Page 2 of The Last Train Home
‘Ha,’ I laugh, noticing his playful smile. He’s quite good-looking and fun, a combination I can really get behind. ‘Where have you been tonight then?’ I ask. The train doors open for the next station and someone does exactly what I did earlier and only just makes it into the carriage in time, slicing through the middle of our chat before we move off again.
He tells me the name of a private members’ club. ‘A friend goes there and I was thinking about joining, but I’m not sure I’d use it enough, so …’
‘That sounds like a wild Thursday night out,’ I deadpan.
‘He thought I needed cheering up. I’ve recently called time on a relationship, and apparently extortionately priced drinks in graveyard-quiet surroundings are always the answer.’
‘Sounds awful,’ I say. ‘I’ve never set foot in a private members’ club, and this has probably confirmed that I’m not sure I’m supposed to.’
His eyes crinkle again as he smiles. ‘It’s not the most appropriate place to get wasted,’ he agrees. ‘Where’ve you been then?’
‘A bar near my friend’s work in Bond Street,’ I say and then realise this also doesn’t sound too wild.
‘A few drinks after work in a bar turns into a few drinks in another bar, turns into going to a members’ club,’ he says knowingly.
‘Oh,’ I say teasingly, ‘I see how easily it all gets out of hand.’
‘Thursday’s the new Friday – or so I keep hearing.’ He chuckles and I lean back, relaxing against the glass partition. He watches me with that smile still on his face and I wonder if this silly chat is going to lead somewhere even flirtier. Probably not. I’m getting off in a few stops.
‘Where are you headed then?’ I ask over the increasing noise of the Tube as it speeds up over the tracks.
We have to lean in to hear each other, and there’s a faint scent of pine or something similar on his skin as he dips his head and says, ‘I’m off to meet someone at Bank.’
‘Off to carry on the partying?’
‘Something like that. You?’
‘Home. Bed.’
‘Home and bed sounds like a good idea,’ he says wistfully.
Out of the corner of my eye I can see people giving each other looks. We’re the drunk people on the train who can’t stop talking, although Jonno and his crew are still going strong further down the carriage, still loudly trying to make something rhyme with the word ‘virginity’.
‘I really want to join in with the word “affinity”,’ I tell the guy. ‘But I might not be drunk enough to take part in a stag-do singalong.’
‘I am definitely drunk enough,’ he says, as if trying to work himself up to chiming in, and then bottles it. ‘No, I can’t do it. What about the word “infinity”?’ he suggests to me.
‘“Infinity” works. I think.’
‘Flexibility?’ He’s on a roll now.
‘In the city?’ I suggest, but fail to make it rhyme.
‘Losing your virginity with flexibility to infinity in the city?’ he says, and I laugh.
‘We have a hit on our hands here,’ I say. ‘But I’m not sure it all rhymes.’
‘Maybe it doesn’t need to rhyme,’ he says. ‘Maybe itshouldn’trhyme. Also,’ he says as if it’s a huge secret, ‘perhaps there are no words that truly rhyme with “virginity”.’
‘It’s probably for the best or else there’d be more songs about it,’ I say.
‘Which would be weird,’ he says.
‘Which would be weird,’ I echo.
I glance over at the guy who got on the train at the last stop. He is doing his best not to laugh at us, which in turn makes me smile. The train pulls into Chancery Lane station, he gets off, the doors close and we head off again.
‘Are we the weirdos on the train?’ my new friend says, echoing my thoughts.
