Old Tales Retold – Train Travels #6 – An Eye In Your Tea Sir?

The man checked his watch. Another hour or so to London.

There was widespread opposition to the road widening scheme. The Public Enquiry would expose these. He knew he needed to affect a cautious, yet professional manner in front of the Planning Inspector, extolling the benefits of the project; improved traffic flow, reduced bottlenecks and carbon savings. His evidence would counter the emotional arguments the community groups were promoting in opposition.

He had given evidence at similar enquiries. The Inspectorate had always concurred with him after their deliberations. He was quietly confident that they would do so again and that finally, after seven years of tortuous negotiation, protest and funding crises work could begin.

He was thirsty. The trolley attendant was making her way towards him. He caught her eye. She smiled at him.

“Tea please” he said.

“Milk? Sugar?”

“Yes please,”

As she poured, he looked out of the window at the monotonous landscape of eastern England. The trolley attendant sneezed.

“Bless you,” he said.

“Thanks.”

She placed the cup down on the table in front of him and provided a napkin, two cartons of UHT milk, two sachets of brown sugar and a plastic stirrer.

“£1.50 please.” He held the exact money out for her, all the time staring out of the carriage window.

She moved on. Instantly, there was a scream. A scream of such dark terror that it shook him from his thoughts. He looked for the source of the scream. In the next row a catatonic, but smartly dressed, middle aged business woman was shaking with terror.

“Excuse me sir,” the trolley attendant said.

“Yes?”

“Is there a glass eye in your cup of tea?”

“Sorry?”

“A glass eye. I appear to have mislaid mine.” He looked up at her and recoiled at the sight of her left eye socket, bereft of an eyeball.

He peeled back the plastic lid of his cup and there, bobbing in his beverage was a glass eye. It had a slightly peevish air about it.

“What colour is your eye?” he asked.

“Blue,”

“This one is brown.”

“Oh,” she said, “Never mind, I must have dropped it somewhere else.”

He again looked into her gaping eye socket. The socket’s muscles twitched feverishly.

“Have you got any biscuits?” He liked a biscuit with his tea.

“Shortbread or Gingernuts?”

“Shortbread please” She handed a packet to him.

“£1 please”. He handed her the exact money once more.

He fished the eye and then the tea bag out of the cup. He examined the eyeball. It was heavier than he imagined.

The tea tasted funny.

But the biscuits were tasty.