My wife smiled and explained that Idid not understand English and that I was visiting from Denmark. Theman continued to talk to me telling me how cute I was and that hewanted to get to know me better. His arm rested on the back of thechair as his hand rubbed my shoulder gently. Glancing at my wife, Icould see an evil twinkle in her eye and she politely excused herselfto go to the women's room. I about shit my pants as she stood up andquickly left me with a horny drunk. She had barely left the table whenhe pulled me closer and started kissing my mouth. Shocked I could donothing as his tongue slipped into my mouth and his hands roamed undermy jacket. I pushed him away and slapped him just as my wife came backto the table. Grabbing my hand, she pulled me up and away from him,telling him that she didn't think I cared for him and we left.Out in the car she was laughing so hard that she pulled off into a backroad and got out of the car coming around to my side of the car shespun me around. Apart from that I’ve just got my toothbrush and toiletries, a couple of books and my iPad. But if this train ride is anything to go by, then I won’t be doing much reading in the next two weeks. I tried reading once but I just can’t seem to focus. Images keep invading my head: Charles sitting in a plush, comfortable armchair, beckoning me to him; my handsome high school maths teacher calling me to the front of the class and instructing me to bend; feeling the tight cling of a close-fitting black dress as I ring the doorbell of a Mayfair apartment. The man with the newspaper folds it up and rises as we pull into another deserted station. His spaniel, head down, strains at the leash as they walk towards me. The man nods casually at me as he passes, giving one of those awkward half-smile, half-grimace greetings we English like so much. I flush in response. What if he knows? I’m alone in the carriage now. Next stop, I’m off. Sunday, 6.30pm The end of the line. Trains do not.
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