There was a cock-up with the reservations, which initially, yes, it rather peeved me, but there's such a thing as too spoilt, and it strikes me that there are worse things in life than having to share an overnight sleeper train carriage with two complete strangers. I barely notice them. Just sip on the Chai Latte I picked up at the station and stare fixedly out of the window and into the black. Love train journeys, me... the headspace, the anonymity, the brief exposure to the lives of others as they gossip, sleep, pull out laptops, whatever...
The elderly lady opposite, she has her head in a novel, Anna Karenina. Good choice for trains, I think. There's a guy... hmmm, yeah, pleasant enough. Dark, intense, laptop open, plugged into his music... way too young to notice me, which suits.
It's already 8 when we leave kings cross, and by 9 the porter comes in to pull down, make up the beds. I leave then, take my overnight bag and walk down to the buffet; I hear one of my companions following behind me, but with no interest in talking and a slight thirst on me I just walk on, order a sol and a shot of tequila (no point in having to repeatedly go to the bar) and sit down at one of the tables unoccupied by one of the few remaining diners.
At half nine, it feels like midnight. I swill down the shot, shove the lime into the sol, and take a swig, before just sitting and taptapping on my blackberry, one Google search leading to another, and I find myself going from an article on Amarula Cream to liver disease to an std site to a advert for flavoured condoms and finally landing at a page called 'Secrets of a dirty girl: the guide to the perfect blow job'. It's this I'm engrossed in when Mr. Dark Intensity sits opposite, after mumbling what I assume is a question about its vacancy in what I now see is an American accent.
It vaguely crosses my mind that he's seen my browsing, but the Sol's almost finished, and the tequila was a double, so I don't care. He puts the laptop on the table between us, and we both taptap in harmony. He drinks what looks like strawberry Ribena even quicker than I drink mine, and I guess out of politeness when he gets up for another, he asks if he can get me one. I ask for a sol, but he's seen the other glass, and I guess he's a drinker, because he picks it up, sniffs it and asks if I want another tequila. I do.
When he orders a double for me and I hear him get a large vodka and cranberry juice (which I didn't even know was a drink), I kind of smile to myself, and then I go back to my guide and he taps into that laptop. I get the next one - he doesn't argue - and excuse myself. A total of maybe twenty words between us. As I get to the carriage door, I involuntarily turn back. He's not looking, and I have no idea why I did.
In the toilets, I change. My nightwear is more all-encompassing that the clothes I've taken off. T-shirt and tracksuit bottoms. I keep the bra on for decency's sake. Put on a fresh pair of socks and go back to the carriage, where the lights are dimmed way down and the lady is gently snoring in a top bunk.