A considerable amount of time has lapsed since I last saw this place. The refreshments room at Milford station seems to have changed from the small little café it once was but the counter is just the same and the cakes are still hidden underneath their glass covers. The people have come and gone, the porters, the landlady all changed and moved on, only the railway keeps going, a stark reminder of love and pain that was experienced here. The steam trains have been replaced by a faster, more efficient train service and times are quicker but looking around as I drink my tea, I can't imagine that such a precious thing such as love could be experienced here in the hustle of station life. People come along, desperate to grab drinks before they start their train journey – no conversation is enjoyed and it seems everyone keeps themselves to themselves, not daring to ask or trying to fathom what makes others tick, what makes life go along the same old journey as before.

I have been back from Johannesburg for a few months now – the hospital recently renovated, expanded to include other departments and it has been run efficiently, needing many more managers than just me. It has made enough money to ensure I can live out my days in England carefree, whilst it continues to provide the care and help it always has done. I have made a success of it; I know I leave it in capable hands, my son following in my footsteps. He always made his mother and I very proud. Madeline of course hated the weather and was constantly ill during our time there and being small and rather delicate, it was perhaps cruel of me to expect her to survive well in such a country. She died last year and after settling my affairs in Johannesburg, already preparing to leave the hospital to my sons who had made lives out there for themselves, finding their own wives and starting families, I came back home. Here to England.

And what a strange place it is now, I find as I return home. I have a small place in Wanstead, near the park and I find it pleasant and homely but I have forgotten what being alone really feels like, here in a place where friends have moved on and family here are no longer alive. All relatives still residing in Johannesburg, I have left behind all I have known for the last twenty years and find there is nothing here for me now. Nothing except a man I once knew, a man I fell in love with.

I don't know why I sit here, hoping, praying that he might still be here when I know his life must have moved on. How can it not - just like the trains, journeys are taken, paths entwined and then part again and who's to say if we will ever meet again. Love may always remain lost.

I decide to quickly take a walk through the park before I return to my lonely flat. I think of playing my piano later and imagining Kurt's voice, undulating and melodious and wishing I had the chance of hearing him sing just once before I die.

xXx

I come back to the train station the following week, a Thursday which once meant so much to Kurt and I and I think back to all the conversations we had here, the declarations and the goodbyes. I wonder if Kurt remembers these things too, whether he still comes back to this station. I wonder what he must be doing now, his children all grown up, how he must have changed after twenty years. Maybe he never thinks of me, did I mean as much to him as I know he meant to me?

It pains me as I sit eating my tea cake, waiting for my train that his life may have gone on so well without me but really I do wish he has enjoyed his life and that he has been happy. I have had a good life really, Madeline always doing her best to make me feel happy and content. She did so well in Johannesburg, was such an excellent mother, I couldn't have asked for a better wife really and I hope she was happy in her life and that she never knew how much I wished for another existence. Despite not being the person I truly wanted to spend my life with, she was admirable and loving and I know my sons became the magnificent men they are today because of her tender loving care and morals.

My train is announced over the loud speaker, now no longer a bell and I get up to walk to my platform to await the approaching train. The steam no longer gusts nor pierces through the dreary silence of the platform and I stand and wait patiently. That is when I see him.

He is stood on the other side of the platform, awaiting his train in the opposite direction, a gulf in front of us, the train tracks baring me from him. He looks sombre, staring down at the tracks in front of him but when he looks up and his eyes alight on mine, a flicker of recognition shoots across his face and his mouth opens. He appears to say something and I start forward, almost so desperate to touch him again that I forget the tracks ahead of me. I halt just as the train approaches and he is covered. I vaguely see him through the windows of the train, a blur of blacks and greys and I start to run down the ramp that has never changed, despite the twenty years that have aged me well. I run and hope, and my heart thumps wildly in my chest.

We meet halfway and we stop, at least fifty yards between us. There is no movie slow motion run as we bound to each other but now I get a closer look and it is unmistakably Kurt. He has aged, his face showing lines where there were none before but I see him, his body all straight lines and perfect poise as we walk towards each other. He starts to smile and his blue eyes twinkle, those blue eyes that first brought me to him, just a simple piece of flint. Suddenly he is in front of me.

"Blaine?" He asks timidly, "Is it really you?"

I can only nod, my face displaying a wide smile and his arms are suddenly around my shoulders and holding me close and I melt in his arms, tugging him closer, so close that I can feel his raging heart beat beneath his shirt. I smell his hair and notice for the first time, the grey that is now amongst the chestnut brown I remember. His back is still firm and strong and I can't help but run my fingers over it.

"What are you doing here?" he asks incredulously as we part and I notice tears have pooled in his eyes but a smile graces his lips. "I thought I'd never see you again," he whispers and I realise I've not said one word to him.

"We need a drink," I say, almost taking him by the hand, but remembering just in time. Suddenly I am aware that he may still have a wife and family and we are not free to love. So much time has passed, things can never be like they were before but we start to walk to the refreshment room where we first loved, where we said goodbye amidst chatter from Fred and we order tea and sit like we once did.

"I thought I'd never see you again," he repeats once we are settled with our tea, he stares at me openly, as if I might vanish and he shakes his head in disbelief.

"I came back a few months ago, I left the hospital and my son now leads the work there. I have a small flat in Wanstead," I say, filling in his gaps.

"And your wife?"

"She died last year," I say quietly and Kurt looks sad at the news but I know what this means and I don't want to hope, can't bear the thought that this may not be. There is silence for the longest time until Kurt continues.

"You look quite different; I almost couldn't believe it was you."

"I must have aged terribly," I said chuckling, "Twenty years will do that to a person."

"No," he said kindly, "I don't mean that, I mean you seem different, more world weary I guess."

"A lot has happened I suppose and nothing at the same time." I look at him and know he has changed too, know so many things have happened and I can only hope that I will find out more about it all, that I can still have him in my life.

"I missed you," I whispered and tears pooled in his eyes again at the admission and he shook his head.

"I'm sorry Blaine, I can't," he said, looking down. I waited for what seemed the longest time. I decided to carry on with conversation, remembering my manners I enquired about his family.

"My children are grown up now. Margaret is married to a banker," he smiled though it didn't reach his eyes "And she has children of her own, I'm a grandfather and Bobby went to work as an architect and lives in London."

"And Edith?" I ask timidly, already fearing the answer.

"She's in a hospice. She has terminal cancer and I have tried to care for her but she has been getting gradually weaker in the last week and I couldn't look after her. She needs constant care and..." His voice faltered, tears now streaming down his face and he couldn't continue. His hand was tightly holding onto the handle of his mug of tea and I could only place my fingers gently over his and stroke the top of his warm hand. He looked down at our hands and wiped hastily at his face.

"I'm sorry Blaine, gosh I'm such a mess..."

"Don't be sorry Kurt, I know what it's like to nurse a sick wife. I feel guilty every day that I brought her there and she must have hated it but she never grumbled, only knew it was what I wanted. Your wife must be getting the best care now and you can care for her when you're well rested."

"No," he shook his head, "She's dying slowly Blaine and I've just come from a visit. Maggie is there and I think she needed some time alone with her mother. Bobby makes sure he visits often too, they're good kids."

"They take after their father then," I said, smiling kindly. Kurt shook his head.

"God no Blaine, I don't deserve your compliments. I haven't been a good father of that I'm sure."
"What do you mean?" I said, half annoyed, "I know you have Kurt. You gave up your own happiness for them; I think that shows a tremendous amount of love."

"They don't know what real love is though Blaine," he said sadly, "I never showed them what it really means to love someone. They only saw the tame reserved love between friends, they will never know about the greatest love and I will forever have to hide that from them."

"I know," I said, "My sons of course have both married and I look at their marriages and wonder where they learned about love but maybe some things are never to be taught, only experienced."

"Oh definitely," Kurt said, nodding, "I do love Edith, I do," he said, almost trying to convince himself, "I care for her, I look after her as best I can and I respect her so much, especially as she tries so hard to live her life when it is slowly being taken away from her. Maybe that's the only love I can teach them, maybe they know."

There was a silence between us then, just a settled hum as people talked around us and we drank our tea. Kurt seemed to avoid my eyes and I gazed around at the people, the couples and the small families planning journeys. Did they have secrets too?

"I nearly killed myself." Kurt's whispers filled the silence, "Here I mean. After you left I went to walk in front of the express train but I stopped just short of the platform and I felt the rush of the steam hit my face. It sounds so melodramatic but I continued on and they say time heals all and it did in a way. But I always dreamt of you, could feel the ghost of your lips on mine and sometimes I would wake in the middle of the night and find my arms reaching out to you when only air surrounded me. I guess I learnt to carry on."

I almost gasp. It was the same for me, the phantom touches, the near kisses. I almost believed he was there so often and was so often disappointed. I missed him, started to believe I had forgotten him, wished he was near. Always a dream and never tangible.

"Do you think we could start again Kurt?" I asked timidly, "Start to meet on Thursday again or whenever you're free? I just can't lose you again..."

Kurt nods. "I'd like that."

I walk Kurt to his platform a little later, still living in the opposite direction to me but I live so near now and I have so much time. He boards and I smile as he leans out the open window from the carriage. It is nearly empty and he returns my smile.

"Next Thursday?" he asks. I nod.

"I never stopped Kurt," I say, "I never stopped loving you."

"I know, me too," he whispers and he's gone.