The Last Train to Scarborough

'We're two railway men,' he said. 'He's the fireman, and I'm the driver.' (I thought: Don't say that, it's not convincing.) 'We've just come from the station, and we're having to overnight in Scarborough.' He took a deep breath before continuing: 'Now we've heard…'

But the man cut in, turning a little to one side, and saying, 'Miss R! Two gentlemen in need of a bed – they're railway men,' he added, in a way I didn't much care for.

The trim man was now replaced in the doorway by a woman and it was the one who'd been sitting on the bench. She'd evidently just come in, for she had her grey-blue coat and hunter's hat still on. She looked a bit distracted, flushed and very pretty. I took off my hat, and she whipped hers off at exactly the same time, as though we were playing the looking glass game; and then she shook her curls.

The hall was rather cramped. The landlady stood on a brownish carpet, a little worn, under a swinging gas chandelier, with three of the four lights burning. The wallpaper was green stripes, also a little faded; there was a faint smell of paint. On the wall was a thin case with a glass front. Above it a sign said, 'Today's Menu,' but there was nothing in the case. The stairs were narrow, and rose up into darkness. The thin banister was rather battered… and the hall was too hot. In spite of this, the woman seemed highly amused at something or other and she was beautiful.

I was on the point of speech, but Tommy was under way again.

'Our engine's broke down,' he said. 'It's an injector steam valve that's giving bother.'

'I'm awfully sorry,' said the woman, 'but you see…'

'Steam's pouring out of the overflow, and when that happens…'

The woman was eyeing me, half smiling. Did she remember me from the bench?

'We saw your notice in the engine men's mess,' I interrupted, for fear that if I didn't speak up soon she'd think me dumb.

'Ordinarily,' Tommy was saying, 'we'd have taken the engine back to York tonight but it's not up to the trip, so we've left it at the Scarborough shed, and in all likelihood they'll have it sorted out by morning.'

'Good,' said the woman, by which she no doubt meant: 'Shut up.' Then she said, 'We hate to turn railway men away, but we only have the one room available tonight.'

'Single bed, is it?' I asked.

'If that,' she said, with half a smile.

I turned about and looked at Tommy; then back to the woman, who looked as if she was trying not to laugh. It was fascinating to watch the movement of her lips over her teeth.

'Do you mind if we step away for a moment to talk it over?' I asked her.

'Not a bit,' she replied, and she retreated into the house, leaving the door on the jar.

I walked with Tommy towards the gas lamp at the end of Bright's Cliff.

'I'm going to take the room, Tommy,' I said. 'I'm the investigating officer and… well, do you see?'

He put down his two bags on the cobbles, and, opening one of them, said, 'Fair do's, Jim. But you'll take a rifle, won't you?'

I'd forgotten about the bloody rifles.

'No,' I said, and Tommy looked put-out. 'I mean… they're a bit small,' I said.

'Dangerous to a mile these are, Jim,' he said, 'and I should think the average room in that house is about ten foot across.'

'But they're meant for target shooting. I mean, they're miniature rifles, aren't they?'

'How big a hole do you want to make in their bloody heads, Jim?'

He was unwinding one of the great bandages he'd made of all his under-clothes.

'Well,' I said, 'I don't want to make a hole in their heads at all. I'm not trained up in rifle shooting.'

'No need to be a dead eye,' he said. 'Not inside a house. You're not going to need orthoptic bloody spectacles, Jim: just pull the bloody trigger. And I'll tell you something else: you're well away with this because it's about the only gun you could loose off indoors and not deafen yourself.'

He was obviously a good deal more concerned for the one firing than the one being fired at. I looked down at the kit bag, where one of the rifles was in clear view.

'I just don't fancy it, Tommy,' I said. 'I shan't bother.'

'Jim,' he said, glancing back over towards the door, 'those people are strange.'

The door of Paradise was still half open, spilling coloured gaslight onto the cobbles of Bright's Cliff.

I said, 'They didn't look strange to me.'

Tommy now held a third bloody shooter in his hand: a pistol this time. It was very small and thin – there was nothing to it. It looked like a pop gun of Harry's.

'Two-two pistol,' he said.

'How many more have you got in there?'

'What do you say, Jim? You can carry this beauty in your pocket.'

I shook my head, and he fastened up the kit bag, covering over this final offering.

'Remember this,' he said, 'if Ray Blackburn was killed, and you click to the reason, they'll come after you no matter what.'

'Tommy,' I said, 'I can't hang about or it'll look funny. I'll see you at the station tomorrow, all right?'

And it appeared that I really had offended him, because without another word he marched along the short cobbled road until he came to the junction with Newborough, where he hesitated for a moment, before turning left and disappearing from sight.

I returned to Paradise and knocked on the opened door. The woman came again, and I liked being able to make her appear in this way – like Aladdin with his lamp. She now carried a cup and saucer with a bit of cake on the side. She'd disposed of her hat and coat, and wore a dress, more lavender than blue. I thought: What a pity that, being a married man, I can't fuck you, because you'd certainly make a very nice armful.

'My mate's gone off,' I said. 'I'll take the room if that's all right.'

She opened the door wider to let me in, turned and put her cup down on the bottom stair, and held out her hand. The house was boiling warm. The woman raised her arm over my shoulder and pushed the front door to.

'I'm Miss Rickerby,' she said, as the door closed behind me.

'Pleased to meet you,' I said. 'Stringer.'

And I found that we were exchanging smiles rather than shaking hands. I could tell immediately that she was at odds with the house. The place ought to have belonged to an older person. A clock ticked softly, and I thought of people's holidays ticking away. Would this hallway look any different in the summer months? It seemed all faded, and with a suspicion of dust. Also, it was kept hot as the houses of old people – those that can afford it – generally are. And the paint smell made it seem more, not less, old. Even the fanlight over the door was old, I thought, half craning round towards it, with old colours in it: a mustardy yellow, a green and a red of the sort seen in church stained glass.

'Shall I help you with your coat?' the landlady enquired. She seemed very keen to do it, and I thought: Is she sweet on me?

'No thanks,' I said, 'I'll manage.'

But I made heavy weather of the operation as she looked on.

'I like your badge,' she said, when the lapel of my suit-coat was revealed, and she leant forward and nearly touched it.

'Oh,' I said, with face bright red, 'that's the North Eastern company crest. Really it's three other railway company crests in a circle.'

'Why?' she said.

I tried to peer down at it. I must have looked daft in the attempt.

'It's the companies that were amalgamated to make up the North Eastern,' I said. 'The top one is the York and North Midland Railway. That has the city of York crest on it. The bottom left hand one is the Leeds Northern Railway and that has the Leeds crest and a sheep to show the woollen industry, together with ears of corn to show that side of the business, and a ship to show… well, shipping…'

As I rambled on it struck me that there was a good deal more to this badge than I'd ever thought, so I said, 'Do you really want to hear about the third crest?'