The Mirror World of Melody Black by Gavin Extence Page B

.
    â€˜I’m sorry, but it’s very unlikely that you were told that. Perhaps you misheard?’ She was being far too gracious. ‘The simple fact is that you don’t have a valid ticket for this train. None of you do. You’ll have to buy replacements.’
    â€˜ Buy replacements? Because of someone else’s incompetence? You’ve got to be joking!’
    â€˜If you wish to make a formal complaint you’ll have to put it in writing to central office. They’ll decide if the fare should be refunded.’
    â€˜Oh, what’s the bloody point? Your man in Slough will just deny it.’ He pulled out his wallet and slapped it on the table with the kind of indignation that only those feigning insult can manage. ‘Well? How much?’
    The ticket collector tapped at her machine. ‘Three first-class singles to Hereford comes to two hundred and sixty-two pounds and fifty pence.’
    â€˜ How much?’
    â€˜You can move to standard if you’d prefer. Then it’s only one hundred and twelve pounds.’
    â€˜One hundred and twelve pounds! To sit in steerage? That’s literally highway robbery!’
    This jumble of metaphors, cliché and appalling English was the last straw.
    â€˜Oh, for God’s sake!’ Four sets of eyes swung in my direction. ‘A highway is a road, steerage is a nautical term, this is a train, and you’re being an absolute arsehole!’
    I didn’t say it in a hostile way, but just as a self-evident list of facts; I borrowed my sister’s telephone voice. Nevertheless, the meat man’s face went lobster pink. ‘This has nothing to do with you, sweetheart.’ He was trying to do alpha male, but sounded more like a sullen adolescent. ‘Keep your opinions to yourself.’
    â€˜Ha!’ My laugh was genuine, possibly borderline hysterical, but I couldn’t help it. It was such a ridiculous thing for him to say. I turned to look at the ticket inspector, giving her my warmest smile. ‘You know, I saw him wink at his buddies – just after that bullshit about being given inaccurate advice at the information desk. I can write you a statement if you like. How much is the fine for deliberate fare evasion?’ She looked at the meat man and arched an eyebrow. He looked as if he’d just been kicked in the balls. ‘Or maybe he’d prefer just to buy a valid ticket – for steerage – and keep his mouth shut for the rest of the journey?’
    If life were a film, this would have been the moment when the rest of the carriage broke into spontaneous applause. If it were an American film, there would have been some whooping too, and maybe an isolated ‘You go, girl!’ But this was reality and I was in Britain, the land that invented social awkwardness. I got nothing. Most of the other passengers had already averted their eyes from this unseemly public confrontation. The Queen looked mortified. The ticket inspector cleared her throat and returned the carriage to some semblance of normality. ‘Er, yes. I think the young lady is probably right.’
    The meat man shot me a look that said this wasn’t over. I shot a look back that told him I was getting off at Oxford and had no intention of ever visiting Hereford, much less Slough, so it was. Anyway, his associates were already up and getting their briefcases from the luggage rack. I flashed him a catty smile and went back to my top ten stations.

10
PROFESSOR CABORN
    I smoked a cigarette at Oxford Station and then looked up the number for the Department of Experimental Psychology. My plan was to phone reception to try to get a pinpoint on Professor Caborn’s whereabouts. I would say I was an old colleague. But this was the full extent of my plan. I had absolute confidence that I’d be able to wing the conversation and everything would fall into place.
    A couple of rings.
    â€˜Hello? Psychology – Sarah