Slowdown

The trains are running late; there's a problem at a level-crossing somewhere up the line. I leave the station and purchase a bag of clementines at the fruit stall just outside the entrance. Back on the platform, I strip the peel back with a grubby thumb and swallow thirstily at the juices. Too many pips. From time to time, the tannoy bleats out a message, usually just as a fast train is passing through. The video announcements are confusing and difficult to read in the low evening sunlight.

A train pulls in, and I let it go by; according to the schedule, it's not taking my line. Ten minutes later, another one pulls in. This should be mine. As I hesitate at the door, a couple beside me call out - "Is this the train for Pontoise?" No-one answers, and we stand for a moment, bemused. Then someone inside the carriage says something that I don't catch, and the couple climb up the steps. I follow and take a seat while they hesitate at the door. As they pass me to take a seat further up the train, the woman, tall, very thin, and encased in leather, grumbles at the station staff. "With all the benefits they have! I hate them!" Her voice is oddly harsh and metallic.

They sit down, and the man slowly peels off his jacket, revealing a T-shirt with the slogan "Life is for enjoying" on it, in English. They talk for a couple of minutes, then he suddenly dives at her, pushing her back against the panelling and mashing his face into hers. Just as abruptly, he draws back. Her expression hasn't changed.

Two stations further on, they get off. The line doesn't split until another three stations have gone by. I look up from my book at the fourth station. I'm on the wrong train.