“I’m on the train,” the man brayed into his Blackberry.
I looked at him. He was staring out the window, oblivious to the notice on the window that read, “Quiet Carriage”.
“Yeah, yeah, it was OK. But I don’t think Gareth was happy with the sales projections. But you know Gareth, in love with his own voice.”
He nodded and said, “Yep! That’s Gareth to a tee.”
A middle aged man looked across the aisle. He rustled his newspaper profoundly and raised a bushy grey eyebrow in opprobrium. The Caller caught his gaze.
“No, it will be fine. Listen I’ve got to go, upsetting other passengers……… Yeah I know, it’s full of them. Catch you later.”
He rang off and apologised to the man, who returned to his paper.
The Caller was in his thirties. Suited. Very proud of his hair. He smelled of expensive balms. He wore a fine pair of shoes too. Leather uppers and soles. Hand stitched by the look of them. Classy.
His phone rang again.
“I’m on the train,” the man brayed into his Blackberry.
I looked at him. He was staring out the window, oblivious to the notice on the window that read, “Quiet Carriage”.
“Yeah, yeah, it was OK. But I don’t think Gareth was happy with the sales projections. But you know Gareth, in love with his own voice.”
He nodded and said,”Yep! That’s Gareth to a tee.”
The middle aged man looked across again. He rustled his newspaper, raised both eyebrows and added a cough to highlight his dudgeon. The Caller caught his gaze.
“No, it will be fine. Listen I’ve got to go, upsetting other passengers……… Yeah I know, it’s full of them. Catch you later.”
He rang off and again apologised.
He moved to allow me to reach the carriage aisle. I nodded my thanks. His phone rang.
“I’m on the train,” the man brayed into his Blackberry.
As I reached the carriage vestibule, I noticed a green button encased in a glass casing. Above the casing a sign read, “In Case Of Knob. Break Glass And Press Button. Penalty For Improper Use £200.”
I broke the glass and pressed the button.
There was a hiss of compressed air. Then a mini sonic boom as The Caller’s seat shot upwards, towards the Coach’s ceiling.
A ripple of applause accompanied my return to my seat. The middle aged man extended his hand. His fingers were inky from the Newspaper so I declined to shake it.
The Caller’s head and shoulders were jammed into the roof of the carriage. He was silent. His well shod feet dangled limply from the seat. Dust particles danced around them.
I saw his Blackberry on the floor. The reedy tones of a voice were emanating from it. I picked the phone up and held it to my ear, “Hugo? Hugo? Are you OK?”
“He’s in the train.” I replied.
The shoes pinched a bit to begin with but they fit like a glove now.