Train Man by Andrew Mulligan

Author:Andrew Mulligan
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781473562332
Publisher: Random House

NORTH AGAIN

14

Ayesha had set Maria’s handbag in front of her, on the table.

She hadn’t wanted to touch it at first and she certainly didn’t want to look inside. To do so would be intrusive. The man in the seat opposite suggested she should, though, to identify the owner.

‘If there’s a phone number,’ he said, ‘we can call it.’

‘I should have kept my mouth shut,’ said Ayesha. ‘I should have said I don’t know.’

‘She did say, “Is this train going to Burnley?” That’s what she asked you.’

‘I know, but I should have realised.’

She sighed.

‘I make this trip twice a month – I should have known. She was a complete stranger, wasn’t she? A backpacker.’

She unzipped the bag and peered inside. There was a tablet, and beside that a cheap, pay-as-you-go phone. There was a long, slim wallet too, which was clean, smart and new and when Ayesha opened it she saw banknotes and cards. When she saw the passport tucked into a side pocket, she felt even worse. The poor woman had lost everything at a stroke: Pilipinas stood out in gold, so she was clearly miles from home. Ayesha flipped the cover open, and Maria looked up at her, smiling shyly.

‘Is there a number?’ said the man.

‘This is her phone. We can’t call her.’

‘But is there any other? Like a contact for emergencies?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Look in the back. See if there’s a next of kin.’

Ayesha turned to the last page.

‘Next of kin,’ she said. ‘There’s a number for a sister by the look of it, but the address is Manila.’

‘What time is it in Manila? Do you want me to check?’

He tapped some digits, and turned his own phone sideways to see the results of his search. He brought the screen closer and tapped again.

‘They’re ahead of us,’ he said at last. ‘It’s ten past nine in Manila – you could try her.’

‘What could she do, though? “Maria Ruiz”, that’s her name.’

‘Whose name?’

‘The woman who owns this bag.’

‘Her sister might know someone. There might be a mutual friend you can send it to.’

‘She’s stuck,’ said Ayesha. ‘She’s got no phone, and we’ve got all her money – we’ve got everything. Could we call the rail station? Get them to make an announcement?’

‘You could try.’

‘What station was it? Carlisle?’

‘It might be better if we just hand it to the guard. Let him do it.’

Ayesha nodded.

‘I’ll take it to him,’ she said. ‘I’ll go down to the buffet car, and see if I can find him. Can you look after my stuff?’

She stood up, and put the guitar on her seat. She walked carefully through the carriages, for the train had picked up speed. The woman’s phone rang as she emerged from the third, plaintive and urgent. Ayesha stopped and fumbled for it. She held it close, and for a moment she couldn’t remember which button you had to press for a connection – the ringtone wailed on, desperate as a crying child. She found the right one and put the thing to her ear.

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