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A Train Journey.

     "Excuse me." said Dr. Fischer, "would you mind
terribly if I smoked?"
     "Thank God!" cried Mr. Counting, relaxing visibly,
"I've been gasping for a cigarette since I got on board.
Here, have one of mine."
     He proffered a pack of Lambert & Butler. Dr.
Fischer plucked a cigarette from the pack graciously, he
hated the brand, but being a man of politeness he endured
the gift honourably.
     A disposable lighter was flicked, shaken and then
sparked into life, both men drew breath at the alter and then
sat back in unison and drew the smoke deep.
     "So what is your line of work?" the good doctor
enquired with an air of indifference.
     "I qualified as a chartered accountant twenty years
ago, at the moment I'm hoping to buy into the partnership.
After all this time I want the firm's name to be Knott, Long
& Counting (that's me). How about yourself?"
     "Oh, I'm a GP, small practise, mostly dealing with
the corns of the elderly, it's simple but well remunerated
work."
     The accountant gazed listlessly into the half empty
packet, made a mental note and then tossed them back onto
the acrylic table between them.
     "Do you work in Bridgenorth?" he asked.
     "No, no, the practice is based in Rock, I was just in
town to book my Easter holiday at Hempleman's Travel,
marvellous little firm, has the personal touch you know."
     "Where are you off to?" Counting enquired
dutifully, fully aware that he was being guided skilfully
through the quagmire of small talk.
     "Just a week in the North of Spain, a little holiday
villa just south of Santander. It's getting slightly more
touristy but it is still simply delightful at this time of year. I
used to go there on the ferry with my family, but now the
kids are grown up it's just me and the other half."
     "I haven't been on holiday for three years."
interjected his companion, while the doctor took a long and
slightly sour faced drag at the cigarette. "It isn't easy trying
to buy your way into a firm, it takes 110% they say (I've
always found that saying worrying when used by
accountants, personally). My wife takes the kids on holiday
in the summer, they went to Florida last year, you know,
Disney, Sea World and all that."
     "Never fancied it myself, bit too Blackpooly, tacky,
if you know what I mean."
     "Yes, but my two girls simply adore it. They had
their picture taken with Chip and Dale and little Suzie
tripped up Mickey mouse when he tried to get away."
     Fischer looked across the table and stared
despondently at the frazzled fag between his fingers. Could
he stub it out yet without offending the poor man's sense of
charity? He eyed his companion surreptitiously, the close
cropped hair black but greying, nervous light brown eyes
that twitched behind steel rimmed glasses. Like an owner
and dog grow to resemble one another, Counting had truly
come to look like the archetypal accountant. The smoke
from his cigarette drifted up, was caught behind his glasses
and made his eyes water. Pulling an initialled handkerchief
from his grey suit pocket he wiped his eyes carefully setting
his wire optics down on the table, resting on the L & B
packet. The doctor wondered if this red-eyed apparition had
looked in the mirror as a young man ad decided that his face
was ideal for a lifetime of tax fiddles and spreadsheets. That
Counting had been a lad, much the same as him, never
crossed Fischer's mind. Indeed, so engrossed was he in
speculation that he failed to notice his rheumy eyed cigarette
supplier peer through the brine and think to himself how
utterly typical of a doctor was the man sitting opposite him.
     The train slowed with a hiss of air breaks and a
troubling scent of petrol. Wooden signs with numbers
painted roughly across them scrolled ever more slowly past
the window. Stuck to the glass at about eye-level was a 
no-smoking sign, a little scraped and battered, but perfectly
visible. Beyond the drifting signs there rose huge overgrown
banks on either side of the track. Gorse and bramble
intertwined, dusted lightly with mud and smoke, these hardy
plants held the monopoly by the line. Gathered in their
mingling thorny clutches were yellow, blue and red flowers
of plastic useless wrappers, once adrift on the breeze, now
caught and bleached in the sun. Near the roots there
gathered a congregation of bottles, cans and supermarket
trolleys. The train crawled and with a grinding of gears
coasted the final yards. Slowly, the ever heightening banks
reduced the light to an eerie overcast gloom.
     Swerving away from the track, a platform swung
into view.  Chettering Junction' claimed the white and black
sign with little fanfare.
     "I wonder that they bother stopping, no-one ever
uses this station." sighed Counting resignedly.
     With a jolt the brakes took hold, there was a long,
loud hiss. The suck - clunk whirr of the door suggested to
the doctor and accountant that an unseen companion
(further up the train) had parted their company. Dr.
Fischer's eyes had scanned the barren platform and deduced
that no-one would be joining them from here. Counting held
his breath, he was not a man who actively sought out the
presence of strangers. People, in his experience were
generally dullards or cruel. The eternal optimist within him
fought the urge to hide, avoid eye contact and shattered his
attempts at restrained courtesy. It was this corner of his
psyche which was picturing a young lady, shoulder length
hair neatly brown, although auburn would do, she would
join the doctor and himself, talking lightly about her friends
and life, giving the professionals a glimpse of the world they
lost in training. He would offer her a cigarette which would
cement a friendship which might be renewed at some
unforseen time in the future when he found her once again,
alone and on a train.
     The automatic doors at the end of the carriage
slapped open and a man walked through. He was in his
twenties and dressed in baggy cotton trousers and a
colourful jumper. He threw his purple rucksack onto the
seats behind the doctor and sat down proprietarily beside it.
A whistle sounded, nearly smothered by the glass, another
hiss, a whiff of fuel and the train pulled off.
     There was a strange rummaging as the newcomer
searched his bag, then triumphant he emerged with a
battered paperback. Flicking through the pages he found
one with the top right corner turned over and resumed
reading.
     "There are usually more people on this train," the
accountant commented, dropping his stub to the floor and
suffocating it with a ragged leather sole. He picked up his
glasses and fiddled with them nervously. Noticing the
doctor watching his fingers as they flexed and tapped he
placed the spectacles down again.
     "Sorry, nervous habit, you wouldn't believe how
many pairs I break this way." he smiled wanly, "next time it
happens I'm going to get some of those new, bendy ones,
you must've seen the adverts. You can twist them every
which way and they just spring back to their original shape.
Marvellous really, it's a wonder no-one thought of it
before."
     The doctor searched his pockets and pulled out a
packet of Benson & Hedges.
     "Here," he offered, "let me return the favour."
     "Thanks very much for the offer, but I've grown
very used to mine," he tapped his packet and drew one out.
     They lit up and wallowed in the silence of
extinguished small talk until a feeble cough spluttered from
a seat nearby.
     "Excuse me." said the newcomer, standing up so he
could be seen, "I think this is a no smoking carriage."
     The doctor scowled bad-temperedly as Mr.
Counting apologised, putting his cigarette out once more.

     The remainder of the journey passed in uneasy
silence.


©1999 Mark Sexton