A customer was drumming his fingers urgently on the grille. James snapped out of it. He’d only lost concentration for five or ten seconds, because he would never go longer than that, because he respected the work. Even this work.

‘Single to Leeds.’ Grey suit. Shirt unbuttoned at the top, a bit of chest hair peeping out. Barely half a second to comment silently on James’s weight and disarrangement. The guy had let himself go, he might say to his gym mates later. I don’t know how people get like that.

‘Do you have any railcards, or—?’

‘No, mate,’ snapped the traveller, ‘and I’m in a rush, so …’

James had told him the price, taken the card, put it into the machine, but there was a delay getting signal. The card readers did this at busy times; they got overloaded.

‘Can you hurry up, please, mate,’ said the businessman, or whatever he was. His fingers were drumming on the counter now. He was casting looks left and right as if to imply that other sales assistants were serving people much more quickly, whipping tickets into the air like magicians with playing cards.

‘It’s just a problem with the … I mean, unless you have cash?’ asked James.

‘Yeah, of course, of course I’ve got eighty quid just sitting in my pocket. Jesus wept,’ said the man. He grabbed the green and orange tickets as soon as James dropped them into the hatch; left at trotting speed, shaking his head. Three minutes later he was back, panting, thrusting a finger at James.

‘I’m making a note of your name, mate. I’ve missed my train.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ said James, ‘but – Leeds, wasn’t it – there’s another one, actually, in—’

‘There’s another one in too late o’clock,’ said the man in incoherent anger, ‘so I’m in all sorts of shit, mate, because you couldn’t do your job properly.’

‘I’m sorry about that,’ said James, ‘but as I said, the machines don’t always – we can’t always – also, I’m going to have to ask you not to use language like that.’

‘You mean, your fat fucking fingers don’t always press the buttons fast enough,’ the guy said.