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‘I’m sorry . . . I didn’t . . .’

He shook his head. ‘You thought I looked too skint to be on here?’ His brows furrowed.

‘No – what? I didn’t say that!’ I snapped.

He huffed. ‘You didn’t have to, sweetheart. Your face did.’

I went to speak, to argue, or maybe to apologise, then stopped. ‘Please don’t. I made a mistake. I’ve had a terrible day.’

He let out a warm, low laugh and leaned forward on the table as if he was sharing a secret. ‘Was it the trackie that yelled peasant? Or the Weegie accent? I have tae know . . .’

I bit my lip. We both knew full well it was a combination of both, but I wasn’t playing his games. Not today.

‘Stop!’ I said. ‘I’m sorry. I judged you.’ I held up my hands. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘You did!’ he said. ‘But when the tea trolley comes to us, you can make it up to me,’ he said, pointing to the steward a few rows up, taking orders.

‘The food and drink are free in first class,’ I replied, resisting an eyeroll.

A warm smirk crossed his face, and he winked. ‘I know.’

The train finally began to move and I sank back into my seat.

‘It’s a good job there’s no trolley right enough – I’d probably rob it!’ he added.

I laughed despite myself.

My phone began ringing, and instantly the smile drained from my face when I saw Rupert’s name appear on the screen. I lifted the phone, then placed it back down, then lifted it again.

‘You not going to answer that?’ the stranger with Bambi eyes asked.

I shook my head and pressed the side button to silence it.

‘Who is it?’ he asked.

Jesus Christ, was I on the train with Inspector Morse?

‘Yir boss?’ he guessed.

My heart was pulsing. My mouth felt dry as sandpaper. I wondered what he was going to say. Then . . .

One new message.

I felt like I was three seconds away from fully shitting myself in first class. I clicked on the message.

Rupert: Where are you? I think we need to speak.

It was dry. Too dry. No reassurances, no begging. I closed my eyes and prayed that somehow this was all a horrible nightmare.

Rupert: When are you home? I could come to you. Press are here. Jay said you left an hour ago???

My breathing began to labour. I pressed both hands over my face.

‘Are you all right?’ Mr New Balance asked, but I couldn’t concentrate on replying. I was dizzy, sweaty but cold, the polite noise from the carriage somehow echoing louder and louder in my head. I felt like I was about to burst.

‘Aggghhhh!’ I screamed as freezing cold water splashed onto my face. I opened my eyes to find the man sitting across from me holding an empty glass, as a train steward hovered beside him in the aisle.

‘What the fuck are you doing?’ I screeched, mascara probably halfway down my face.