It was exactly 8.22 and down the platform the little tank engine was already champing at the bit in front of the three carriages that made up the 8.25 for Cardiff. We had the money, didn’t we? I looked him straight in the eye when I handed it over, as if this was what we did every day of the week. He stared right back, knowing he’d seen us before, but not quite able to make the right connection. I held my breath and waited for him to say something, but then he dropped his gaze and slowly, oh so slowly, gave me the change. This time there were some other passengers on the train so he couldn’t keep them waiting just because we looked a bit dodgy, could he? All the way to Cardiff I think we both expected the train to creak to a halt any minute, and a copper to come and haul us off. But it rumbled on into the grey stone suburbs, and just after ten we were standing scanning the destination board inside the station canopy.
