Page 1 of The Perfect Gift

1

‘Platform five for the 17:36 service to Port Petroc. Calling at Reading, Bath Spa, Bristol Temple Meads…’

Ed Penrose’s head shot up as the automated announcement boomed over the loudspeaker. He quickly finished washing his hands, then shoved them under the hand-dryer on the wall next to the row of sinks in the busy gents toilet. Nothing happened.

‘Out of order, mate. It’s been reported.’

Ed turned to glance at the tired-sounding cleaner who was trying to steer his cleaning cart around the small suitcase Ed had shoved against the wall near the entrance rather than drag it over to the urinals. Poor bloke had a thankless task at the best of times, but it was absolutely chucking it down outside so the floor was a mess of wet, dirty footprints on top of the general unpleasant state a high-traffic public bathroom got into as a matter of course. Giving up on the hand-dryer, Ed wiped his damp hands on the legs of his jeans then hurried over to pull his case out of the way. ‘Thanks. Sorry about that. Merry Christmas, or is that too early?’

The cleaner’s mouth quirked up in a brief smile. ‘Nah, I’ll take it. Merry Christmas to you too.’

Ed gave him a cheery wave and towed his case out into the carnage that was Paddington Station on a Friday evening in mid-December. Just the sight of so many people was enough to take the wind out of his sails, and the fatigue that had been gnawing at Ed all day threatened to overwhelm him. He’d started his journey home in Antigua some twenty-four hours ago and he was tired, hungry and his leg was aching like an absolute bastard. Sitting for long periods always caused him pain, and being back in the cold of Europe after the blissful heat of the Caribbean only added to his discomfort. It was something he was used to, having lived with the consequences of a nasty childhood accident for more than half his life. He managed to ignore it most of the time, but on days like today it was impossible. Ed bent and rubbed his leg with a sigh. He should’ve been on the home stretch but an ice storm in the Netherlands had delayed his transit flight from Schiphol airport to Heathrow by several hours. If he didn’t get on this damn train, he’d be even further delayed as it was the last service that would get him to Port Petroc before tomorrow morning.

Ed’s stomach rumbled and he eyed the familiar signs of several shops on the concourse where he’d be able to grab some food and a drink for the journey. A shiver rippled through him and he pulled at the collar of his too-thin jacket. When he’d departed Halfmoon Quay in the early spring, a winter coat hadn’t featured on his packing list, and he’d been so excited at the prospect of putting his education into action on board a marine research vessel, the logistics of his journey home hadn’t occurred to him.

He shivered again. The train would be warm and he might pay a bit over the odds, but he’d be able to get something to eat from the buffet car or the trolley service. Mind made up, Ed plunged into the crowd in the direction of the security barriers that lined the platform entrances. He weaved his way towards them, a permanent apology on his lips for the various bumps, hesitations and near collisions. In return, he received glares, tuts and in one case a proper mouthful of abuse. ‘Merry Christmas!’ he shouted after the man, who thrust his middle digit up behind his back without breaking stride. Ed did the only thing he could in the situation and laughed before striking out for the gates once more.

It was ten-deep at the barriers and it would’ve taken him even longer to get through if a member of station staff bundled up in a thick navy-blue coat and wearing a Santa hat hadn’t called out, ‘Through here.’

Ed picked up his small case by the handle and squeezed his way towards the double-wide barrier. ‘Thanks,’ he said as he scanned his ticket and the barrier popped open.

‘No worries, have a good one,’ the man in the hat replied.

Ed was going to wish him merry Christmas but the man was already calling out to someone else, so he decided the best thing he could do was get out of the way as quickly as possible.

He joined the people streaming along the platform beside the train, doing his best to ignore the protest from his damaged leg at being asked to move quickly. He’d had the foresight to book an Anytime ticket, but the seat reservation he’d made had been for the train he’d expected to catch. The carriages he passed were filling up fast and he hurried his steps in the hope of finding something towards the front of the train. Having outpaced most people on the platform, he dived up the steps into Coach B and stopped short just inside the automatic doors. The luggage rack was already full to bursting and a red-faced man was cursing the amount of small cases that had been dumped on the metal rails instead of being placed in the storage areas above the seats.

Ed managed to edge his way past with another round of apologies and he moved down the narrow aisle, eyes scanning left and right for a spare seat. He’d just about resigned himself to the prospect of standing when he spotted one on a table of four. Plastering on his most charming smile, Ed halted next to the table. ‘Excuse me, but is this seat taken?’

The three women occupying the table gave him the kind of once-over looks that said they could recognise bullshit at a hundred paces and had no time for it, and Ed immediately dialled down his smile. ‘It’s been a long day so I’ll probably sleep most of the time,’ he assured them.

If he’d had his phone he could’ve put his earbuds in and listened to some music or a podcast. Unfortunately, it was lying on the bottom of the ocean floor where he’d accidentally dropped it after a misguided attempt to photograph the beautiful night sky. He’d blamed the mishap on the motion of the boat, but it might have had something to do with the beers he’d sunk at the end-of-voyage party. He’d decided to wait until getting home to replace it, which had seemed like a good idea until he’d started on this nightmare of a journey. Faffing with paper boarding passes and tickets had been the least of his woes. As soon as he had access to a computer in the morning he was ordering a new phone.

The woman sitting by the window next to the free seat smiled at him as she lifted her bag off the seat. ‘Please, sit.’

A wave of gratitude washed over Ed and he shoved his suitcase onto the overhead shelf. ‘Thank you.’ He pointed at the woman’s bag. ‘Do you want me to put that up out of the way?’

She shook her head, sending her corkscrew red curls bouncing. ‘I’m fine for now, thanks.’

‘Can you move, please?’

Ed jumped at the loud voice at his back, then immediately shoved himself into the space between his seat and the table. ‘Sorry.’ The woman he’d been obstructing just shook her head and marched past. Ed sank down into his seat, giving the three women a sheepish grin as he patted the pocket of his jacket. Having located his wallet, he placed it on the table in front of him so it would be in easy reach when the trolley service started. He covered it with his hand to keep it safe from any light-fingered chancers passing by, then rested his head back and closed his eyes with a sigh. He didn’t drift off to sleep, but it was nice to retreat into the dark for a few moments and ignore the chaos and noise around him as the last passengers boarded and hunted for seats.

His moment of peace didn’t last long as a heated argument broke out at the other end of the carriage over a reservation. Ed opened his eyes and sat up, his attention focused on the two men arguing. A few people around him were tilting their heads into the aisle, eager for a better view, but the majority had heads down or were making a point of looking away. Ed didn’t want to get involved any more than anyone else did, but his parents had raised him with a strong sense of what was right and wrong and he wouldn’t sit by if things escalated further. The argument rose another notch and the air of tension in the carriage rose with it.

‘If you don’t move, I’ll call the bloody guard,’ the standing man threatened.

‘Please do,’ the man in possession of the disputed seat replied in a much milder tone. ‘And when he gets here, I’ll show him my seat reservation.’

‘And I’ve told you, you’re in the wrong place.’ The angry man thrust his phone at the seated one. ‘That’s my reservation. Coach C, Seat 16.’

‘You’re in Coach B, you twat,’ an exasperated voice called out from a couple of rows behind Ed, followed by a low ripple of laughter.

The angry man’s head shot up and he looked around the carriage. A lot more people were paying attention to him now and a woman a couple of rows from him nodded her head. ‘He’s right, this is Coach B.’

Ed almost felt sorry for the man as his mouth opened and closed like a stranded fish gasping for air. He had two choices, the way Ed saw it. He could apologise for his mistake and earn a bit of goodwill, or he could let his pride get in the way and double down. Unfortunately, he chose the latter and stomped towards the exit, effing and blinding as he went. A hum of conversation rose as the entire carriage united against him and his humiliation was completed by a ripple of ironic applause that followed him through the connecting door. Ed exchanged a glance with the three women at his table.

‘I feel sorry for whoever’s sitting in his actual seat,’ the woman diagonally opposite him observed. Her brown hair framed her face, a distinctive grey streak marking her fringe. Ed might’ve likened it to Cruella de Vil’s hair, but her smile was far too friendly and warm to invite the comparison.