Imagine the town as a circle dissected roughly south east to north west by a road which came up from the cathedral city eight miles south. It snaked briefly past Tudor, Georgian and Victorian houses a Norman church, and Edwardian ones before eventually heading out into the wilds of the next county.

On the eastern side of the town, the land rose slightly. The latest housing estate now butted against gentle slopes and no doubt would eventually breach them. On the western side, the bypass ran in a curve, parts of it using the flat even ground which had once been the railway.

Centuries ago, the town had had a wall and a gate. Somehow, the landscape still girdled it as if they’d never gone.

There was little to do there apart from have your hair done, check out the estate agents, go to the mini supermarkets, see your solicitor and get a drink in one of three pubs before going home with something from the Indian or the Chinese or the chippy.

My boyfriend was a local, with ancestors buried a thousand years deep or more in the graveyard, while mine faded away in every corner of the Britain and Ireland and a little beyond. I was an incomer, commuting daily to the city for the last six months; gasping for air on a smoky bus which wound its way through hamlet after hamlet via lanes edged with fields and trees and wild garlic.

Travelling to visit relations or drives just for the sake of it, formed my earliest memories. I had never lived anywhere longer than ten years. Yet I’d been wondering if I’d found somewhere to put down roots. And then came evening.

Feeling restless, I’d made him walk to the southernmost boundary and stood slightly apart staring to the south, imagining the endless possibilities offered by the city’s railway station.

‘I really want to take a train somewhere,’ I said.

‘Where?’ He was baffled.

‘Somewhere, anywhere, it wouldn’t matter.’

‘Why?’

‘I don’t know. Why not? Just for a change.’

‘What’s wrong with here?’

I’d offended him.

‘Why travel for no reason?’ he persisted. ‘It’s safe and secure here. Everything’s as it always has been.’

He put his arm round my shoulders and steered me away.

Yes, those town walls had long fallen down or been plundered for building material, and the town gates had long since rotted. But just then, as my boyfriend led me back to town, his arm felt like an enclosing wall and his words like the closing and locking of a solid gate.

In that moment, as we walked into the town’s smothering embrace, I knew I would never be able to make him understand about the train or that his idea of safety was my idea of stagnation.

I turned my head back to the open road. It was still calling. And one day, I’d leave alone to become an incomer again somewhere else.

Words copyright (c) Paula Harmon 2025. These are not to be used without the author’s express permission including for the purposes of training artificial intelligence (AI). Credit for image: ID 330443752 | Woman © Anker | Dreamstime.com