Free Trains and Lovers: A Novel by Alexander McCall Smith Page A

too,” he said.
    “Obsessed with what?”
    Bruce shrugged. “I haven’t found out yet.”
    David looked at him, puzzled.
    “I’m kidding,” said Bruce. “Half of what I say means nothing. You need to know that.”
    “Perhaps you’re obsessed,” said David.

THE NEXT DAY HE TOOK THE BOAT OUT AGAIN. THE river had abated, and the water seemed sluggish. There were no fish, and he turned back after an hour or so on the water. He had hoped that he would see Bruce’s boat, but there was no sign of it. After he had tied up at the jetty, he wheeled his bicycle out of the shed and rode it along the main street. There was nowhere to go in the town, apart from a diner that was usually deserted except for at lunchtime and for a brief period in the early evening. He looked in the window of this, wondering whether he might see Bruce with the obsessive girl. He did not.
    He had worked out which house it was Bruce’s parents had bought, and he rode past this, slowly, snatching a glance at it, again hoping that his new friend might just happen to be coming out of the front door or the driveway, but there was no sign of anybody. There was a large grey car parked under a tree, but nothing else to show the house was occupied.
    He imagined the professor of mathematics sitting at his desk at one of the windows creating mathematical models. He imagined Bruce waiting for his father to pay some attention to him. Parents need help . He had no idea why he had said that, but it seemed to be the right sort of witty remark to make. There was something about Bruce’s company that had made him feel livelier, more perceptive. He had only been with him for an hour or two, but during that brief time it seemed to him that the world had been in some inexplicable way more intense. It was as if the brightness had been turned up.
    He went home.
    His father said, “That friend of yours came round.”
    His heart leapt. “Who?”
    “Bruce? Is that his name?”
    “Yes.” He waited. Time had slowed down. It felt buttery. It was strange—he knew that—but that was how it felt to him. Buttery. “What did he say?”
    His father shrugged. “Nothing much. He asked where you were and I said that you were off on your bike somewhere.”
    “And?”
    “He didn’t say anything. Or he just said, I have to go . Yes, I think he said something about having to go.”
    He nodded and went to his room. He did not want his father to see him, in case he could tell that there was something wrong. He wanted to appear casual—as if a visit by Bruce was nothing to be excited about. But inside, he experienced a joyful, soaring feeling that made him feel dizzy.
    He waited an hour before he left. He did not want Bruce to think that he had come round straight away on hearing that he had missed him; rather, he wanted him to think that he had been doing other things and had then decided to repay the call.
    He rode round to the house. The large grey car was no longer under the tree, but Bruce answered the door when he rang the bell. He seemed surprised to see him.
    “You came round to my place?”
    Bruce nodded. “I wondered what you were doing.”
    “Nothing. I was doing nothing really.”
    Bruce smiled. He had a wide smile—one that seemed to split the whole lower part of his face. He would try to smile like that himself, because it was the sort of smile that made you feel warm inside. You had to have the right sort of mouth, of course—which Bruce did.
    “That’s all there is to do here,” said Bruce. “Nothing.”
    “Yes, that’s right.” He felt disloyal to the village. Hehad never before thought that there was nothing to do there, but now that Bruce had made the observation, he wanted to agree.
    “That’s why we’re going back to Princeton tomorrow,” said Bruce. “My parents get frustrated. They’re so obsessive, you see. They need to be doing things.”
    The words seemed to end his world. “Tomorrow?”
    “Yes. We’re driving back.”
    He looked