(1200 words) A kiosk stood, black and shuttered, looking like a relic from World War Two. Hard to imagine people queuing, a young woman smiling as she handed over cappuccinos in cardboard beakers with plastic lids. Guaranteed to spill burning coffee over you if you tried to drink it once the train was moving. Once through the station, we began to pick up speed and my small, dimly lit carriage began to sway, as a hubbub of rattling and clanking permeated the compartment once more. I looked at my watch. 1.30 a.m. I should be in London for 2.00 a.m. Though quite who or what would be waiting for me I was unsure.