“Thanks, mate,” he said, burying the change in his pocket.

He opened the bottle as he walked. It fizzed up and spat over his hand. David quickly sealed the bottle again and slurped the spillage off his wrist.

“Careful,” said a voice.

David turned his head. A girl carrying a Boots lunch-deal paper bag was swaying out of the way of his guitar’s head-stock melodramatically.

“Sorry,” he said, and switched the gig bag to his other shoulder, where it was out of her face.

The escalator was busy. David decided to walk up on the left, but when he reached an unoccupied space about halfway up he decided to step into it and have a drink instead.

The Fanta loosened his dry throat.

Alkaline Trio. ‘Private Eye’. That was it. That was the song the guy on the platform had been listening to.

David reached the top of the escalator and followed the red slant-crossed parallel lines that were the symbol for the national rail network. He came out into the breezy open terminal, and got out of the way of those who knew where they were going.

There were about two hundred people gathered beneath the departure schedule, some with suitcases but many more with briefcases between their legs. David found a gap and stopped to look across the boards.

The 14.00 to Brighton was at platform 3.

David looked at his watch. It was 1.53pm. Taking another mouthful from the Fanta bottle, he wove his way through the crowd and went in search of platform 3.

“The next train (departing from) platform (4) is the (1.59) to (Southampton),” the patched together voice of the announcer echoed through the station.

David was still walking past platform 7 and 8 when a similar announcement was made for the Brighton train. He’d wanted to use the lavatories on the station, but thought it a good job he’d decided to wait.

He reached platform 3 with only a minute to spare. He showed his ticket at the gate.

“Your carriage’s right down the other end.” The guy pointed. “I’d get on this end and walk through. You’ll miss it at this rate.”

“Okay. Thanks, mate,” said David.

David decided to walk as far as he could along the platform and get on when the whistle was blown.

He looked through the windows. The train was packed. There were people standing in the aisles. David got halfway along before the whistle was blown. He hopped onto the train just as the doors were closing.

This carriage wasn’t so crowded, but there weren’t any empty seats. David was glad he had booked. He slipped the gig back off his shoulder and carried it in front of him as he started making his way through.

He passed through a smoking carriage and it was as full as the others, even if most of the people sitting in it weren’t smoking.

The train pulled out of Victoria. It was turning grey outside, the sun disappearing behind pale clouds for longer and longer. It looked like rain.

David opened the door to carriage H and knew before he reached his seat that there was somebody already sitting in it. He was in seat 27F, which was forward facing. As he moved along the aisle, watching the seat numbers climb, he guessed which one was his. He could see the back of the man’s head. He was browsing through a large broadsheet newspaper. David was just glad it wasn’t some shaven-headed goon in Adidas gear.

David decided to put his guitar in the luggage rack before he confronted the man.

“Excuse me, mate. I think you’re in my seat.”

The man barely looked at him. “This is the seat on my ticket, I’m afraid.”

“Well, that’s weird, because it’s also the seat on mine.” He smiled, but he wasn’t really in a jovial mood.

The man sighed quietly and put his paper down. He looked over the top of his glasses at David as he reached into his jacket; it was a look that told David the guy was looking forward to proving him wrong.

David was glad he wasn’t.

“I’m sure there’s just been a misunderstanding,” the man said, wrinkling his nose in condescension.

David took out his ticket. The man held up his own ticket like it was an FBI identity badge.

It said seat 27F, carriage H.

David felt an anxious itch creep up his back. Then he noticed the single discrepancy.

“You’re on the wrong train,” he said.

The man was through smiling. “What?” He snapped his ticket back and frowned at it. “This train’s going to Brighton, isn’t it?” he asked the woman facing.

She looked up from a crossword and nodded.

“Your ticket’s for the 1.30,” David said.

“Yes,” the man said slowly. “Which was delayed until two. This is the 1.30.”

“No, this is two o’clock. The 1.30 was probably cancelled. I don’t know. You’ll have to ask someone.”

The man folded his paper. “Well, I was here at one, and I asked which train was mine, and I was taken to this one, so here I am.”

“Then they just bumped you, mate.”

“Regardless, this is my train, so this is my seat.”

David sighed. “That’s not how it works. Your seat’s only valid on the train listed.”

“I think I’m through arguing with you. Go and find another seat if you want to sit down.”

“There aren’t any seats. All the people from your train are crammed onto this one.”

David noticed they were being watched. People were pretending to read papers or Dan Brown paperbacks or puzzle over Sudoku, but none of them were actually doing anything.

“Then I’m sorry you were late,” the man went on. “I, on the other hand, was on time for my train and had to wait nearly an hour before I could sit down.”

“Look, do you want me to get a guard?”

The man gave a little laugh. “Are you threatening me now?”

David sighed. “I’ve been travelling all day. I just want to sit down in the seat I’ve paid for.”

“I’ve been travelling all day, too.”

David looked down the train, hoping there was a ticket guy coming. There was always one when you’d lost your ticket, just not, it would seem, when you’ve lost your seat.

“I’ve come all the way from York,” the man said, interlocking his fingers. “Where’ve you come from?”

David realised travelling all the way from Maida Vale didn’t technically constitute travelling all day.

“Look, I’ll get the guard,” he said.

“No.” The man sighed. “Fine. If you’re going to get some bully in a uniform to chuck me out of my seat and make me stand up for another two hours, I think I’ll just get up now and retain a few shreds of my dignity.”

He folded his newspaper again, then pushed himself up out of his seat. “Take it. It’s yours. I’m so very sorry for having put you out.”

David squeezed his eyes shut. What got him was that the guy wasn’t even sounding sarcastic.

“Fuck it,” he said under his breath.

Then he reached up to the luggage rack and pulled down his guitar. Without saying another word, least of all to the man in his seat, he headed out of the carriage. If he was going to have to stand, it wasn’t going to be in front of all those people, the witnesses.

David went into the toilet between carriages and kicked the other side of the door. He went on to piss all over the seat, but that wasn’t intentional.

When David came out of the toilet, he noticed the train was slowing down. Just before it reached the first stop of its journey, a man got up from a seat in the next carriage. He seemed to be the only one getting off, so David was glad he hadn’t been sitting in carriage H.

David made moves to claim the seat before the train stopped and another load of passengers piled aboard. He waited whilst the man pulled his carry-all out of the luggage compartment. It was stuck behind someone’s giant camping rucksack and a smaller case on wheels with an extending handle.

The train was pulling into the station. David grabbed the case on wheels.

The man smiled. He was now able to retrieve his carry-all. “Thank you.”

The train stopped. The doors opened. David nodded at the man and squeezed past.

David reached the vacant seat just as half a dozen people poured into the train from the doors at the other end of the carriage.

The man had been sitting in a table seat with three others. There was the obligatory guy with his newspaper, and that other staple of long train journeys in the seat next to the empty one: the anaemic-looking teenage boy listening to music through his headphones that was turned up too loud. David didn’t recognise the song. In the seat facing was a pretty girl about David’s age with light-coloured chin-length hair.

David swung his guitar into the luggage rack overhead.

“Careful,” said the newspaper guy.

David looked at him, but it wasn’t his cup of Costa Coffee he’d just knocked over. There was a large brown puddle on the table and it had splattered the paper.

“It’s all right, it’s okay,” said the girl, shaking her head as she tried to mop up with a paper napkin.

David realised she was French.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” he said, quickly slipping into the seat and picking up the empty cup. He reckoned he must have spilt at least half the drink.

He pulled out his handkerchief and was about to drop it over the spillage when the girl touched his wrist.

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” She smiled pleasantly.

David gave her an embarrassed, apologetic look. He reached into his back pocket for his wallet.

“At least let me pay for another cup.”

“No, really. There’s no need.”

“There’ll be a trolley along in a minute. You can buy one off of that.”

“They’re expensive. I couldn’t.”

David bit his lip. “I’m going to have to insist.”

She laughed. “Well, okay then.”

“How much are they on the train anyway?”

“About two pounds usually.”

“Jesus.” He took out two pound coins. “That better be the coffee equivalent of a Cuban cigar.”

She laughed.

David held out his palm with the coins in.

NOTES:
This character was a deliberate attempt to get back to normal people doing normal things after a string of unsavoury types and the people put-upon to deal with them. For a while he seemed like a lame-duck character with nothing going for him, so I was just going to have him hand over the pound coin for his own coffee. The guy in his seat was just an attempt to inject some drama into a linear plot, but then I realised I could go with it, and develop it into a two-parter. Which turned out to be one of my favourite sections in this entire story, with definitely my favourite interplay.