Barry mouths ‘sinkhole?’ back to Karen. I will never live this down.
A sinkhole! Now I’ve heard it all. My backstory has grown legs, a head, and a life of its own so why fight it? Most people don’t question me further once they hear Miles is pushing up daisies, and isn’t that what I wanted? Not to be known as the abandoned bride?
But for the sake of being honest, I better give it a try because otherwise I fear there’ll be detectives waiting at the next platform to interrogate me, what with all the deeply suspicious ways in which the other passengers seem to think my beloved departed the land of the living. ‘Miles, he didn’t really die, you know…’
CJ leans across and rubs the top of my hand. ‘Of course not! His spirit lives on, while he rests in eternal peace, and one day’ – she’s moved to tears – ‘you’ll be reunited.’
I’m detecting a pattern. People are so alarmed by grief they stop listening and pivot to platitudes. Before I can assure CJ that he’s not knocking on heaven’s door, she’s out of her chair and pulling me in for a hug that’s so tight I struggle to breathe. I’m surprised at how strong she is as she squeezes the very breath from my body.
When I’m released from her vice-like grip, I inhale much-needed oxygen as Sabrina heads our way, bottle of wine in hand. This evening she’s wearing her own ugly Christmas jumper that features Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer on the front, and has a tail sewed on to the back that bounces and swings with each step. As she fills guests’ wine glasses, her tail swipes plates and glasses from tables, leaving a trail of devastation in her wake. Sabrina is blithely unaware, probably because she’s also donned a pair of puffy reindeer earmuffs that serve no real purpose except maybe to prevent her hearing passenger complaints and cries for help. George trails behind, picking up debris and apologising to passengers.
‘Aubrey!’ she yells too loud when she spots me.
‘Behind you!’ I motion, but she’s doesn’t understand and just gives me a fluttery little wave while another table’s cutlery clatters to the carpet.
She misinterprets what I’m gesturing to and says, ‘Oh, you know George. He’s always grovelling around the floor picking up bits and pieces.’ She leans closer to us and lowers her voice. ‘A bit of a klutz, but honestly, he’s such a sweetheart.’
Poor George is a few steps back, dealing with the aftermath. Around the table we exchange hurried glances. Is anyone going to tell her that in actual fact she is the klutz? By the looks of it, no one wants to be the bearer of such news, so I let it go. I’m sure George will have a quiet word.
Sabrina goes around the table, topping up our wine glasses with a bottle of Burgundy. She doesn’t seem to notice that some of us are drinking white wine, and she splashes the red in, oblivious. While she might be lacking in a certain attention to detail, she more than makes up for it with her bubbly personality, although tonight she does appear a little less sparkly. Staff work hours on board are intense, so I feel for her. In jobs like this, staff rely on generous tips from passengers at the end of the journey as thanks for their efforts. It’s why this type of job is so popular, despite the toll the long hours take on staff.
‘Did you hear the latest?’ Sabrina bends to whisper loud enough for our table of six to hear.
‘No?’ I say. ‘The latest about what?’
‘There’s trouble in paradise. A once-happy couple have hit splitsville!’ Sabrina darts a glance around to make sure other tables aren’t eavesdropping. ‘Came out of nowhere too.’
‘Really? Who?’ I ask, surveying the dining room carriage for potential candidates.
Sabrina doesn’t have a chance to respond as our group chatter excitedly about who it could be. ‘Have you noticed some of them act like kissing is an Olympic event and their very own gold medal is on the line?’ Karen puckers her mouth as if the idea is distasteful. ‘Like, we get it, you’re in love.’
‘This train is nothing but sex on wheels… except for us.’ Princess sadly shakes her head.
Sabrina acknowledges Princess with a nod and gives Karen a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. ‘Tell me about it. I’m the one who has to turn down their beds every evening, and let’s just say there are quite a few who need to learn that the “do not disturb” door hanger is as much for the benefit of staff as their own modesty, which seems to be grossly lacking.’
‘Yikes.’
‘Yikes exactly. I’m going to need years of therapy to wipe those visions from my mind.’
Sabrina’s future Confessions Of tell-all book will be a gold mine of stories and most likely a bestseller because who doesn’t want to hear the lowdown? ‘So, who are they?’ I ask, sneaking another peek at the tables close by. I feel a wave of sadness for whoever the couple is.
There’s a pause as Sabrina bites down on her lip, as if wondering if she should confide in us or not. ‘Think of this like… an Agatha Christie novel. You’ll have to find the clues and solve the mystery.’
Jasper frowns. ‘But someone always ends up dead in an Agatha Christie novel, don’t they? And there’s one set on a train very similar to this.’
‘Oh!’ Sabrina chortles. ‘I’ve never actually read any of her novels. Well, same principle – hunt for clues. I’ll leave this little break-up mystery with you.’ With that she moves to the next table as we scurry to save our overly full wine glasses and rescue our dinner plates as her tail shows no mercy.
‘Well,’ Karen says. ‘This train ride just got a little more interesting!’
‘It seems that we all have one thing in common.’ Princess takes a sip of her mixed-up wine and grimaces. ‘We’re all consciously uncoupled, darlings, and at Christmas no less. Therefore I hereby dub us the “Unlucky in Love Travel Club”.’
We clink glasses and celebrate our… misfortune.
‘So,’ Karen asks. ‘Which couple is on the precipice of joining our ranks?’
I swear the dining carriage goes quiet to listen to our speculations. Our couple sailing stormy waters may well be one of them, but which one? Some pretend to be gazing at menus but peep over the top at us. Others kiss and croon while giving us the side-eye, which is a little strange. If you commit to a kiss in public, like, actually commit.
‘Perhaps this is a conversation best kept for the library?’ I give an almost imperceptible tilt of the head to our audience.
