The first time he was getting away from a malevolent child with swinging feet and an oblivious mother, then there were the mobile phone abusers, and just when Gabe thought he was safe in the 'quiet carriage', the stink of catering food packages unwrapped at his table forced him to beat yet another retreat. He'd found, so he thought, a haven at the end of the train when a woman boarded at Watford and quickly set about colonizing his space. She wore a tweed suit and good strong shoes and had an equally sturdy face. As she talked at him, the clink of fine china in her voice, Gabriel thought you don't see many like her any more. She was empire-building stock, no doubt about it; she was Jam and Jerusalem, God and Golf, Gin Rummy and Croquet Lawn. And she talked and she talked until Gabriel staged an uprising, reaching overhead for his bag and explaining he was getting off at the next stop. 'But that's not for another hour,' said the woman. Gabe nodded and staggered away, the train rolling side-to-side beneath his feet.He squatted at the end of the next carriage, his back against the luggage rack, and closed his eyes.
