I was running to the back of the train, while it hurried forward. While I did so, I remember looking outside to see the rolling hills that stretched out until they touched the bottom of the blue sky. White little blobs of sheep populated the fields, and vibrant yellow flowers added a splash of extraordinary color: “Gorse,” the people called the flower. The Scottish people once used Gorse for fuel. I watched the countryside roar by me, while I was running towards the direction that we were leaving from. I raced down the aisles as fast as I could, trying to avoid legs that were protruding out into my path, and jumping over straps of carry-on bags that stuck out from their spaces underneath seats. I vaguely remember checking behind me to make sure he wasn’t behind me. He wasn’t. Sophie was trailing close behind. I reached my hand back and she grabbed it as we plunged into the bathroom and shut the door behind us.
“SHEESH,” she said.
“We’ll just wait here until he passes and then we will find normal seats in coach class.” I sighed a deep breath. She nodded. “Well, I might as well go to the bathroom while we are in here.” I began to pull up my dress and squat onto the toilet when the door flew open. It was the ticket collector, or the “inspector” as the Brits call them.
I gasped, stood up quickly and let go of the hem of my dress. Did he just open the bathroom door on me? I remember thinking that if he tried to get me in trouble for what I had done, I would use this as leverage.
“Come with me,” he orders.
It was the end of May. I was studying abroad in London and had taken a weekend trip to Scotland with my classmates. On our way back to London, upon boarding the overnight express, Sophie, Surina and I were disappointed to see that the trains' seats were mostly taken, unlike the train we had taken on the way to Scotland. If we wanted to sit, we would have to split up and sit separately. We had planned on sitting together and drinking our bottle of champagne and chatting all the way back to London. So we persisted to prowl for an open seat that sat three people.
After some time, we had walked so far up the train that we ended up in the first class car. We saw an open table, with four comfy seats, and no tickets that marked the seats’ reservation, which would have been tucked into the pocket of each chair. The three of us looked at each other.
“I mean, we can just sit here and not touch anything, and if the conductor comes up to us and asks for our tickets, we can explain to him what had happened and if he decides that we have to move, then we’ll move.” I rationalized. Surina and Sophie agreed, and the three of us sat down.
Sophie promptly opened the bottle of champagne and we each grabbed a glass from the center of the table to pour our drinks in. The six-hour train ride began. We talked about all of the things we had seen in Scotland; like the sheep scattered throughout the mountains of the Highlands, and Lake Lochness (although we were disappointed that we never spotted the Loch Ness Monster), and even Dunne Castle right outside of Edinburgh. We had a grand old time babbling about our trip, and how much we loved Scotland. Before I knew it, I had finished my first glass of Prosecco.
A woman dressed in a blue stewardess dress and a white apron came around with a cart filled with all kinds of edible goodies.
“Anything from the trolley?” she asked in a British accent.
My friends and I looked at each other.
“No thank you,” I spoke up first.
“Are you sure? You don’t want a cup of coffee or something?” she asked. I hesitated; that did sound good.
“How much does a cup of coffee cost?” I asked.
“Well, it’s free for the people in first class. Are you in first class?” she asked.
Now, I don’t know what it was that took over my conscience and convinced me that it was okay to steal. Maybe it was the bubbles from the champagne, or maybe it was the giddiness from the list of experiences I had already put under my belt from that trip. I was sure that I would remember this trip forever. How cool would it be to be able to sit in first class and not even have to pay? I never broke eye contact with the stewardess.
“Yes,” I smiled. She put a coffee mug down in front of me and poured a cup of coffee. Then she went around the table to my friends, who all shook their heads, “No, thank you.”
As soon as the trolley woman made her way over to the next table, Surina widened her eyes at me. “Casey, you’re going to get in trouble!”
“No!” I objected. “First of all, I don’t think the conductor is even going to ask for our tickets. He has already made his rounds. Second of all, if he does, I can just pay for the cup of coffee like a normal person in coach class would, and explain to him how there was nowhere else for us to sit... that isn’t lying.”
An hour or so had passed. The sun was setting behind the hills now, and the stewardess had come back again to refill my glass. This time, my friends accepted their own beverages, as they were convinced the threat of being asked for our tickets had passed. A friend of ours, Olivia, had abandoned her seat in coach class and had joined the fourth seat, for word had traveled that we were wining and dining like queens. I had gone through two glasses of champagne, as had my friends, along with a cup of coffee, cookies and chips. I remember looking out the window at the beautiful scenery, and back at my friends around me who had experienced such a wonderful trip with me. I was content.
On the third hour, I felt Olivia stiffen in her seat next to me. I stopped laughing at whatever it was that Surina had, said and looked over at her.
“What’s wrong?” I asked
“The ticket collector is coming. He’s checking tickets.” She was staring down the aisle.
No big deal, I thought. We’ll just stick to the plan. It’s just a cup of coffee. I’ll pay for it and explain that there was nowhere else for us to sit. I looked at our table. Six cups of coffee, four eaten bags of chips, four sticks of dark chocolate, two eaten apples and four glasses of water -- all emptied. I looked at the girls. Change of plans.
“Scramble,” I said. Surina and Olivia ran farther up the train, while Sophie and I ran towards the back of the train. We ran through one car, then another, and finally saw an empty bathroom which we both leaped into and then closed the door.
“SHEESH," Sophie said. We decided to wait there until we were sure he had passed our seats in first class and wouldn’t know who had been sitting there. I then began to undress, for I did have to use the facility, when the door suddenly whipped open. I stood up quickly and pulled my dress back down. It was the ticket collector.
“Come with me,” he said. He did not look happy. I began to object, as he did open the bathroom door on two girls. He ignored my protest. “Can I see your tickets please?” It was a challenge.
“We don’t have any,” I explained. “We are with the school group. They didn’t give us tickets.”
“Yea, uhuh.” He was all business. “And were you two the girls who were just sitting in first class and stealing our food?” Oh good grief. I looked at Sophie who stared blankly at the conductor. I began to try to talk my way out of it.
“Listen, there were no seats when we got on the train. We had no intention of stealing anything. I was planning on throwing 50 pounds on the table before we left, but we panicked when we saw you because we didn’t want to get in trouble, and so we ran.” I had decided on the spot that that was the story that had the best chance to award us minimal repercussions.
“Yea, uhuh.” He kept doing this weird thing where he nodded with his eyes closed and his eyebrows raised. “You will follow me. You will stand in steerage the entire ride back to London. I have already called the police. They will be waiting for you when you get off the train, and you will be deported back to America.” WHOA! Deported? Did I hear him right?
“Deported? Sir. I apologize if I upset you, but it’s just a cup of coffee. I have 50 pounds in my back pocket; can’t you just take that and it will cover everything? Why does it need to come to this?” I tried to reason with him.
“No. We behave in this country.”
“But-”
“Case,” Sophie cut me off. She shook her head; a warning. Just shut up. So I did, and we both followed him to the back of the train, into the steerage car. We passed Olivia who was sitting next to a classmate in the coach section. She had gotten away unscathed.
When we reached Steerage, We saw Surina standing up by the door. She had been caught. We joined her.
“You will wait here and then join the police at Kings Cross.” Said the conductor. He left, and as he did so, I turned to Surina and Sophie.
“I’m so sorry, you guys,” I said. “This is all my fault. I shouldn’t have accepted the coffee. I will take the blame for this when we get back. You shouldn’t be punished. I got us into this.”
“No,” Sophie said. “We did it too. But nothing is going to happen to us. We are going to be fine. There is no way we can be deported back to America, or even prosecuted harshly back in London just for accepting a free cup of coffee. It’s not that big of a deal. That guy is a hardo. He was angry, and he wanted to scare us to put us in our place, which he did. We are going to be just fine.”
“I hope so,” said Surina. “I can’t get in trouble because if I do then my parents will find out and then I’m really in a pickle.”
All we could do was wait. An excruciatingly long three hours passed as we stood in steerage. Three hours long enough for me to brew up an argument that I would try on the police. My game plan? First, I would try to reason with them. I would explain to them, honestly and innocently, how we had searched for empty seats in coach, and then had given up. Yes, we did accept free food, and yes, we did run away when the conductor had come to collect our tickets, but we really would have paid for it if he had given us the chance!
And if that didn’t work, I would play dirty. I would resort to blame shifting. Mr. Grumpy had opened the bathroom door on us. He had opened the bathroom door on two young women. Yeah. That would clear all charges, right?
It finally came time for the train to dock at platform 14 in King’s Cross Station. We grabbed our bags and braced ourselves. We looked at each other as the doors opened, and broke into a sprint. We ran across the platform, and through the lobby. We didn’t dare stop to see if there were police waiting for us. We didn’t stop to check if the conductor had made his way to steerage to deal with us. We ran through the square, across the street and into the nearest black cab. We did not discuss our escape until we burst through the front door of our apartment on Queensgate. We had not planned to run from the train; it was just impulse. I don’t know if the conductor had actually called the police, or if he had just threatened us in order to teach us a lesson. One thing is for sure. We sure as hell weren’t stopping to find out.
