Very far away, the voice said "Who drinks from the Grail?"
Jerked out of a doze, Cal opened his eyes. Then he tugged the earphones off and rubbed his face, wearily. The woman who had been sitting next to him must have got off at the last station; now her seat was empty. A man in uniform was wheeling a trolley down the aisle of the train; it was crammed with crisps and sandwiches and piles of upturned plastic cups round the shiny urn. The man caught Cal's eye.
"Drinks? Tea? Coffee?"
It would be embarrassing to say no, so he muttered "Tea", knowing it would be the cheapest thing. Then he dragged some coins out of his pocket and sorted through them, trying to look careless, as if money didn't matter.
The train was a lot emptier now. It rattled viciously over some points; the trolley man swayed, balancing expertly in the aisle as he filled a plastic cup under the tap, the trolley rocking so that a small packet of biscuits slid off onto the empty seat. Chocolate digestives. Cal scowled. He was so hungry he almost felt sick. "Those too."
Outside, wet fields flashed by, and some houses in a scatter of dead leaves. The man leaned over and flipped down the small table in the back of the seat, clipped the lid on the tea and put it down. A tiny bag of sugar. Milk. A plastic stirrer. The train clattered; Cal grabbed the hot cup in alarm.
"One pound thirty sir, thank you."
Sir. For a moment he thought the joker was making fun of him and glared up, but the man's face was closed and polite, and once he had the money he trundled away up the carriage, resuming his smooth "Tea? Drinks?"
Cal leaned back and looked at the plastic cup with distaste. He hated tea. Coffee was more upmarket. He unclipped the lid and stirred the teabag gloomily. When he'd made some money he'd really spend; travel first class where they had white china and linen, everything of the best. They'd call him sir and mean it then. He peeled the metal top from the milk and it sprayed everywhere. He swore, aloud. The woman opposite glared at him.
He glared back, scrubbing his jacket. This had cost. It wasn't designer but it looked it. Or he hoped it did. The momentary fear that it looked cheap slid under his guard but he squashed it hastily and pulling the earphones back on he let the music blast out the train-noise, dipping a biscuit in the tea and watching the landscape through his own reflection.
