The Train Past Midnight

On the train past midnight, the corridor was brighter than any of the compartments. Elena kept the door open the width of her hand. Every so often the light moved across the table and picked out the white rim of her cup. She could see the glass at the end of the corridor when the train took a curve.

There was a crossword from the morning on the seat beside her. She had finished all but one word before she left home. On the train she read the clues from the beginning, just to see if her answers still seemed right. The last answer came to her as she passed a station with three painted benches. She left the space blank and folded the page around her pencil.

The heating clicked. From farther down the carriage came the sound of somebody drawing a curtain, and then the wheels took over again. Elena finished her tea while the train went through a stretch of fields. A few houses appeared on a rise. In one there was a blue lamp at the back of a room, at about the height of a table.

She tried to remember the room she would be waking up in. The window looked into a pear tree, and if she got there early enough the branches might still be making shadows on the wall. Her sister would leave a mug upside down on the kitchen rack. There was no need to decide what to do until she had found the mug and opened the blinds.

Elena slipped the paper into her bag and turned the cup over on its saucer. The corridor had gone quiet. When she drew the door closed, the little piece of light on the table narrowed to a line. She lay down with her coat under her feet and watched the line until the train turned again.