Jennie’s rule, obviously, which he’d sensibly adhered to, and I was about to remind her of this, but a glance at my friend’s stony profile beside me dissuaded me. It was a look I’d seen on her face a lot lately, and one she’d never worn when we were younger. Now it would flit across her face regularly, and I tried to put my finger on what it was: oh yes, resentment. Something else too. A faintly hectic gleam to the eyes. Defiant, perhaps. Something Peggy said the other day almost drifted back to me, but not quite. About Jennie. Something surprising. When we were talking about forming the book club. What was it? Laying no claim to a hair-trigger memory, though, and having been recently struggling under a blanket of black cloud, I couldn’t remember. I sighed. Lost for ever, no doubt, beneath the fog of shock and numbness and downright crippling depression I’d been feeling at the time. I gave myself a little shake. Thank heavens that was over, anyway.
‘At least it’s on time,’ I said cheerfully, as heads began to appear up the steps from the platform and commuters dribbled out of the exit. We were a tiny station and not many people alighted here; most got off at Milton Keynes, further down the track. We waited.
‘Still no Toad,’ she said darkly.
‘There he is!’ I said, relieved, as the top of his head, hair swept back like an ocean wave from a high forehead and piercing blue eyes, came into view. He looked a little sheepish, I thought.
‘What is he wearing!’ gasped Jennie as the rest of him appeared.
From the waist up he was in a perfectly normal linen jacket, shirt and tie, but something strange was going on below. Instead of trousers, something pale pink with daisies clung to his legs and hung around his crotch. Woollen, like leggings.
‘It’s my jumper!’ cried Jennie.
It was indeed. Very stretched. And Dan seemed to be sporting it upside down with his legs through the arms, as it were. Hairy shins, grey socks and brogues protruded. As he approached us, I realized that to his left, very much walking with him, escorting him, perhaps, was a policeman. Dan’s habitually jaunty, devil-may-care attitude seemed to have deserted him. He looked pale; stricken, even.
‘Oh dear God,’ Jennie breathed, as we both leaped out of the car.
‘Hello, darling,’ said Dan, with the faintest of smiles and terrified eyes.
‘Why are you wearing my jumper like that, Dan? Don’t tell me you’re a fucking transvestite as well?’
‘There’s a very simple explanation, love.’
‘Don’t call me love. Are you a transvestite? Just tell me now, please.’
‘Ah, so it is your jumper, is it, madam?’ interjected the policeman.
‘Sadly, yes.’
‘And he is your husband?’
‘Even more sadly.’
‘In that case, sir, I imagine your story holds water. Just checking,’ he assured Jennie, as he turned back to her. ‘Only, we can’t be too careful. We had a couple of complaints from people on the train; they rang in, so we had to check it out. Had to meet him off the train and ensure he wasn’t … well, you know. A danger.’
‘Oh, he’s a danger all right,’ she said grimly.
‘Thank you, officer,’ I said quickly. The policeman seemed to be rather enjoying this now, his mouth twitching. ‘I’m sure we’ll be fine now. So sorry to have troubled you.’
‘No trouble at all,’ he said, giving Jennie a nod. As he turned to go he grinned and gave Dan a huge wink. ‘Good luck, mate!’
‘Right, mate,’ snapped Jennie when he was out of earshot. ‘What exactly is your story?’
‘It’s very simple, love.’
‘Don’t –’ she shut her eyes for a long moment – ‘call me love.’
‘I had a rather hot vindaloo at lunchtime in Leeds, and perhaps a few too many beers with Ken from marketing – you know how he overdoes it – and then, on the way home, I experienced a spot of turbulence.’
‘Trains don’t do turbulence, Dan. You’re not on a bloody jumbo.’
‘No, I meant internally.’
His wife stared, uncomprehending.
‘I had an overconfident fart and soiled myself.’
There was an appalled silence.
‘Yes, so I went to the lavatory,’ Dan ploughed on heroically, ‘to sort myself out, and since my trousers and pants were beyond the pale, I threw them out of the window, sensibly having brought my overnight case in with me; except when I opened it, I realized I’d brought your case instead. Happily, though, you’d left an old jumper inside. Wasn’t that lucky? Otherwise I’d have been in real trouble.’