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 saying.

Shit, had she said that out loud?

She glanced around but the ‘suits’ still seemed to be ignoring the crazy woman with the loud and disobedient gadget. The volume control button was deliberately concealing itself somewhere so, in desperation, Donna turned the phone off completely. There was a moment of joyous and blessed silence. Then Donna thought she heard a stifled snigger somewhere behind her. She held the phone in her hand, staring at it with loathing, half expecting the thing to resurrect itself and burst into some jolly missive about the latest treatment for vaginal dryness

And then Donna couldn’t help herself. She started to laugh. She laughed and laughed and laughed until the tears were rolling down her cheeks, and the endorphins were running amok in her blood stream. She very nearly wet herself, but didn’t because she was determined not to let the phone have the last laugh. Fuck the bloody phone! Fuck the suits! Donna was on her way to see her beautiful granddaughter. And it was going to be a good day

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