had to bend over and put my hands on my knees to ease a stitch. We were all sweating.
Then Sim said: “Are you sure this is the right train?”
The three of us instantly panicked again. All swearing and fussing at once. We could be going to Farleigh Wallop, Nempnett Thrubwell … anywhere. We could be going back to Cleethorpes, for all we knew. I’d just
assumed
this was the right train.
But Kenny spotted the notice on the door listing the different stations along the train’s route. The Route Of The Flying Scotsman . It was going all the way to Edinburgh, but would be stopping off at Newcastle too.
The relief felt good, our grins and bravado returned. Another catastrophe avoided. This was seat-of-the-pants stuff, but we were doing okay. Sim said we should try to find somewhere to sit. Kenny and I at last managed to fold the map back up and I told him to put it in his bag.
“My bag,” Kenny said, white-faced.
“My bag!”
He looked like he’d been smacked on the back of the head with a plank of wood. “I’ve left it on the other train. It’s got all my stuff in it. It’s got all my money in it!”
eight --------
The train hurtled north, taking us with it. We stayed in the connecting area between the carriages where the noise of that hurtle was loudest. Other passengers staggered past toward the toilet or the buffet, keeping a hand to the wall as the train rocked. We stood close together, heads bent and whispering, but doing our best to look inconspicuous.
“We can’t go back,” Sim said. “It’s impossible.”
Kenny hopped from foot to foot and whined.
I met Sim’s eye; he was thinking the same as me. As if this trip wasn’t going to be difficult enough … Without Kenny’s cash it could go a bit nightmarish all too easily.
“We’ve got to go back,” Kenny said. “I’m telling you: we—”
“How?” Sim was pissed off. “Are you gonna ask the driver to turn the train round or am I?”
“But my bag …”
“The train we were on was going all the way to Manchester,” I said. “It’s not even going to be back at Doncaster anymore.”
“It’s got everything in it.” Kenny was almost pleading. “I mean, not just my money. I had my iPod and my mobile…. I’d got a waterproof in case it rained.”
“At least you were wearing your favorite T-shirt,” I said. “You’ve still got that.”
Sim shot me a look to tell me I wasn’t helping. Kenny said, “I’d thought of everything. I’d got my toothbrush. I’d got Travel Scrabble.”
Now Sim looked stunned. “Christ-on-a-bike, Kenny! What the hell did you want …?” He shook his head. “You amaze me, you know? How can you think of stuff like that, but not even remember to keep hold of your bag?”
“Tell me you’ve at least got your ticket on you,” I said.
“Of course I’ve got my ticket.” Kenny pulled it out of his back pocket and waved it at me.
I took it from him to get a better look. “That’s the return part,” I said.
He snatched it back, not sure if I was still trying to be funny. But I was telling the truth. He closed his eyes, hung his head.
I felt bad for him then. He was a real
trier
. If Kenny ever died it would probably say “I tried” on his gravestone. He was the cleverest person I knew when it came to computersand stuff like that; he’d just never had any common-sense software uploaded, that was all.
“We might be able to get you another ticket,” I said. “We only need enough for a single there, right? How much money have we got on us?”
We dug as deeply into our pockets as we could. I had two ten-pound notes crushed up at the very bottom of mine.
“Just over a fiver,” Sim said, counting out shrapnel. “Five pounds thirty-eight.”
Kenny didn’t have anything anymore. “I had easily a hundred quid in my bag—at least.”
“Twenty-five pounds thirty-eight,” Sim said. “Nowhere near enough for another ticket.”
“True, but at least it’s something.” I was
Then Sim said: “Are you sure this is the right train?”
The three of us instantly panicked again. All swearing and fussing at once. We could be going to Farleigh Wallop, Nempnett Thrubwell … anywhere. We could be going back to Cleethorpes, for all we knew. I’d just
assumed
this was the right train.
But Kenny spotted the notice on the door listing the different stations along the train’s route. The Route Of The Flying Scotsman . It was going all the way to Edinburgh, but would be stopping off at Newcastle too.
The relief felt good, our grins and bravado returned. Another catastrophe avoided. This was seat-of-the-pants stuff, but we were doing okay. Sim said we should try to find somewhere to sit. Kenny and I at last managed to fold the map back up and I told him to put it in his bag.
“My bag,” Kenny said, white-faced.
“My bag!”
He looked like he’d been smacked on the back of the head with a plank of wood. “I’ve left it on the other train. It’s got all my stuff in it. It’s got all my money in it!”
eight --------
The train hurtled north, taking us with it. We stayed in the connecting area between the carriages where the noise of that hurtle was loudest. Other passengers staggered past toward the toilet or the buffet, keeping a hand to the wall as the train rocked. We stood close together, heads bent and whispering, but doing our best to look inconspicuous.
“We can’t go back,” Sim said. “It’s impossible.”
Kenny hopped from foot to foot and whined.
I met Sim’s eye; he was thinking the same as me. As if this trip wasn’t going to be difficult enough … Without Kenny’s cash it could go a bit nightmarish all too easily.
“We’ve got to go back,” Kenny said. “I’m telling you: we—”
“How?” Sim was pissed off. “Are you gonna ask the driver to turn the train round or am I?”
“But my bag …”
“The train we were on was going all the way to Manchester,” I said. “It’s not even going to be back at Doncaster anymore.”
“It’s got everything in it.” Kenny was almost pleading. “I mean, not just my money. I had my iPod and my mobile…. I’d got a waterproof in case it rained.”
“At least you were wearing your favorite T-shirt,” I said. “You’ve still got that.”
Sim shot me a look to tell me I wasn’t helping. Kenny said, “I’d thought of everything. I’d got my toothbrush. I’d got Travel Scrabble.”
Now Sim looked stunned. “Christ-on-a-bike, Kenny! What the hell did you want …?” He shook his head. “You amaze me, you know? How can you think of stuff like that, but not even remember to keep hold of your bag?”
“Tell me you’ve at least got your ticket on you,” I said.
“Of course I’ve got my ticket.” Kenny pulled it out of his back pocket and waved it at me.
I took it from him to get a better look. “That’s the return part,” I said.
He snatched it back, not sure if I was still trying to be funny. But I was telling the truth. He closed his eyes, hung his head.
I felt bad for him then. He was a real
trier
. If Kenny ever died it would probably say “I tried” on his gravestone. He was the cleverest person I knew when it came to computersand stuff like that; he’d just never had any common-sense software uploaded, that was all.
“We might be able to get you another ticket,” I said. “We only need enough for a single there, right? How much money have we got on us?”
We dug as deeply into our pockets as we could. I had two ten-pound notes crushed up at the very bottom of mine.
“Just over a fiver,” Sim said, counting out shrapnel. “Five pounds thirty-eight.”
Kenny didn’t have anything anymore. “I had easily a hundred quid in my bag—at least.”
“Twenty-five pounds thirty-eight,” Sim said. “Nowhere near enough for another ticket.”
“True, but at least it’s something.” I was
Similar Books
