He was sitting in First Class as usual, just starting to write something on his laptop. He was old fashioned and hadn’t adjusted to using a tablet, a laptop was as far as he wanted to go with technology; why would he want to store his ideas on ‘The Cloud’ where they might get lost. He admitted, quite freely, that he wasn’t a techno-geek, he wasn’t exactly a technophobe, he just didn’t have much interest.

He saw the girl running along the platform, train was due to leave the airport in less than a minute, often they locked the doors before that to enable it to leave on time,. Why doesn’t she just get on? He wondered. But she ran in an eye catching way; her loose clothes rose and fell, as did her attractive bust under the clothing. Back from a holiday, he decided, but alone? She leapt onto the train at the doors beside the First Class carriage, bustled into this haven of quietude – it wasn’t empty, but the passengers were mostly old and content to talk in low tones about what they would have for dinner and whether their support socks had helped on the flight from Guernsey (less than an hour). Having found a place for her wheelybin – his term for the large square cases with trolley wheels – she came down the aisle and plonked herself beside him in the pair of seats at the back. He always sat in these seats for the privacy, now he wouldn’t get much writing done.

“Phew! Just made it” she said, she flapped her white shirt in and out to fan her sweating body. He looked across at her and smiled, not failing to notice that the shirt – once of those with an open rounded neck but with a tight V slit at the front, as if it was opened by buttons – when pulled out, revealed a large area of pale, smooth, curvaceous flesh. She had the kind of leggings that were now fashionable in gyms, tight, figure hugging ones that display nearly every detail of the girl’s body beneath. This girl’s body suited the leggings, unlike some who looked more like trussed heifers as their clumped out on a Friday night with this type of clothing barely able to hold in the threatened explosion of fat. No, this girl’s legs looked shapely, well rounded and carved, with toned muscle. She saw him looking, but said nothing.

“There would have been another one along, the trains are quite regular” he responded

“Aye, but I’m late already. First the plane was delayed, then, did you come from the airport?” he nodded “did you see that queue for security? It looked like it started on the runway! Then the luggage still wasn’t out!”

“So actually the passport control didn’t really hold you up.”

“Eh?”

“Well, you’d have just had to wait even longer for the luggage”

“oh, oh yeah! I hadn’t thought of that. Oh but if the luggage HAD come through I could have got the train before this one. It all seems so bloody chaotic” An old lady looked across the gangway and tutted at her language, he was starting to like this girl.

“So where had you come from? Holiday?”

“Oh, no, working trip” she didn’t elaborate

“Really?”

“Yes, I travel in easy clothes, normally means you arrive less messed up” She laughed “Not this time, I’m still sweating like a pig” The woman opposite tutted again, real ladies don’t sweat.

He had to ask “What do you do? If I can ask?”

“Hmm, not sure I should say. Walls have ears you know” She rolled her eyes backwards to indicate the woman opposite who was clearly now overly interested in her “Home and You” magazine “the magazine for people with no interest in life” as they might have said if adverts had to be honest. The girl leant closer “I do fashion shoots for ----” she named a well-known chain, a chain that had made a big thing of not using size 0 models. This was no size 0, she was well-rounded in all the right places. I’ve just been doing a swimwear shoot in Iceland”

“Iceland! Isn’t it a bit cold there?”

“Well there is the Blue Lagoon, and there are other warm springs. But yes, I had to do a bit of standing in the snow. They like their arty shots. Tell you what,” she raised her voice, he realised this was deliberate “The snow makes some bits stand out like Brazil nuts!” she smiled at him and he noticed the woman looking horrified. He also noticed a man in the next row paying more attention. Okay, so writing could wait.

“I’m sure you look great” he felt some form of response was required.

“So you think I have the assets to set a swimming costume off well? ... relax, I’m just teasing. I saw you watching me run for the train. You were clearly not watching my feet” She smiled, how had she seen him watching her? She had given no indication that she saw anything; he’d made the mistake of thinking ‘full bra, empty head’. He was wrong-footed for a moment.

“Ah, yes. I was actually wondering why you were running for the train but not just getting on the nearest door”

“Ah, I nearly did, but in the first carriage were three girls, all reading Elle. The latest issue has a picture of me clad in bra and knickers, a full page! I thought ‘fuckit’ and ran for the First Class, I figured fewer people would waste their money on Elle here so I wouldn’t be recognised”

“Sorry, should I recognise you? I’m not too hot on fashion models, are you very famous?”

“Well, no, I’m not as well known as some. Esta Longina? No, I don’t slap photographers or date film stars so I’m not in the gossip columns like others. No, if I was that well known I’d have minders who would have ‘politely’” she made the quotation signs with her fingers “ask if you’d mind getting a different carriage or train. Really some of the models are so up their bony bums they are unbelievable. No, I’m just a well-known, jobbing model. Still, this is starting to get me noticed. You?”

“sounds like I touched a nerve, oh, me what? I’m not a model. Unless Old Fogie Magazine wants someone to model the latest out-of-fashion jumpers” He had a good line in self-deprecation

“just a little one. Nerve I mean. I am in a lot of mags though, and now I’m the face of a high street chain. No, I meant what are you here for? You a writer” She was good, if nosey.

“Yes, like you” he smiled “not well known yet, - Thomas Tenant - but always hopeful. How did you know? Tell you what, though, a full page of you in bra and knickers would increase Old Fogie circulation – in more ways than one”

She looked at him, thinking, then the penny dropped “Oh I see! You mean magazine and old men. I sneaked a peek and saw it was something of a story ... I suppose that gives you a good justification for watching girls running for trains. You can say it’s research. Oo, oo will I be in your story? Just a bit part? The girl with the bouncy tits running for the train?” The woman tutted loudly.

“Fancy a drink? The trolley is just coming. I can’t pretend to be buying them of course, they are free in First. As to the tit–part, I mean bit part”

She had dissolved into giggles. “That is a definite Freudian slip. Oh, you look surprised. You think I’m some empty headed blonde bimbo?”

“One-third right. You are blonde, but no neither empty headed nor a bimbo”

“Ha! If only you knew! You’d have to know me much better to tell if I’m really blonde” Was she coming on to him? No, probably just flirting for something to do. The trolley arrived and they both ordered a white wine to go with the plate that the company optimistically called a ‘meal’ – a sausage roll or a small risotto.

“Actually, may I have a whisky and ginger too, you?” he said

“Oh, well, yes. A gin and tonic please...” The trolley moved on “I never knew you could have more than one”

“Yeah, the food is rubbish, but they are quite generous with the drink still. Cheers”

The food, when it came, was every bit as uninspiring as they expected. When the trolley came round they got another couple of spirits.

“Where are you heading to?” They both said at once, laughed and then, together “No, you first” Finally it was clarified that he was heading to Lancaster for a convention, and she to Carlisle for a rest. Why Carlisle? “Never been there and it isn’t London”