Held up outside Chelmsford

‘It’s me. I’m on the train. There’s some sort of hold up. Chelmsford, we just got past Chelmsford. No, no one’s said anything. Well, I can’t say when I’ll be back. Yes, ok. And I’ll ring you as soon as I know any more. Bye.’
‘Is he alright? Not fretting?’
‘No, he’s not a worrier. Heaven knows these things are late so often it’s more or less expected now! He’ll get the kids to bed and send out for a Chinese.’
‘Well, what now. Do you fancy a coffee? We might be stuck here for a while.’
The train suddenly jerked forwards and abruptly stopped again. The bald man on the other side of the aisle swore and began to dab ineffectively at the tea that had spilled on his magazine.
‘You’d think they’d let us know what’s going on,’ Baldman muttered. Abbie looked across at him. ‘It wouldn’t get us home any quicker, though would it?’ She said it pleasantly enough, but the message was still a rebuke at his whingeing. The man opposite the bald guy smirked slightly, but carried on typing into his laptop.
Rice took in her profile. The glasses she’d recently taken to wearing were of a modern design with practically invisible frames so that she still looked much the same as when he first met her, what was it? Eleven years ago, he thought.
Abbie turned back. ‘A coffee would be nice,’ she said.
She watched him negotiate a passage down the carriage and disappear out of sight into the next one. She sat and gazed absent mindedly at the headrest of his seat, stained with years of greasy hair, before flipping through her newspaper again.
Abbie first met Rice a couple of years before she married Mel. His proper name was Richard which had been shortened to Rich during his childhood. He adopted Rice after a clerk at university had misread his signature on his union card. Rice worked as a trouble shooter of some sort. Abbie knew it was something to do with trade union negotiations but she’d never had much interest in politics, so hadn’t bothered to find out much more. She worked in a college in London until the children came along, but just recently they’d asked her if she would come back to teach a 6 week course on British Art in the Age of Cubism and Futurism. So, here she was on the train, week four delivered; next week would be Gaudier-Brzeska and Epstein, followed by the impact of the Great War to round off. She wasn’t the greatest expert, but she had a reputation for enthusiasm that rubbed off on the students.
Apart from Baldman there weren’t many people in the carriage. It was one of the late trains she purposefully chose to avoid the crush. An older couple further down the carriage and a pair of students were just about visible in front of her. Baldman’s companion at his table was still busy doing overtime on his laptop. She thought she had seen one or two others as she went to her seat as well.
‘How was the lecture?’ Rice was nursing his coffee, waiting with genuine interest to hear about Abbie’s day out.
‘Good … yes, it was ok. There was one student who asked some really good questions – obviously read ahead on the subject. He even found something about Bomberg’s training under Walter Sickert.’
‘Ah, Sickert. Wasn’t he Jack the Ripper?’
‘No idea. His art interests me, not his sex life however perverted.’
Rice grinned. He enjoyed talking art with her, though he was more of a fan of the Romantics. ‘So, this student, did he question …’
An announcement at last. ‘This is Gerry, your train manager. I regret to inform you that there is a blockage on the line ahead and we may be stuck here for some time. I’ll let you know when I’ve been told more but in the meantime, please accept coffee, tea or cold non-alcoholic drinks courtesy of the train operator.’
‘Shit! Just my luck!’
‘Never mind. You appreciate it more when you’ve paid for it.’ Abbie smiled. ‘So what have you been up to in town?’
‘Had a meeting with some of the TUC bigwigs and our people. We’ve been accused of poaching members from one of the big hitters. I ask you – poaching? If they looked after their members better they wouldn’t be haemorrhaging people to us. We’ll probably have to concede – they’re bigger than us. Got to keep the Brothers and Sisters happy!’
Abbie laughed at the archaic language of the traditionalists whom Rice called the dinosaurs. He always put on a mock northern accent to emphasise his difference from them.
‘We were up in the General Secretary’s office in Congress House after the dinosaurs had gone back to their caves. Saw something you’d like. Epstein’s war memorial in the atrium. Colossal piece. We just looked down at it; it’s awesome.’
Abbie knew the piece through illustrations. She was a touch envious of Rice, but pleased that he was interested enough to remember to tell her about it.
Baldman got up and wandered off towards the buffet car. As he reached the end of the carriage Abbie noticed a tall man in a long raincoat push him and he came scuttling back to his seat. Rice hadn’t seen this – he was facing Abbie who could now see the tall man more clearly.
‘That was quick. They haven’t run out of tea, have they?’ Rice’s sarcasm could be unnecessarily hurtful, but Baldman was more perturbed by his encounter by the carriage door.
‘Lazenjemmen. Yo tren is awreddy foteyn miniz let. Pleyez coperate en you can be on yo why.’ Rice turned and saw the tall man for the first time. The accent was matched by a swarthy colouring – could be southern European or Middle Eastern. The man spoke again.
‘Awe yo need tuddoo is emtee yo pockets onto dey trays en tebbles sose I can kleckt. En pleyez, no use mobal phone.’ He lifted his arm to show a pistol with a silencer. ‘My fren also he has gun.’ At the other doorway a man was standing menacingly with a holdall in one hand and the automatic in the other. A woman shrieked. Rice thought how strange it sounded – not a scream like in the movies, more a loud whimper.
‘The lie-dee must shaddap or my fren he get afried en shot her. Best all yo not to tok’
Abbie looked quite composed. Rice hoped he did too, but inside he was at a loss. You watch all those movies, he thought, and see the hero get out of a spot like this, but when it comes to it we’re impotent. Abbie was emptying her handbag and pockets. Baldman was sweating profusely and kept dropping stuff onto the floor. Rice reckoned Baldman had probably watched the films too!
‘I av frenz in other carriage also. So if yo quick we can all be on ow why in five miniz, yes?’ As his accomplice said this the man with the holdall was coming towards Rice and Abbie.
Laptopman closed his computer and prepared to sling it into the holdall with his mobile and some cash. His wallet followed but the robber had to ask for it.
Then it was Rice and Abbie’s turn. Rice put his money, wallet, mobile and wrist watch into the bag. Abbie didn’t move.
‘In dey bag mississ,’ said the thief.
Abbie looked away. There were cars parked on the A12 which ran alongside the track here. Getaway cars, she thought.
‘I sey puddit in dey bag.’ The tone was changing. Rice reached over to begin the task and got a kicked shin from Abbie for his trouble. She looked back at the gunman.
‘You want it, you take it. I’m not giving it you.’ She was unbelievably calm, Rice thought. Hey! He was the trouble shooter. Why didn’t he say this? He wondered if a woman stood more chance of getting away with resistance than a man.
‘Pudda focken shit in dey bag!’ The man had lost it. He was visibly twitching at this unforeseen confrontation. Abbie looked out of the window again. More cars had stopped. Inside her she was almost sick at her stupidity or daring. She had her husband and children to think about – why didn’t she just cooperate? She had no idea.
The tall bandit yelled down the carriage. The language was unfamiliar to everyone except his comrade who was clearly unhappy with the order he’d just been given. He scooped Abbie’s property into the bag and moved away. Outside the train Abbie realised that there were yet more cars than there had been. Fuckit! She resented feeling as if she was in a movie and being watched by these morons gawping at her from their cars! Her anger and frustration boiled over and a spasm of fear wracked her body.
The two men stood together now. The spokesman made his final announcement. ‘Yo bin coperative moseley so we happy. We leave yo now en ope rest o yo jonney ok.’ And they were gone.
Abbie started to cry and Rice moved across to hold her and comfort her. Truth was he felt like crying himself. Baldman was sick. Opposite him laptopman’s expression was quite unexpected. More than a shadow of a smile on his lips as he moved across to where Rice had been sitting.
‘Scuse me, I just want to look out the window.’
Abbie and Rice followed his example. By the parked cars there were four or five huddles of people. Three cars now had blue lights revolving and flashing their signal to the motorists on the A12. Some of the people who could be made out in the mix of the coloured lights had their hands raised. Others had clearly been handcuffed. ‘Useful thing email,’ Laptopman said.
An announcement. ‘This is Gerry, your train manager. We are now able to proceed. I think alcoholic drinks courtesy of the train operator are in order – I’d have one if I wasn’t on duty! We should be in Norwich at around 9.45. The police have asked me to tell you that they want statements from everyone, so I will be passing through the train collecting names and addresses. Once again, I apologise for the holdup.’