Fumbling around in his jacket pocket for his season ticket, Charlie felt a rising sense of panic. Surely he hadn’t taken it out of his jacket since he’d been in London? A peak ticket from London to the west was well over a hundred quid if it had to be bought there and then, and he’d already forked out a king’s ransom for the year’s ticket. Groping in his outside pockets, even unzipping his bag to check abortively for it though he knew he always kept it on him, Charlie realised it was no use. With a sinking feeling, it dawned on him; he’d turned out his pockets to find his Westminster pass that morning, and in his state of exhaustion, he must have left his season ticket on the kitchen table of his flat. In fact, he could visualise it now, waiting there for when he returned on Sunday evening, or early Monday morning if he chose to spend another lonely Sunday in Willowbury, in the hope that Holly might have a change of heart and drop in.

‘Tickets from London Paddington and Reading?’ Lydia had reached his row of seats and was looking expectantly at him.

He immediately knew from the expression that flickered across her face before she composed it into a more neutrally friendly one that she was aware of that awful AllFeed story. His face grew hot as he tried to compose himself. His eyes pricked in frustration, and he cleared his throat.

‘Have you got a ticket, my love?’ Lydia asked him kindly. She was smiling down at him, her eyes full of world-weary been-there-seen-it-heard-it-all humour, and Charlie had the sudden, inexplicable urge to give in and cry.

Realising the game was up, he decided that honesty was the best policy. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he said quietly. ‘It’s confession time. I left my season ticket on the kitchen table before I went to work this morning.’ Wearily he reached for his wallet. ‘How much do I owe you?’

Lydia’s smile broadened. ‘Well, I feel like I should be wearing a dog collar tonight! You’re the third person who’s fessed up to not having the right ticket, or even a ticket at all. Must be getting close to the weekend.’ She glanced behind her furtively. ‘Look, I know this train was a few minutes late as the previous one was cancelled, which probably meant that you were inconvenienced, especially since you’ve had to stand since Paddington.’ She glanced meaningfully at him. ‘I saw you give up your seat for that lovely pregnant lady. Doesn’t seem like the kind of thing someone with your apparent reputation would do, really.’

‘You’ve seen that news story, then?’

‘Yup.’ Lydia smiled. ‘Just remember that today’s top story is tomorrow’s clickbait, regardless of how true it is, or not. Interesting that that so-called source didn’t give their name.’