**Diary Entry A Lesson in Manners on the Train to Brighton**
The rhythmic clatter of the train wheels matched the beat of my long-awaited happiness. Three months of scrimping and saving, three months dreaming of the sea, salty breezes on my skin, and sunsets unobscured by city skyscrapers. The compartment was empty for now, and I relished the rare luxury of solitudejust me, my thoughts, and my daydreams.
I carefully laid out my provisions on the fold-down table: homemade pork pies wrapped in foil, a jar of pickled onions, neatly cut sandwiches with Cumberland sausage, apples, biscuits, and a thermos of strong tea. Enough to last the long journey to the coast. I imagined leisurely lunches by the window, watching the countryside roll by, sipping tea from my favourite mug as I lost myself in a book.
The train slowed as we approached the next station. I barely noticed the commotion in the corridorwhat did it matter when the sea and two weeks of blissful idleness awaited me?
But fate, it seemed, had other plans.
A family barged into the compartment: a short, dishevelled man with a beer belly, his wifea stout woman with a booming voiceand their son, a stocky boy of about ten. They noisily settled in, tossing luggage about and shouting over each other.
“Finally!” the woman huffed, dropping onto the lower berth. “Thought my legs would give out hauling those bags!”
“Well, whose fault is that, Linda?” the man snapped. “You insisted on bringing half the house!”
“Its essentials, not rubbish!” Linda shot back.
The boy clambered onto his berth and immediately started noisily crunching crisps.
I clung to my optimism. They were on holiday toosurely theyd settle down.
Half an hour later, my hopes were dashed.
“Ooh, whatve you got there?” Linda eyed my spread greedily. “We brought some bits toolook!” She pulled two boiled eggs and a limp cucumber from her bag and plonked them next to my neatly arranged food.
“Shared table!” she announced, as if shed done me a favour.
Something inside me tightened, but I still hoped it would pass.
It didnt.
The manintroducing himself as Nigelunwrapped one of my pork pies and took a bite.
“Blimey, homemade!” he said through a full mouth. “Proper good, this!”
“Nigel, give us a bite!” Linda reached for it.
“Excuse me,” I managed, “but this is my food. I packed it for the journey.”
They stared at me as if Id sworn in church.
“Oh, come off it!” Linda scoffed. “If its on the table, its fair game! Basic manners, love!”
“We shared ours!” Nigel gestured at their meagre offerings. “Help yourself!”
Meanwhile, the boy dug grubby fingers into my jar of pickled onions.
“Nice!” he declared, chewing loudly.
A wave of indignation crashed over me. They were shamelessly devouring my carefully prepared meals under the guise of some imaginary train etiquetteand acting as if *I* should be grateful.
“Listen,” I said firmly, “I didnt invite anyone to share. This is my food.”
“Dont be stingy!” Linda slapped one of my pies onto a slice of bread. “Were all skint hereleast you can do is share!”
Nigel polished off my sandwiches, and the boy licked his fingers after fishing out the last onion.
The sheer audacity left me speechless. It wasnt about the foodit was the humiliation of their brazenness. I stood abruptly.
“I need some air.”
“Off you pop, then,” Linda said, mouth full. “Well keep an eye on things.”
In the corridor, I let the tears comenot for the lost meals, but for the helpless anger simmering inside me. Always too polite, too conflict-averse. Now it had backfired.
“Everything alright?”
I turned. A tall, broad-shouldered man stood there, his expression kind.
“Fine,” I muttered, wiping my cheeks.
“Doesnt look it,” he said gently. “Im Alex. You?”
“Emily.”
“Emily, sometimes it helps to talk. What happened?”
His quiet concern undid me. I spilled everythingthe holiday, the food, the entitled family treating my provisions like a buffet.
Alex listened, nodding. When I finished, his face darkened.
“Right. Which compartment?”
“Number seven.”
“Wait here.”
I lingered by the window, anxiety prickling. What was he saying to them? Raised voicesLindas indignation, Nigels blusterthen silence. Only Alexs steady tone, calm but firm.
Minutes later, he returned, satisfaction flickering in his eyes.
“Theyll behave now.”
“*What* did you tell them?”
“Just clarified train etiquette.”
Back in the compartment, the atmosphere had shifted. The boy was glued to his phone; Nigel and Linda whispered, casting guilty glances my way.
“Emily,” Nigel began stiffly, “sorry about earlier. Didnt realise you werent travelling alone.”
“Course not!” Linda chimed in. “If wed known your *boyfriend* was joining, wed never have touched your things!”
Boyfriend? I blinked.
At the next stop, Nigel and Linda hurried off, returning with bags of hot pasties, fruit, and even a bottle of ale.
“Here,” Linda said awkwardly. “To make up for it. And for your, erm chap.”
The rest of the journey passed in peace.
That evening, I found Alex by the window, watching bridges blur past.
“Alex,” I said, “thank you. But what *exactly* did you say? They mentioned a boyfriend?”
He grinned. “Mightve fibbed a bit. But they wont check.”
“And?”
“Just introduced myself as your companion. Mentioned my *profession*.” His eyes twinkled. “Explained that thefteven of train foodis illegal. And that, as a police officer, I could file a report on the spot.”
My jaw dropped. “*Are* you a cop?”
“That,” he said smugly, “is a story for dinner. Know a lovely spot by the seafront in Brighton.”
My heart skipped. This manwhod effortlessly solved my problemwas going to the same place. Maybe it wasnt chance at all.
The train raced toward the sea, toward something new. And suddenly, the stolen food didnt matter. Only this unexpected beginning.
“Alright,” I said, meeting his gaze. “Dinner. On one conditionyou tell me the truth.”
“Deal.” He smiled. “And maybe more than youd expect.”
The wheels kept their rhythmno longer just a holidays beat, but the start of something else. Right here, on this train, with the stranger whod stepped in at just the right moment.
