They lock eyes the moment they step onto the carriage.
Is there any room?
Of course! May I help with your suitcase?
Thanks Oh, its terribly stuffy!
Shall I open the window?
Yes, if you dont mind.
The wheels thrum. Outside the pane, night settles over the countryside.
Im Poppy, by the way,
Im James.
And a conversation beginsa simple, chance chat between two strangers. Both are young: shes twentytwo, hes twentyfive.
An hour passes. Then another. Then a third. It isnt the banter of two drunken mates or colleagues; its the talk of a man and a woman who, three hours ago, hadnt even known the other existed.
What do they discuss? Almost nothing, and yet everything. As on every train, they start with the weather, slip into price talk Hows the fare these days? and then drift, inevitably, to life itself.
James is the first to open up. He speaks of his childhood, his parents, his job as a musician with the London Philharmonic, playing drums in a jazz ensemble. He pulls out a wornout programme with pictures titled Blue Bird, Gemstones, Merry Lads. Hes among those stars.
Fascinating! Poppy says.
And you?
I work for the National Youth Council in Westminster.
Really? In the heart of London?
Yes, exactly there. I havent brought any photos; Im on leave and have returned to my familys village in the Cotswolds. My grandparents are from that area. It would take ages to explain how I ended up in London.
Tell us thenwhere are we heading?
James later recounts how he joined the ensemble. Their nightlong dialogue stretches, face to face, eye to eye.
At dawn, James alights Poppy at an empty halt, waves goodbye, and disappears into the bustle of the platform. From that moment he cannot talk to any woman without seeing Poppys face. No other woman can touch his heart.
He calls out to strangers who remind him of her, apologises, cheeks flushing like a schoolboy. He writes countless letters that never leave his desk. Where would he send them? To London? To the National Youth Council? He never even asked for her surname or address, a foolish oversight.
It becomes almost comic: at every concert, seated behind his drum kit, he scans the audience through the stage lights, hoping she might be there. He sketches her portrait from memory, tacks it above his hotel bed. Every woman in the world fades, except onePoppy, the lone figure in his mind.
Life rolls onactually, it hurtles. Thatchers policies, the miners strike, the collapse of the old industrial order. The political parties fragment, the oncepowerful youth council loses its sway. Yet musicians remain musicians, singing and dancing wherever they go, their lives forever on wheels.
During another tour, James slips into the dining car. You see, dear reader, at a corner table sits Poppyshe has haunted his dreams for years. Shes alone, no men around her. James freezes at the doorway. Poppy lifts her eyes.
Look, James he says, lighting another cigarette, pouring the last of his pint into a glass, and continuesThats when, in the restaurant carriage, I finally understood the phrase like a hammer to the head. My ears ring, coloured circles spin, my legs give way, and Im about to collapse onto the floor. I stand there, dazed, and PoppyPoppygets up from her seat, comes over and rests her head on my chest. She whispers, just like in the movies, Ive been looking for you forever.
Thats the whole story, James. I take her up to the Lake District, and it turns out shes spent all those years walking city streets, watching men pass, attending virtually every pop concert, always eyeing the drummer. Like me, she hoped that one day, perhaps, the perfect moment would arrive. And it does. My cigarettes run out on the train, I head to the dining car for more, and the rest, you know, follows.
I learned the rest from my old schoolmate, also called James, on the second day of his wedding to Poppy. We were sitting in his kitchen after the guests had left, while Poppy rested upstairs. Wed crossed paths by chance a couple of weeks before the wedding, during a tour, and Id been formally invited to the ceremony.
So thats the railway romance they lived, and theyre still together today. Life keeps moving. Who knowsmaybe right this very minute, a carriage door opens and a new pair of strangers ask:
Is there any room?
Of course! May I help with your suitcase?
Thanks! Oh, its terribly stuffy!
Shall I open the window?
If you dont mind.
