A CARDIFF ONE

‘Oh, sorry love,’ said the elderly woman standing in the aisle, ‘you want to get through?’
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘thanks.’
She leant against the edge of the table from which she’d picked up the paper she was reading.
‘Actually,’ I said, ‘I was waiting to see if you were going to take the paper or not.’
‘Oh no, you have it,’ she said and gave it to me. ‘I was just wondering if it was one of those free ones.’
‘You can have this,’ I said, ‘it’s the Cardiff one,’ and I held it out towards her.
‘Oh no, thanks, I was just wondering, you know?’
She sat down then said, ‘this is the Portsmouth train, isn’t it?’
‘Yes.’
‘Only it was here at five past eleven and I wasn’t sure.’
‘I know,’ I said, ‘it usually arrives when it’s due to leave.’