The button on the doors glowed pale yellow. Bernard, standing in the perfect position on the platform as always, extinguished the lights with his middle finger. Five minutes late yet again. The doors parted, and without surveying the interior, this tall, thin man strode purposefully to his seat.
He stopped short of swinging his briefcase onto the cushioned chair; if he hadn’t done so he would have seriously injured a fellow passenger – someone was sitting in his seat. With a silent huff of disgust, he located an empty spot and slumped down. He let his head loll back as he took in a deep breath. The quiet carriage, peace at last. This was his haven, the only place where he felt completely at ease. The low hum of the engines, the gentle blow of the heaters punctuated by the soft tapping of laptop keys. No phones. No loud music. No raised voices. Bliss.
He rubbed his puffy eyes, feeling the sharp outline of heavy bags that hung low from them. Work had been piling on his desk for the past year, the result of redundancies ravaging the firm. He had survived so far, he was told, because he was a conscientious, model family man who always toed the line. Uncertain of his own future, he’d had to take the projects on, but there just weren’t enough hours.
There was no respite at home either, what with the twins. Bernard still couldn’t believe it, he and his wife had been trying for years, and yet he couldn’t remember the last intimate moment they had shared. Then, the magic of science produced two little girls, who were in all honesty, terribly hard work. He did love them, he just wasn’t sure about fatherhood any more, especially at his age.
His reverie was shattered by the grating screeches of a small child. Bernard couldn’t fathom why a child would be on the quiet carriage? The cries hit him in waves causing him to flinch as each one crashed home. Putting in his earphones, he attempted to smother it with some Beethoven. It was useless – Bernard seldom turned the volume up high in fear of jeopardising the principle of the quiet carriage. Thankfully, a well-placed dummy muted the boy.
Bernard massaged his temples to relieve the pain of another sleepless night on top of the fourteen-hour days. The heaters were obviously set too high this morning. He loosened his polyester tie and thought of removing his dusty grey jacket. But he caught a sweaty whiff and decided to keep it on. Exasperated, Bernard wondered why it was always either too hot or too cold? As usual there was no answer, so he tried to take his mind of it by focussing on the music.
Beethoven didn’t stand a chance. Without mercy he was wiped out by the hearty voice of a suited gentleman seated across the aisle. Bernard’s eyes shot open, he couldn’t believe it – the man was using a mobile. It was inexcusable. Beethoven was hurriedly replaced by Wagner at full volume. Never before had Bernard stooped to this level and he squirmed at the thought of it. His shame quickly turned to an anger that thundered with the Valkyries. Just a few stops to go and he could leave this hot, noisy, pit of hell.
Suddenly, a tap on his shoulder caused him to turn; he was asked to turn his music down as it was disturbing the call. Astonished, Bernard flushed a violent red, and the conscientious, model family man who always toed the line, floored the gentleman with one swing of his fist.
