“Refreshments. Snacks,” she called.

The next person to flag her down was a man in carriage H, who folded The Telegraph and looked over the top of his glasses at her. He wanted a coffee and paid exact change. Mandy continued into carriage G.

As she opened the door between carriages she heard the raucous singing. A woman waved her hand for a cup of tea. Mandy poured it slowly, trying to see through a myopic haze where the singing was coming from.

There was a group of men about two thirds of the way toward the other end of the carriage. “Who’s getting married in the morrrning? Who’s getting married in the morrrning?” That’s all they sang, and after a few verses of that, it descended into laughter anyway.

“£1.50,” Mandy said.

As she was standing there, waiting for the lady to pick around in her purse, one of the men climbed over the table, stood in the aisle, gave a whoop and a pelvic thrust and then clambered back into his seat. The other men had hysterics, even louder than before.

Mandy took the lady’s money and continued on her way. As she got nearer, she saw them more clearly. Acting like teenagers they might have been, but they were all in their early thirties. There were six of them: four at one table and two at the other table on the opposite side of the aisle.

Mandy was stopped for another cup of coffee and a fruits of the forest cereal bar.

One of the men - one of the two, not one of the four - got up and stumbled drunkenly toward the other end of the carriage.

Mandy finally reached the men. She was hoping she wouldn’t have to stop. She didn’t call out “Refreshments. Snacks,” as she approached. But as she pushed the trolley past, the men stuck their arms in the air and cheered. On their tables were several crushed lager cans. Only the bloke sitting alone was still holding a drink.

“What can I get you?” Mandy asked.

The men sitting in the aisle seats picked over the trolley like monkeys attacking a car on safari. They helped themselves to a Heineken each.

“Give us one of those.”

“Wait. How much are they?”

“Don’t be a cheap bastard!”

“Yeah. This is your last chance to spend your own money exactly like you want, so spend it on us.”

Then they broke into another chorus of “Who’s getting married in the morrrning?” with such a degree of simultaneity that they all burst out laughing again.

Mandy could guess which one of them was getting married in the morning. The man sitting in the window seat was naked except for a pair of boys-sized Superman swimming trunks that didn’t leave much to the imagination, but from the looks of things, left plenty to disappoint his new spouse.

“Give them what they want,” he said. He was red-faced, his skim clammy-looking and he slurred his words as much as the others.

They cheered his decision. Four Heinekens were plonked in the middle of the table. One of the men waved a twenty at Mandy without being asked.

“Not having anything, Rob?” he called across the aisle.

The man currently sitting alone, who Mandy thought was a bit older and was less loud, smiled and shook the end of his can. “I’m doing fine.”

Mandy worked out their change.

NOTES:
Another put-upon vendor, with little to distinguish her from any of the others. Though by way of a general note, the decision as to whether a character says 'please' or not when they want something was a conscious one. How I conceived of a character inside my head determined whether I thought they were the kind of person who would be polite, even if they were having a bad time of it. Mandy was not one of them.