She didn't have to see him again, and she was just fine with that.
Fine? Estatic! A giant weight was lifted off Petunia's chest and her entire body flooded with a woozy sort of lightness one gets after a glass of white wine on a hot summer's day.
Freedom. Joy. Possibility. Words and emotions popped up in Petunia's mind, ones a silly wife could never know. After all, she was just the doting mother, the prize spouse, the humble housekeeper and ever-serving hostess to all her husband's many coworkers and relatives.
But not anymore.
Petunia took deep, long breaths, breaths that were as sweet as the spring breeze, and leaned back into the seat of the taxi.
"Has there ever been a day as good as today," she said, staring out at the bushes and grass along the road--blurred and ragged. "Perfect."
"That it is." The taxi driver, a man with dark hair and a shadow beard, cleared his throat. "I'd imagine that's how I want to feel by the end of the day. Headed to visit family?"
Petunia nodded. "You can put it that way."
"Mrs, we're here," said the taxi driver. "King's Cross innit?"
Petunia blinked, shaking her head. Oh, of course they were. She handed him a few bank notes and stumbled out of the car while he took out her luggage from the back.
And there it was, her ticket out of Privet Drive.
"Safe travels!" said the driver and got back into the cab. "There and back again."
"Oh I won't be coming back," Petunia whispered under her breath, and pushed her little suitcase up the cracked road and over the sidewalk ramp.
She was at the control point, everyone lugging their suitcases and trunks and bags onto the runway to be passed for inspection. Petunia glanced around, an older gentleman and his wife behind her.
"Could you?" she asked and the man quickly nodded and helped put her suitcase up on the runway.
Just before crossing to the station, the attendant stopped her.
"Ma'am, your suitcase contents are over the accepted weight limit."
They shuffled through her luggage, pointing out items that were prohibited on the train like the sharp scissors for her manicures and the hairspray bottle.
"What would you like us to do with them?" they asked.
Petunia didn't have to think twice. "Oh take them out, in fact, take them all!"
And with that, she took her purse and ticket and shimmied down to the train station. With a gleeful look on her face, she found her platform and took a seat and when the train arrived, boarded.
She sat alone in the small cabin, sitting by the window. Before, her boy Dudley would have his piggy-nose pressed against the glass and she'd be stuck sitting beside her husband Vernon and listening to him complain about how unclean trains were and how expensive travel has become. Petunia wiped down her armrest and leaned forward, taking in the sight and sounds of the huffing train pulling along the city and out into the fields beyond.
A short knock roused her from her gaze.
There by the door stood a gentleman, a younger one, dressed in jeans and a simple jacket and jumper. He grinned, his wide teeth and upturned nose facing her direction. "Is this seat taken?"
Petunia's heart rattled in her chest. Interesting. "N-no," she stammered, shifting aside.
"All the other spots are taken," said the gentleman. "I uh, I'm Martin...by the way." He reached out and shook her hand.
Petunia smiled. "Petunia."
"That's a beautiful name."
"You think so?" Petunia tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Thank, thank you." And stared at her feet for some time.
Martin was wearing sneakers, simple white ones with colored green laces. They had plenty of scuffs at the bottom, scuffs Petunia was sure could be scrubbed out with some baking soda and a good old pot of boiling water.
"Err, I play football," Martin said, crossing his feet.
"Very nice," Petunia said, quickly moving her face back towards the window, but not before she could catch Martin's very obvious stare.
"It's pretty cool that you left your luggage behind," Martin said quickly. "I uh, I was just...I didn't mean to pry. I was just behind you in line."
"Of course not."
"Are you trying to leave something behind?" Martin said after a moment. "Er, sorry. That was too much."
Petunia smiled. "Not at all. I'm...trying something new."
Martin smiled back. "Me too."
Petunia's stomach churned when he spoke. He had such a deep and warm voice, so different from the cutting and gravely voice of her soon-to-be-ex-husband. Martin's voice made her heart skip beats and her cheeks burn up. It made her feet criss-cross and her fingers twinkle and twitch on her lap.
She liked the way he smiled and the way he smelled. And she liked when he had offered her some tea from his thermos with sandwiches and biscuits. And when they talked, she felt herself a bit like a schoolgirl: giggling and grinning and kicking her feet.
Perhaps this was the start of a brand new life for her. And of a brand new love.