Tickets, Please!

‘Tickets, please!’1

DEEP PURPLE – SMOKE ON WATER … No, this just reminds me of Dad…God, I miss you, Dad…2

ERIC CLAPTON – WONDERFUL TONIGHT … God, no. That’s an evening I do not want to be reminded of, especially today, of all days… 3

FOO FIGHTERS – TIMES LIKE THESE … Ah, V festival 2003! Now you’re talking!…4

Satisfied with her selection, Rachel tucked her iPod back into the pocket of her brown corduroy jacket, smiling as the familiar guitar riff kicked in, demanding her full attention. She leaned back in her chair, tapping her fingers on the arms rest as she watched the sunny landscape skid past the window.5

The song drew to an end and Rachel pulled out her headphones, lulled into sleepiness by the reassuring hum and clickety-clack heartbeat of the train. For a few precious seconds her eyes fluttered shut, and she thought of nothing; not where she was going, not what she was leaving behind. 6

‘Tickets from Aberystwyth, please!’ grunted a short, round woman with dull, mousy hair.7

Rachel’s brain jump-started as she realised she had no idea where her ticket was. She dug deep into her jeans pockets, only to discover a cinema ticket stub for Pride and Prejudice, a coupon for a free Starbucks frappuccino and about a Euro in small change from the last time she was in Paris. She ferreted in her jacket pockets but apart from her iPod, there was only a snotty tissue to be found.8

It was only twenty minutes or so since she’d bought the bloody ticket, for god’s sake. The problem was, the minutes from home to the taxi to the station was all a dashed blur. It was the climax of a very messed up, hectic, scatter-brained weekend that had been so disastrous that it was probably best forgotten.  9

Rachel emptied her handbag (purchased for being the shape of an angel’s wing rather than for its practical storage capacity), allowing her Kermit the Frog purse to fall onto the plastic table with a heavy clunk (it was stuffed with coppers, and very little else). More snotty tissues made their presence known, as well as her hideous brick of a phone, which she resented both for its ugliness and its convenience.10

She must have put the ticket in her backpack, which was somewhere amidst the pile of bags, suitcases and pushchairs at the front of the carriage. Rachel let rip a string of swear-words, an ode to her own foolishness, and impatiently squeezed past the ticket lady, mumbling an inaudible and disingenuous apology. She could see her bag from this distance as it was a particularly vivid shade of pink. She made a dash for it, only to trip over someone’s foot and fall to the grimy, chewing gum spotted floor.11

‘Oh god, I’m sorry!’ blurted the owner of the foot, but Rachel didn’t even look back as she practically crawled the rest of the way down the carriage.12

Her bag was so jam-packed with stuff that as she tugged at the zip, its contents promptly tumbled to the floor. Cursing under her breath again, Rachel knelt down to pick up her paintbrushes, the handles stained with haphazard rainbows of paint. In the periphery of her vision Rachel was vaguely aware of a helpful hand picking up the loose pencil sketches that had flown free from her scrapbook, but the cartoon storm cloud forming above her head seemed to prevent her from saying thank-you. She blushed as she pulled the clean underwear she’d stuffed in the bag as afterthought from where it hung precariously on someone’s suitcase handle. 13

Still no closer to finding her ticket, she removed her acrylic paints and sketching pencils from her bag, as well as her battered copy of the third Harry Potter book and a wad of unopened letters from her parents, held together by an elastic band. The ticket wasn’t there. How was that possible? She turned the bag upside down and shook it; a few old chocolate wrappers fell to the floor, and another snotty tissue, but no train ticket.14

‘These are really, really good,’ said a man, but Rachel wasn’t listening. 15

She was going to have to buy another ticket, but she doubted the shrapnel in her Kermit purse would amount the small fortune required. She briefly entertained the idea of hiding in the toilet or the luggage compartment until the ticket lady disappeared, although she knew that was stupid…16

‘Are you alright?’ said the man. This time Rachel looked at him. He was about her age, and although his messy dark hair wasn’t up to much his suit was sharp and stylish. ‘Sorry for knocking you over, by the way,’ he said.17

‘What?’ Rachel regarded him with suspicion before turning away.18

‘I think your drawings are really good,’ he said.19

‘Hmm,’ Rachel grunted, taking the sketch of the Eiffel Tower from his hand before slipping it back into the cover of her scrapbook.20

‘You should take better care of them, they might be worth something when you’re rich and famous,’ the man quipped. Rachel’s upper lip twitched in mild amusement. ‘My name’s Mark,’ he said.21

‘Rachel,’ she said, half-smiling as she offered the briefest moment of eye contact.22

‘Tickets, please!’ said the ticket woman. Mark showed her his ticket, his eyes still on Rachel as she scavenged about the floor for her belongings. ‘Have you got your ticket, love?’ the ticket woman said to Rachel.23

‘Ah…’ Rachel hesitated. ‘I… I appear to have lost it.’24

‘Where you going?’25

‘London.’26

‘Single or return?’27

‘Single.’28

‘That’s fifty pounds and thirty pence.’29

‘I-I haven’t got any cash on me, I’m afraid…’30

‘How much is it?’ enquired Mark. The ticket lady repeated the price, and Mark passed her the cash.31

‘No – no I can’t ask you to do that –’32

‘Don’t worry, this isn’t a charity case,’ he said. ‘I’ll pay for your ticket, and you can give me that Eiffel Tower drawing.’33

Rachel stared at him. ‘Don’t be daft!’ she said.34

‘I’m serious.’35

‘No, I’m getting off at the next station. I don’t need any good deeds being done for me –’36

‘It’s no good deed,’ said Mark. ‘In fact, it’s probably quite reverse. The drawing’s worth twice that at least.’37

‘Don’t talk rubbish,’ said Rachel, but allowed the exchange of money to take place nevertheless. With a bemused expression, she passed him the sketch.38

‘Thank-you,’ he said. 39

With a confused smile, Rachel turned away, ready to return to her original seat.40

‘Hang on!’ Mark called, after she’d taken a few steps.41

‘What?’42

‘I want something else in exchange for the ticket,’ he said.43

Rachel stared at him, perplexed, outraged and a little bit scared all at once. ‘What do you want?’ she asked, her tone one of doubt and mistrust.44

‘I want you to sit next to me,’ Mark said. ‘And tell me why you’re running away to London.’45