A Rustle of Paper

  On the 9.15 The sound exploded, invading and ransacking the ‘quiet carriage’ of the 9.15 to Nottingham like a firecracker at a wake. Passengers in other seats were pretending to ignore the disturbance, fixing their gaze on laptops or spread sheets. But Donna couldn’t ignore it and, much as she tried, she couldn’t stop it either. She could feel the heat in her cheeks and the sweat under her armpits as she fumbled. Donna had never really understood how the smart phone worked and now, suddenly and inexplicably, it was blaring out an advert for ‘tena lady’ at maximum volume. In the quiet carriage of the 9.15. Full of men, and a small number of women, in suits. Donna had only wanted to look at the latest headlines but the bloody thing seemed to have a sixth sense for her age and gender and, indeed, for her overactive bladder and had decided to broadcast the most apposite commercial, intent on causing her maximum embarrassment. ‘Bloody ‘ell, bloody ‘ell’ she could hear herself sa