The Delay

There was a delay — broken-down carriage outside Ely — so we sat on our cases and shared a sandwich.

The old fella manning the paper kiosk was humming along to Waterloo Sunset. For a moment, I felt like I was seventeen again.

“Got the tickets?” I said.

“Tickets. Check.”

“And the money?”

She held up the plastic envelope. “Check.”

“Put it somewhere safe.”

“Want the rest of this?” she said.

“No. You finish it.”

I knew she didn’t want to go — we’d barely spoken about Venice since the funeral — but it would be good for us.