They lock eyes the moment the carriage doors hiss shut.
Room for one? Emily asks, pulling her suitcase close.
Sure thing! May I help with the luggage? Andrew replies, flashing a grin.
Thanks Wow, its stifling in here.
Shall I open the window?
If you dont mind, go ahead.
The wheels clatter as the night settles over the countryside outside.
My names Emily, she says.
And Im Andrew.
And so their conversation beginsa casual chat between two strangers sharing a compartment. Shes twentytwo, hes twentyfive.
An hour passes, then two, then three. It isnt the chatter of two drunken colleagues; its the talk of a man and a woman who had no idea the other existed three hours earlier.
What do they discuss? At first, nothing in particular, yet somehow everything. As it always does on a British train, they start with the weather, then the price of a cuppa, thennaturallylife itself.
Andrew is the first to spill his story: his childhood in a small town in Yorkshire, his parents, and his job as a professional drummer in the London Philharmonic. He pulls out a battered programme from his pocket, pointing to headlines like Blue Sparrow, Gemstone Gazette, and Merry Lads. He laughs, Im among those stars!
Wow, that sounds fascinating, Emily replies.
And you, Emily?
I work for the National Youth Council of Labour in London.
Really? In the heart of the capital?
Yes, exactly there. I didnt bring any photographs, though. Ive just taken a break and am heading back to my familys village in the Cotswolds. It would take ages to explain how I ended up in London.
Tell us then. Where are we heading?
Andrew then tells how he landed in the orchestras percussion section, and the conversation drifts into the night, the two sitting across from each other, eyes locked.
When dawn breaks, Andrew pulls the train into a deserted halt. He helps Emily with her bag, waves goodbye, and steps off, disappearing down the platform. From that moment on, he cant speak to any woman without seeing Emilys faceher midnight eyes, her soft smile. No other woman can stir his heart.
He calls out to strangers who remind him of her, apologising with a sheepish blush. He writes countless letters that never find a post office. Where would he send them? To London? To the Youth Council? He never even asks for her surname or addresswhat a fool.
It becomes a joke of its own: at every concert, seated behind his drum kit, he scans the audience through the stage lights, hoping she might be there. He sketches her portrait from memory, tucks the drawing into the hotel room wall.
All women fade away for him; only Emily remains.
Life rushes forwardThatchers reforms, the miners strike, the end of the Cold War. The United Kingdom reshapes, politics shifts, parties rise and fall. Musicians, however, keep playing under any regime, traveling from city to city, their lives forever on the rails.
During another tour, Andrew steps into the dining car of a sleeper train andyes, reader, it really happensspots Emily at a corner table, alone. No men linger nearby. He freezes at the doorway, and Emily looks up.
Here we are, Sam, Andrew says, lighting another cigarette, pouring the last of his pint into a glass, and continuing, Thats when, in the restaurant carriage, I finally understand what like a hammer on the head feels like. My ears throb, colours spin, my legs wobble, and I could fall straight onto the polished floor. I stand there, feeling dazed, and EmilyEmilyrises from her seat, leans over, and rests her head on my chest. She whispers, Ive been looking for you forever. Thats the whole story, Sam. I take her up to the Lake District, and it turns out shes spent all those years walking city streets, watching men pass, attending every pop concert, always glancing at drummers, hopingjust like methat one day the perfect moment would arrive.
My cigarettes run out on the train, so I head back to the dining car for more. The rest, you already know, Sam.
I learned the rest from my old schoolmate, Andy, the day after his and Emilys wedding. We were sitting in the kitchen, the guests had left, and Emily was resting upstairs. Andy and I had bumped into each other on tour just a few weeks before the wedding, and Id been invited as a guest.
Thats the talean English railway romance that still lives on. And life keeps moving. The train rolls on, carrying strangers through the dark, while somewhere in the Lake District, two people sit by a fire, hands entwined, saying little, needing nothing but the quiet certainty of being found.
