“This train is taking its time,” he said.
The lights at the level crossing continued to flash. A knot of school kids leant on one of the barriers, killing time.
“They’ll break that barrier if they are not careful.”
She didn’t reply.
“We always seem to wait a long time here. I should have gone down Durham Avenue instead.”
The car engine idled. He tapped the steering wheel with both index fingers. She found this intensely annoying. But didn’t say anything.
“Why did you buy all those tea towels?”
“We needed some.”
“Why so many though?”
She watched the school kids lean more precariously on the barrier. They jumped off as a train thundered past.
“12.05 to Bristol.” He said.
The barriers didn’t lift and the kids clambered back on.
“Waiting for the 12.11 to Derby.”
She didn’t reply. Her mind wandered back to the dry goods salesman who had called round that morning. She bought the tea towels and a pack of sponges from him because of his pretty face and sweet Geordie accent.
Then they had fucked. On the settee in the front room. The State Opening of Parliament was on the television. His groans accompanied the tally of forthcoming legislation. He came as Her Majesty announced new laws to arbitrate in family disputes.
She smiled to herself as she recalled this sweaty memory.
“Penny for them.”
She didn’t reply. A train rumbled through the crossing.
“The Derby train.”
The barriers rose. The kids dashed across the tracks.
“Fancy fish fingers for tea?” she asked.
“Smashing. We haven’t had them for ages.”
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