There is a very insistent noise coming from inside what looks like a collection of coats on one of the benches that pass for seats on trains. "Innes," it seems to say. "Innes. Innes. Did you bring the sandwiches, Innes?"

Travel scrabble. Next time, don't forget the travel scrabble. Birmingham is flashing by, a blur of grey through the window. Rain pelts the thick plastic window, streaking down. Every stations lets in more cold air. "I think there is a food car ahead. If you didn't bring the sandwiches. I brought crisps. And chocolate. And other unhealthy things."

The important thing is, the girl in the pile of coats is hungry, Innes. Where the bloody hell are these sandwiches.