Refreshment

It’s after the evening rush hour but the train is still full of tired commuters making their humourless way home. As the Kent countryside whizzes darkly past the windows, the refreshments trolley passes through the carriage, pushed by a blonde man used to being ignored. He navigates his way along the feet-and-knees-and-briefcase-strewn aisle, almost entirely without notice. ‘Teas, coffees?’ he enquires, then cheekily, realising no one is listening, ‘Champagne, caviar?’ I laugh and he winks at me as he passes.