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At least I wasn’t the only one. ‘No, we’re not,’ I snapped, catching his eye. ‘We’re in Paris. See for yourself,’ I said, jabbing my finger on the window pane.
He looked at me like he’d only just noticed I was there.
‘And by the way, if you hadn’t disturbed everyone,’ I said, swivelling in my seat so that I could look directly at him, ‘then maybe both of us would have heard the announcements in the first place.’
He looked at me, screwing up his face with apparent confusion. ‘You are blaming me?’
‘Yes, I am,’ I said. I thought I might be being a little unreasonable, but I was on a roll now. ‘I had to put my earplugs in to drown out all the noise you were making.’
‘What noise?’ he said, seemingly incredulous.
‘Your music?’ I said, tutting. ‘It was far too loud. You probably kept half the carriage awake.’
He shook his head at me as though I wasn’t worth bothering with, turning his attention back to the guard, who was looking at his watch with barely disguised irritation.
‘Monsieur,’ he said to the guard, ‘this is not acceptable. Not at all. I have a very important meeting in Amsterdam which I absolument must get to.’
‘Excuse me, but I was talking to the inspector first. We all have important things to do in Amsterdam,’ I snapped at him.
‘There were many announcements, Sir,’ said the inspector, ‘and Madam,’ he added, smiling tightly, obviously unsure which one of us he should be addressing.
‘Well they were not loud enough!’ said the French guy, looking as though he was about to start kicking things.
‘There must be something you can do,’ I said to the guard, deciding I’d try to appeal to his more reasonable side. He must have one. ‘What’s the best way to sort all this out?’
‘If you wish to reach Amsterdam by train, you will need to travel across Paris to Gare du Nord, Madam.’
I closed my eyes for a second or two, trying to muster up a less defeatist attitude. ‘And how soon might there be a train from there?’ I asked, doing my best to hold it together. All I could think about was Si, and what he was going to say when he finally worked out where I was. He already treated me like a child at times, and when I did stuff like this, it gave him the ammunition he needed to carry on doing it.
‘You must enquire at the ticket office at Gare du Nord,’ said the guard. ‘There is nothing more I can do for you here, I am sorry.’
‘Sorry does not help us,’ said the French guy, who was now thumbing frantically through his phone.
‘I presume you both have tickets for your journey?’ asked the guard.
‘Of course we have tickets,’ said the French guy looking up. ‘Do you think we are idiots?’
I, on the other hand, began scrabbling around inside my bag knowing, almost instantly, that Si had our tickets, and our passports, for that matter, both of them, in the back pocket of his jeans. I closed it again.
‘My boyfriend has mine,’ I said.
Si was much better at looking after things than I was, it had made sense for him to hold on to everything. Out of the corner of my eye, I was sure I saw the French guy roll his eyes. I was about to have a go at him for being so rude, but thought better of it. I had to stay focussed on what was important: getting to Amsterdam in time to see Catherine get married. That was all that mattered.
‘I wish you both good luck,’ said the guard, patting his machine. He was taking great pleasure in this, I was sure, and would regale his colleagues later with his tale of the stupid British girl who woke up on the wrong train in the wrong city. The French guy shook his head at both of us and stomped off back to his seat, muttering under his breath. At least when I explained all of this to Si later, I could tell him that two of us had ended up on the wrong train. It might soften the blow.
I turned back to the window, resting my cheek against the pane to cool my skin, which felt all tingly and hot, the way it tended to when I started to panic about something. I tried to even out my breathing, counting eight tracks to my right and a never-ending tangle of wires above our heads. Graffiti was everywhere, sprayed onto the walls lining the tracks, most of it nothing more than fat, white words that I didn’t understand. I wondered how long it had been there; whether there was a chance I would have seen it last time I’d been here, almost ten years ago, now. When other people talked of romantic weekends strolling along the banks of the Seine, my stomach actually turned, because I hadn’t been on some cutesy mini-break. I’d been completely alone and looking for someone who didn’t want to be found. And it still hurt, and the memories of it seemed to seep into every inch of this city, and I’d rather be anywhere else in the world than here.
A crackly announcement in French, then Italian and then English, let us know that we would shortly be arriving at Paris Gare de Lyon and that the local time was 6.31 a.m. A blue double-decker train slinked past in the opposite direction and I wondered where it was going; how difficult it was going to be to find my way to Amsterdam from here. People were getting up out of their seats, shaking out their limbs, tidying their rubbish, gathering their things together. I got my phone out again, dialling Si’s number, nibbling on my thumbnail while it rang. Voicemail again. Why wasn’t he answering his phone? I knew it wasn’t out of battery because he always, without fail, charged it overnight. Plus I’d seen him crawling around on the floor of our hotel room this morning, unplugging the charger, packing it neatly into his bag. Given that he wouldn’t be arriving in Amsterdam for more than three hours, he was probably still asleep, that would be it. Then I remembered: I’d put the stupid thing on silent.
I left a self-conscious message, paranoid that half the carriage was listening in.
‘Si, it’s me. I’m pulling into Paris. The train separated in Geneva, apparently. I had no idea, did you? Shall I try and get a train from Paris to Amsterdam, do you think? Apparently, I’ve got to trek right across the city to a different station. I’m so sorry, Si. Call me, ok? As soon as you can. I really need to speak to you.’
I put my phone in my lap, staring at the screen and willing it to ring. Si would know what to do, he was excellent in a crisis. Metal ground on metal as the train came to a stop, its brakes letting out a hiss of relief. The platform outside my window was laced with luggage trolleys waiting to be loaded up or, as in my case, not. I raked through my straw bag to see exactly what I had in there and what, if anything, might be of use. I had my credit card, at least, although I was pretty sure it was maxed out. Stupidly, in hindsight, I’d left my purse in Si’s bag because he’d shoved it in there when we’d retrieved it from the gift shop in Venice and Si had paid for everything since then. I only had a few euros with me now – thirty at most – plus my book, three pens, a crushed biscuit and a ton of receipts. And still around my neck: my camera. If Si didn’t get back to me soon, I’d head over to Gare du Nord, see what I could find out about the trains while I waited to hear from him. I made my way to the door noticing that, of course, the obnoxious French guy was at the front of the queue, first to step out onto the platform.
