"This isn't first class, is it?"
Two unshowered, unshaved young men board, and wonder if they've got the wrong platform. Given its destination, the train carriage seems too comfortable, too plush.
Hesitantly, they take their seats. The Guardian and all its various supplements are spread across the table. The longer-haired of the two picks up an article on pro-life organisations in America, and tries to pretend he's sure this is the right train.
The train lurches into motion. His companion fiddles with his iPod.
"Game of Worms?" he suggests.
Joel puts the newspaper down, and nods. While Cliffey sets it up, he tries to squint past his reflection in the window, hoping to work out precisely which direction they're going in.
"The next station stop," mumbles the man on the other end of the Tannoy, "is Bridgend."
The two travellers momentarily exchange a panicked glance, and then relax. That's right. That's the right direction. They begin their game.
About an hour later, they alight. Tramping across the darkened station, Joel comments that he feels as if he has gone wrong somewhere, to have arrived in this city. Cliffey chuckles, and they head out into the evening rain.
If Cardiff is the heart of Wales, then Swansea is its large intestine.
* * *
Back home, someone is looking at Swansea Station on a map. She examines roads, inspects postcodes. It's not her job to get there, but the guy whose job it is needs all the help he can get.
She scribbles down the station's postcode, pauses, and decides to play Baldies until Tom arrives.
* * *
The venue is called Sin City, and after a brief look at the map outside the station, Joel and his companion start working their way towards it. Down Alexandra, turn off at Orchard, carry on onto the Kingsway.
They stop at Co-Op to buy some food, and as they enter they are greeted by a recording of Brian Blessed.
They pass the largest Oceana in Britain, and thank their lucky stars that they came here tonight, rather than waiting two days for the show to come to Cardiff. There's an Oceana there too, of course, but it's just not big enough.
Sin City is one of the more toilety venues either of them have seen. Cliffey hands over the e-tickets, the name Thom Cliffe is crossed off the guest list, and they start up the stairs.
This will be fun.
* * *
Tom arrives at the house just after 10. Sarah doesn't hear him knocking, so he has to ring the house phone to get her attention.
"Hello?"
"Can you open the door, please?"
"Oh."
She opens the door and in he comes, looking slightly fragile.
"Did he leave the money?"
"All twenty-five pounds of it."
She hands him two notes, a five and a twenty, and a thin smile plays across his face.
"Well, let's get this over with."
TO BE CONTINUED
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