London to Glasgow Central

My fingers twitch, once, twice, above the button. It glows red, like Christmas lights.

It’s been a good journey so far. There were sheep on the line at Carlisle, but they moved quickly. Normally it takes hours - the bloody animals never know when to stop - but they’d cleared by the time we got to Coventry.

We’ve just left Warrington. It’s an early train, but I like those best. The sunrise is just starting to press against the windows, though the passengers don’t really care. They’re huddled into their seats, headphones jammed into their ears. Most go back to sleep.

It’s easy for them, I suppose. Back when I was a boy, this line still used steam trains. They had a shrill whistle, like a recorder blown into your ear, and everybody woke up instantly. With the carriages rattling, I often wonder how we didn’t go straight through the window.

This train is a glider. Like my Rosie, when she’s ice-skating. She does it so gracefully - arms stretched forward, sticking out her tongue in concentration. You wouldn’t know that she’s only seven, when she skates like that. I just hope I live long enough to see her in the Olympics.

A woman behind me coughs, and I press the button. She sniffs, rolling her suitcase towards her seat.

That’s how you can tell it’s First Class. In Third Class, the luggage racks are full to the brim. Suitcases shoved alongside pushchairs, with shopping bags balanced on top. When we change tracks, I stand in front of the nearest rack, to stop it all falling. I’ve got some bruises from that, let me tell you.

The rack in First Class is nearly always empty, as the passengers take their luggage to their seats. Take this lady, for example. I watch her push her case under the table, pressing it against her knees. She looks around suspiciously, as if the other passengers might steal from her. When her gaze falls on me, she frowns.

In the other carriages, my uniform is a sign of authority. Yes, it’s basic - black waistcoat, white shirt and name badge - but it does the trick. I always get a thrill of satisfaction when entering a carriage, and watching the passengers hush.

Here he comes, the mothers whisper to their children. Sit tight, now.

They stare at me, wide-eyed, until I give them a wink and a smile. We used to carry lollipops for the young’uns, but that’s not allowed anymore. Child protection, or something.

In First Class, I can wink and smile all I like, but the reaction never changes. To passengers like this woman, I’m just another part of the train. No more indispensable than the lunches they receive, or the tickets. My uniform’s not authority, here. In fact, it’s rather the opposite.

The doors at the other end of the carriage open. A woman - probably about my age, with hair dusted with icing-sugar at the edges - stumbles in. She’s holding a large overnight bag, which nearly pulls her through the floor. There’s a hiss from behind her.

“Get a move on, why don’t you?”

The woman doesn’t respond, struggling to lift her bag onto the rack. I can’t see the man behind her, but I don’t need to. Tall, expensive suit, Tag Heuer watch. The smell of wealth rolling off his coat.

“Sometime today, love!”

His partner’s voice is ruder, dripping with disdain.

I hurry forward, anger bristling. I’d dearly love to throw the bag in the man’s face, and watch him tumble onto the tracks.

“Allow me, ma’am.”

It’s heavy, and I struggle. It reminds me of when Rosie was younger, and I used to fling her over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes. I’d probably break my back if I tried that now.

The couple shove through, their impatience settling across the seats.

“Bloody woman,” says the man, as he pushes past. “And leaving all that mess, too!”

I peer over his shoulder and see a trail of mud across the carpet.

The woman grimaces. “I’m so sorry!” Her voice is strung with guilt.

“Don’t you worry, ma’am,” I say. “It’s just a little dirt, that’s all.”

I have to stop to catch my breath, and the woman laughs.

“Aren’t we a pair?”

I help her to her seat.

“Would you like any refreshments?”

The woman stares out of the window and then back at me, mischief glittering in her eyes.

“Is it too early for champagne?”

It’s barely eight o’clock in the morning.

“Are you celebrating?” I say.

The woman drums her fingernails against the table.

“I ought to, really,” she says. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Do you have any suggestions?”

The words slip out before I can stop them.

“It’s my granddaughter’s birthday,” I say. “Would that do?”

The woman’s face breaks into a smile.

“That’s perfect,” she says. “I’ll be waiting!”

The rest of the passengers order tea, coffee, or water. The rude man has the audacity to ask for a decaf soy latte, but I silence him with a look.

“I don’t think the coffee machine is that advanced,” I say. “My sincerest apologies.”

When I take the champagne to the woman, she laughs.

“I saw that,” she says. “Serves him right.”

She takes a large gulp.

“Oh yes - that’s just what I needed.”

She holds out her hand and grins.

“I’m Reyna.”

“Alistair,” I say. “Alistair Bright.”

Reyna takes another sip, before pulling a notebook out of her bag. The surface is black and smooth, like glistening oil.

“What’s your granddaughter called?”

“Rosie,” I say. “Rosanna, really, but she won’t answer to that.”

I wonder what Rosie’s doing. She’ll have been awake for hours, bouncing on her parents’ bed. Perhaps Daniel is making birthday pancakes, like Meredith and I used to do for him.

“Are you close, then?”

There’s curiosity in Reyna’s voice.

“Very,” I say. “Though I don’t get to see her very much.”

I think about Rosie’s sticky hands, her strawberry-breath and honeysuckle smell. She likes to eat chocolate buttons, holding a handful until they melt across her palm.

“Will you see her today?”

Regret tugs on my heart, twisting the arteries together. I can’t quite look Reyna in the eye, and stare out the window. The sun’s risen fully now, and the fields scrape against a dull sky.

“I can’t.”

Sympathy slides across Reyna’s face.

“Late hours?”

I grip hold of the back of the seat. I’m not sure if it’s the train, or thinking about Rosie’s birthday, but all my muscles suddenly ache.

“Not exactly.” I bob my head. “Excuse me.”

I turn away, guilt hanging from my lanyard. Reyna’s only being friendly, I know, but I can’t bring myself to talk about it.

I force myself to focus on checking tickets, topping up drinks and tidying the carriage. I can feel Reyna’s gaze, but I keep away.

Why did I mention Rosie’s birthday? Why didn’t I keep my head down, and just pour the champagne?

I can see her now, opening her presents. Her freckly face beaming with joy, hands flapping in excitement. And then -

“Where’s Granddaddy’s present?”

I ball my fingers into fists. The woman I’m serving looks at me, snatching her breakfast box with alarm.

“Sorry,” I say. “I mean - my apologies, ma’am.”

When I give Reyna her breakfast box, she grabs my hand.

“Alistair,” she says. “Please.”

It’s strange to think that I only met this woman an hour ago, yet she treats me like an old friend.

Her fingers are cold, but her smile is warm.

“I want to say thank you, for all of your help,” she says.

She taps the notebook in front of her.

“Would you give this to your granddaughter, for her birthday?”

I’ve almost forgotten how to breathe, and Reyna bites her lip.

“It’s just a little book, but it’s hardly used!” She flips it over. “Besides, we’ve got the same initials, no?”

There’s a little ‘RB’ embossed in gold. There’s a strange feeling in my stomach, but I shake my head.

“It’s very kind of you, ma’am. But-” I look at the breakfast box in my hands. “I can’t accept.”

Reyna takes the box out of my hands.

“Why not? Please, I insist.”

“I can’t.”

My heart is hurtling alongside the tracks, faster than the train.

Reyna frowns.

“But…it’s just a little present, for her birthday.” She pushes the book towards me.

“Why can’t you accept that?”

My heart bursts through my chest, the shame seeping through my skin.

“Because I can’t afford to get her a present myself!”

Silence. I stare at the notebook until my vision blurs.

What will Rosie say, when she finds out the truth? What will Daniel tell her?

“It’s not that Granddaddy doesn’t love you, sweetheart - it’s just…”

Just what? Just that I wanted to buy her new ice skates, so she could skate to her heart’s content? That I wished with all my soul I could be there for her birthday, but knew to even afford a present I’d have to work all the extra days I could get?

A tear balances on the end of my nose, but I’m too mortified to wipe it away. Now the whole carriage has seen me crying. Me - an old, foolish man who can’t even afford to buy his granddaughter a present?

No wonder they look at me with such disgust.

The train starts to slow, reaching the next stop.

“Enjoy your breakfast,” I say to Reyna, my voice muffled. “And…I’m so sorry.”

I go and stand in the corridor, pressing my face against the window. Outside, people are milling about, ready to board the train. At that moment, I hate my job. All of these people have places to be, family to see. How is it fair they can, and I can’t?

The stops start to blur together. I scan tickets, give out drinks, and paste a smile upon my face, but I can’t get Reyna’s expression out of my mind. Shock, mingled with pity.

I don’t want pity. I don’t want anything from anyone. All I want - the only thing in the whole world - is to be able to give my granddaughter the present she deserves.

When we reach Glasgow Central, I can’t pretend to hide my relief. I watch the passengers leaving from the corner of my eye, knowing that they’re whispering about my outburst.

Reyna is the last passenger on the train. I pick up the rubbish bag and start collecting the empty breakfast boxes.

“You missed one.”

Reyna holds out her box to me, the lid tightly folded.

“I hope you’re alright, Alistair,” she says. “All I want is to repay your kindness.”

“I’m fine,” I say, my voice cracking. “But thank you.”

Reyna pats my shoulder.

“Get home safely,” she says. “And, by the way? I left the sandwich in the box. Perhaps you want it?”

With a large clatter, she hauls her bag from the rack, and disappears.

I can feel the tears building again, and my stomach growls. I need to clear up, but a sandwich wouldn’t hurt, to drown my grief.

When I open the box, the first thing I see is a cheque addressed to me.

A cheque of $20,000.

There’s a piece of paper, beneath it. I can barely read it, as my hands are shaking so much.

Alistair,

Every grandparent deserves to see their grandchild on their birthday. No matter the cost.

Here’s my gift to you - the money I got today, as part of my divorce settlement.

The mud on my coat was from my last walk across the estate this morning. And the champagne?

Well, it was a celebration.

All the best,

Lady Reyna Beaumont

P.S. Alistair? Wish Rosie happy birthday from me.

There, lying at the bottom of the breakfast box, the black notebook smiles.