pushed out on impact with his best friend. Sebastian seemed to sense his discomfort, for he suddenly let him go and scrambled back, giving Jim space to get his bearings. 

His parents, along with Mrs Hurst, had gotten out of the car and stood sheepishly behind Sebastian. Jim avoided eye contact with any of them and tried to focus on what Sebastian was saying. 

“–I can go get it!! One second!” Sebastian exclaimed before bounding off into the house that the driver had now unlocked. 

Alone now, Jim stood from the step and made for his trolley. 

“Let me get it, kid,” his dad said softly, his large hand grabbing the handle before Jim had a chance. With ease, he lifted the entire cart into the air and carried it up the steps before also disappearing within the house. 

Jim turned to his mother. She was staring at the ground just in front of Jim’s feet, wringing her hands together. 

“Did you forget me?” His voice was small. He couldn’t change it. 

Mrs Hurst shook her head frantically from her spot just behind Mrs Moriarty, but Jim was only watching his mother. 

She finally met his gaze and he saw there were tears in her eyes. 

“Sebastian had a ceremony at school, and we…”

“Couldn’t miss it,” Jim finished for her. 

“James, we–”

He shut her out, no longer listening, and began walking towards his pirate ship in the trees behind the house. He shed his blazer, tossing it to the ground near the kitchen door. His tie was next–it drifted gently in the breeze for a few moments before hitting the ground. 

Jim reached the wooden structure he had built with Sebastian and his father and climbed inside, curling up in a ball against the wall. 

The tears finally flowed, pouring down his cheeks and filling his mouth and nose in his horizontal position. His shoulder shook against the wood, his hands still burning from the trolley handle. But he managed to stay silent.

Distantly, he heard Sebastian calling his name from somewhere. 

For the first time in a year, Jim wished he was back at school.