The rhythmic clatter of the train wheels carried me toward my long-awaited holiday. For three months, Id scrimped and saved for this trip, dreaming of the sea, of salty breezes on my skin and sunsets unspoiled by city skyscrapers. The compartment was empty for now, and I relished the rare luxury of solitude, lost in my thoughts and daydreams.
Carefully, I laid out my provisions on the fold-down table: homemade beef pies wrapped in foil, a jar of pickled onions, sausage sandwiches, 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 it approached the next station. I barely noticed the commotion in the corridorwhat did it matter when the sea and two weeks of blissful idleness lay ahead?
But fate 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, bickering all the while.
“Finally!” the woman huffed, flopping onto the lower bunk. “Thought my legs would give out hauling those suitcases!”
“Well, it was your idea to bring half the house, Linda!” the man snapped.
“This isnt half the house, its essentials!” Linda shot back.
The boy clambered onto his bunk and immediately began noisily crunching crisps.
I forced a polite smile. They were on holiday too, after all. Maybe theyd settle down.
But my hopes vanished within half an hour.
“Ooh, whats all this then?” Lindas eyes gleamed as she eyed my spread. “We brought food too, look!” She produced two boiled eggs and a limp cucumber from her bag and plopped them beside my neatly arranged meal.
“Shared table!” she announced, as if shed done me a great favour.
Something inside me tightened, but I held my tongue.
Pointlessly.
The manVinceunceremoniously unwrapped one of my pies and took a bite.
“Blimey, homemade!” he said through a full mouth. “Proper good!”
“Vince, give us a bite!” Linda reached for it.
“Excuse me,” I said, voice strained, “but this is my food. I packed it for the journey.”
They stared at me as if Id said something outrageous.
“Dont be stingy!” Linda scoffed, slathering my pie onto a slice of bread. “If its on the table, its fair game! Basic manners!”
“We shared ours too,” Vince added, gesturing to their meagre offerings. “Help yourself!”
Meanwhile, the boy dug grubby fingers into my jar of pickled onions.
“Nice!” he mumbled, chewing loudly.
A wave of indignation and helplessness washed over me. These people were shamelessly devouring my food, hiding behind some imaginary train etiquette. Worsethey acted as if *I* should be grateful.
“Listen,” I said firmly, “I didnt invite anyone to eat this. Its mine, and I planned for it to last.”
“Oh, give over!” Linda waved me off, biting into my pie. “Were skint ourselves, but were not making you eat *our* stuff!”
Vince polished off my sandwiches, and the boy licked his fingers clean after fishing out the last onion.
Their brazenness left me speechless. It wasnt about the foodit was the sheer audacity.
“You know what,” I said, voice trembling, “I need some air.”
“Go on, then,” Linda said magnanimously, still chewing. “Well sort the table.”
I stepped into the corridor, finally letting my composure crack. Tears pricked my eyesnot for the lost meal, but for the humiliation. How could people be so entitled?
A deep voice broke my thoughts. “You alright?”
I turned. A tall, broad-shouldered man stood there, concern in his eyes.
“Fine,” I muttered, wiping my cheeks.
“Doesnt look like it,” he said gently. “Im James. You?”
“Emily,” I replied, surprised my voice held steady.
He listened patiently as I spilled everythingthe holiday, the carefully packed food, the familys shamelessness. His expression darkened.
“Right,” he said. “Which compartment?”
“Number seven.”
“Wait here.”
I lingered by the window, anxiety gnawing at me. What was he doing?
Muffled voices drifted from the compartmentLindas shrill protest, Vinces gruff interjection, then silence punctuated by Jamess calm, steady tone.
When he emerged, his face was unreadable, but satisfaction glinted in his eyes.
“Theyll behave now.”
“What did you say?”
“Just explained train etiquette.”
Back inside, the atmosphere had shifted. The boy was glued to his phone, while Vince and Linda whispered, shooting guilty glances my way.
“Emily,” Vince began awkwardly, “sorry about earlier. We didnt realise you werent alone.”
“Course not!” Linda chimed in. “If wed known your boyfriend was with you, wed never have touched your things!”
Boyfriend? I blinked.
At the next stop, they returned with bags of foodpasties, fruit, even a bottle of proper cider.
“Here,” Linda said sheepishly. “To make up for it. And for your chap too.”
The rest of the journey passed in uneasy peace.
That evening, I found James by the window, watching the lights blur past.
“Thank you,” I said. “But what *exactly* did you tell them?”
He grinned. “Told them I was your partner. And mentioned my job.”
“Which is?”
“May or may not involve law enforcement,” he said cryptically. “Thefteven of train foodhas consequences.”
My lips parted. “Are you *actually* a policeman?”
“That,” he said, eyes twinkling, “is a story for dinner. Theres a lovely spot by the sea where we could talk. If youre free.”
My heart skipped. This man wasnt just my rescuerhe was heading to the same place. Maybe it wasnt chance at all.
The train raced on, carrying us toward the waves, toward something new. And I no longer cared about stolen food or rude strangers.
“Alright,” I said, meeting his gaze. “But on one conditionyou tell me the truth.”
“Deal,” he smiled. “And maybe more.”
The wheels kept their rhythmno longer just a train to the coast, but the start of something unexpected, all thanks to the right person at the right time.
