‘Don’t be silly, it’s completely my fault.’
‘Of course it is. I was just trying to be nice. But I did get a lot of enjoyment out of it, so I suppose I need to make up for all that.’
‘It’s okay. Look the café is opening up, I’m going to go warm up a minute. If my phone dies, meet me at the big Christmas tree.’
They hang up just as her phone makes an ominous noise that she’s pretty sure means it’s out of battery, and she wobbles to her feet. The teenagers, still looking on, concerned, give her a tiny thumbs up, which she returns, feeling very ‘How do you do, my fellow kids?’ about it.
The train arrives a few minutes late. No one else gets in the same carriage as her, which is probably for the best, as she radiates misery. Someone opened all the windows, so it’s an absolute icebox. She huddles down in a corner of a four-person table seat, next to something that looks like it could be a radiator, though it doesn’t seem to be churning out any heat.
‘Welcome aboard, passengers, to this service direct to London Paddington. We’ve heard there’s some disruption on the line up ahead, but hopefully that will be cleared by the time we get closer and you can all be on your way.’
She grips onto her rapidly cooling terrible coffee with both hands, hoping that the announcement is not a sign of worse things to come.
The train chugs slowly through the snowy white countryside, and she watches the countryside pass from her window.
Fresh snow falls from the sky as they pull into the next station, where a lot more people seem to get on. The driver announces that they’re going to have to go at a reduced speed due to the snow.
‘Fuck’s sake,’ she mutters.
Someone sits down opposite her, and to her surprise it’s—
‘Quiet Carriage Man,’ she mumbles.
‘Oh no.’ He sighs. The stockinged Christmas jumper is gone, replaced with a tasteful cream Nordic one. ‘I can move seats.’
‘Don’t go,’ she says, her voice wobbling as fresh tears fall. ‘I’m sorry I keep freaking you out. I’m very normal, really!’
He does not look remotely convinced by this, but nervously offers her a Costa Coffee napkin.
She takes it, and dabs at her eyes.
‘Are you... all right?’ he asks gently, and she blows her nose in response. ‘I take it the fake dating didn’t go so well.’
‘You really heard all of that?’ she sniffs.
‘I really did.’
‘Sorry about that. When I kept seeing you everywhere, I thought that you’d blow our cover or something.’ She laughs ruefully.
‘I’m allergic to drama, so you were safe with me,’ he mutters.
‘I did that all myself, though, so oh well!’
He winces.
‘Sorry, I’ll stop talking about my silly life. I don’t even know your name.’
‘Bryn,’ he sighs, running his hand through his curly black hair.
‘You’re Welsh too?’ she sobs, relieved to find some familiarity on this lonely train.
‘A little bit.’
‘I’m Haf.’
‘Oh, trust me, I remember.’
Above them, the train driver announces that they’re going to have to wait on the line while trains up ahead leave the next station.
