Look to the Stars

Chapter 1

Andrew's hip bumped against the door of the small train carriage, his hold on the brass handle barely keeping him from falling over. Thankfully it was only the two of them in the confined space, the only other passenger to board with them mercifully taking the next booth. Andrew's jaw tensed as the tiny rust-red coloured houses rushed past the dirty windows.

"Why don't you come and sit down?" Foyle quietly suggested, sliding himself over fractionally so that there was enough room between himself and the window. He touched the padded seat, its worn leather squeaking under his fingers.

Andrew nodded a couple of times but strode instead to the seat opposite his father. He huffed as his bottom flopped onto the padded seat, a small cloud of dust suddenly visible in the stream of early morning sunshine. Like a nervous tic his right heel bounced, his knee jumping up and down as a result.

"This could be awkward, Dad …..I mean..." Andrew mumbled, his hand pressing down on his jittery leg.

"Why do you say that?" Foyle asked, turning himself so that his shoulders pressed into the corner of the back rest.

"What if Sam doesn't want me there?"

"Well, she invited you, so…..I'd find that hard to believe" Foyle replied, pointing out the obvious flaw in his son's argument. Andrew didn't seem convinced.

Their conversation stalled as the train headed into a tunnel, the darkness and a high pitched whistle of wind rendering any attempt at speech moot.

As often happens, the train gathered considerable speed while in the tunnel and the sudden re-emergence of sunlight seemed to make Andrew jump. He drew in a quick breath and squeezed the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger.

"Alright?" Foyle asked, frowning.

"Mm hm...fine" Andrew replied and blinked his eyes a few times.

They continued on in silence as the train steadily rumbled along, the younger man staring out the window, the older man staring at the son who had aged before his time. Foyle found it hard not to notice the prominent cheek bones and the dark shadows under his son's eyes, an almost permanent expression of fearful anticipation. Foyle frowned and leaned his elbow against the narrow frame of the window as they slowly made their way north towards Lyminster. The train carriage rocked, jostling both men in their seats.

As they slowly left behind the built up villages and busy high streets of the south and entered the green rolling hills of the north, Andrew's breathing slowed, the rhythmic blur of passing trees seeming to lull him into a state of peace.

"What's her name again?" Andrew suddenly asked, his fingers absently pulling at the raised buttons on his RAF jacket. His eyes slowly found his father's face.

"Hmm?" Foyle hummed, his eyebrows raised.

"Sam's little girl."

"Oh, uh, Katherine..." Foyle replied, suddenly smiling. "Katherine Joy." He ran his fingers through his hair, the tips brushing over the top of his ear. "I think they call her Kate."

"Kate Grimshaw" Andrew whispered, his lips working hard to form the words.

Andrew ran his hands back and forth along the length of his thighs, something he had always done when he was nervous or anxious. Foyle pursed his lips.

"Won't be long now" Foyle declared, somewhat redundantly, as they rounded the second to last bend. He and Andrew had made this journey numerous times; trips into Town for work when single parenthood necessitated the bringing of an adolescent boy, or holiday journeys to stay with Rosalind's family over the school break. The route was tediously familiar and not a penny would be lost on a bet that both he and his son could recite, in order, the twelve stations between Hastings and Euston Street without a second thought.

Andrew nodded at his father's words then stood, one knee braced against the side of the seat for stability, and reached for the two small cases on the parcel shelf. His own case landed with a thud at his feet and he lifted his hand for the second. Foyle suddenly perched forward on his seat.

"Steady on" he grumbled, predicting a rough ride for his luggage. "That's fragile."

Andrew gave a breathy chuckle. "Since when is this old thing fragile?" the young man asked, gingerly handing the small case over to his father, his two finger grip of the handle making it swing back and forth.

"It's not the case...that's fragile" Foyle said, exasperated. "...it's what's in it."

"What's in it?" Andrew asked, his smile growing. "You didn't pack your last bottle of Glenlivit, did you, Dad?"

"Well, I couldn't do that, could I?" Foyle retorted, sliding the case between his legs, his ankles gripping into the sides. "You finished it off."

"You offered" Andrew threw back, not managing to hide his smile.

"Well…."

The train began to slow down, the clickety-clack rhythm of its movement changing pace. While still holding the case firmly between his legs, Foyle stood and slipped on his coat then fed a thick grey scarf around his neck. Andrew instantly tensed, a reminder perhaps, of his father's recent chest infection, a particularly nasty bug that had laid him up for over a week and necessitated two anxious calls to the doctor.

"The wind looks like it's picked up" Foyle simply said, nodding through the window towards the swaying branches of the trees that peppered Lyminster Station.

"Mmm" Andrew hummed, a copy of his father's reticence. He reached over and carefully picked up his case, juggling the weight in his hand. "We shouldn't wait too long in the wind, then."

"Well, that won't be happening" Foyle told his son as he tucked the tasselled ends of his scarf into the gap in his coat. "Sam's father's already waiting for us."

"Is he?" Andrew enquired, his nose barely a quarter of an inch from the cold glass. His warm breath made a halo of moisture just below the pull down shade as he said "I don't see anyone."

"He's talking to the porter" Foyle explained and then gave a rasp of a cough. He sucked in a replenishing breath through his nose and rubbed the heel of his hand up and down his breastbone.

"Alright, Dad?" Andrew asked, frowning.

"Perfectly" Foyle replied and nodded towards the door. "We shouldn't keep him waiting."

With his free hand, Andrew slapped his RAF cap onto his head. "Mind the stairs, Dad" he said with not a hint of humour. Foyle turned and gave his son a glare, one of his eyebrows lifting in question. Andrew rolled his eyes but took both cases in his hands, lifting his father's away as Foyle reached for it.

"Mr Foyle" Iain Stewart declared joyously as both Foyle men descended to the platform. Foyle took Stewart's hand and shook it vigorously. He smiled.

Andrew stopped a full pace behind his father and placed the cases onto the concrete at his feet. "It's much colder here than at home" he declared and gave his father a concerned look. Iain leaned forward, his extra height giving the advantage of a longer reach. He put out his hand and said "you must be Andrew."

"Yes, Sir" Andrew replied, receiving the Vicar's handshake. "How do you do."

"I'm very pleased to finally meet you…." Rev Stewart said, a genuine smile gracing his lips as he adjusted his small framed spectacles. "Such a shame we weren't able to have you at the wedding." Andrew opened his mouth to explain but before so much as a sound emerged, Stewart continued. "But we do understand that your role in the RAF is of vital importance." Stewart reached and picked up the larger of the two cases then added "and we are very happy that you are able to be with us now."

A couple of young women giggled behind their hands as they briskly walked past the trio. The shorter of the two blushed as she glanced her eyes over Andrew's uniform, her head bobbing up and down. The other woman nudged her arm and they both hurried away, the sound of their high heeled shoes clicking against the cold ground. Foyle rolled his eyes as Andrew smiled bashfully at the women, the colour rising in his cheeks.

"I've managed to get a car" Stewart told them, either not noticing or, more probably, choosing to ignore Andrew's reaction to the women. He put a hand on Foyle's shoulder and leaned in, dropping his head so that his mouth was level with Foyle's ear. "My daughter gave me strict instructions not to let you walk in the cold, Christopher."

Foyle stopped and turned to look at Andrew, a questioning stare directed at him.

"I wrote to Sam …..when you were ill, Dad" Andrew gave, shrugging his shoulders.

"Oh, terrific" Foyle moaned, his voice low. "Now I'll have you both fussing over me" he added, pulling angrily at the scarf. Andrew's half strangled groan, though, lengthened Foyle's fuse and he deliberately tucked the finely knitted wool back in against his chest.

"The girls will be wondering where we've got to" Stewart called over his shoulder as he led the way to the old car. "Unfortunately," he said, fishing a key out of his breast pocket, "the trains aren't as….predictable as they once were."

"No" Foyle simply replied and helped to load the cases into the boot. "How are they?"

"Ahhh" Stewart said, opening the driver's door. All three entered, Foyle in the front and Andrew sliding himself slowly into the back seat. "My daughter has her afternoon all planned out with you and Andrew, Christopher…..and if she found that I'd given you any information ahead of schedule, I think I'd be banished."

Foyle gave one of his upside down smiles and both he and Andrew chuckled.