By Peter King

I live in Newcastle, OK, which is in the north east of England and my Auntie Cath, my mum’s sister, lives 400 miles away in Plymouth, which is in the South West. If your geography’s not that good, imagine that England is a rectangle with Newcastle in the top right corner and Plymouth in the bottom left, and you’ve got it. Incidentally, Birmingham is somewhere in the middle, and you’ll understand why I’m telling you that in a minute.

I love Plymouth and I love Auntie Cath. I love Plymouth because it’s right by the sea with lots of beaches, woods and places to explore. We’ve been going there every year since I was little, and I’m twelve now. I love Auntie Cath because she’s fab. She’s not married and she doesn’t have any kids of her own so it means she’s kind of cool with me when we’re together, not strict but not embarrassing either. Mum says she was a right pain of a little sister when they were young, but to me she’s more like a fab big sister. I enjoy her company.
    A few weeks ago Auntie Cath suggested to Mum and Dad that this year I might be old enough to visit her in Plymouth on my own, that I could travel down by train and she’d meet me at Plymouth station. It’s a full day’s journey by train but Auntie Cath said to Mum: ‘He just gets on at Newcastle and gets off at Plymouth. How hard can it be?’
    Exactly. The only problem being that my mum is a worrier. Actually, two problems, because three days before I was meant to travel, we got an email from the train company saying that due to repairs on the line in the Midlands, the normal service was being altered; I would have to change trains at Birmingham with a 20-minute wait. That nearly did it for Mum, but luckily my dad put in a rare appearance of bravery and persuaded her otherwise.
    ‘Look, love, he’s a good lad, and he’ll have his phone with him. He can read. He gets off one train, changes platform and gets on another. How hard can it be?’
    Three days later and I was boarding the train at Newcastle station. Mum helped me on the carriage with my case, checked my wallet and my phone, clucked a few more times like a worried hen and then stood tearfully back on the platform. I had a seat reserved around a table next to a kind-looking elderly man.
    ‘The lad’ll be alright, love, I’ll look after him,’ he said.
    I waved through the glass as the train slid off, with my mum walking and then jogging to keep up. I think if the platform had been long enough, she would have run alongside all the way to Plymouth.
    No sooner was she out of sight, however, than the mood changed, because from nowhere, two older lads piled down the carriage towards our table. I would have said they were about seventeen or eighteen, one wearing a football shirt, the other in a fake Burberry hoody and they were carrying cans of lager. The carriage was quite full and it depressed me straightaway when I realised they would want the two seats together opposite me and the old man. Twelve suddenly felt very young and vulnerable.
    ‘Out, you,’ said Football Shirt.
    In my fright I was a bit confused. I didn’t understand why they didn’t want the two seats opposite. They saw me looking at them.
    ‘Out. Now. Sit the other side. We want the seats in the middle, we need the view.’
    I didn’t know what view they meant, seeing as they were slotting me next to the window, but I did as I was told without a fuss. I slumped down opposite the old man. He was staring out of the window as if there was no one around. He was suddenly no help.
    Fake Burberry opened one of his cans of lager and it sprayed over me. They both thought this was hilarious, in that intimidating way, when they know you’re scared. I tried to look as blankly as possible. I hoped they would be getting off soon.
    ‘Want a swig of my beer?’
    ‘No thank you.’
    They both laughed again, at my nervous manners. It made me feel worse.
    ‘Where you going?’
    ‘Plymouth.’
    ‘Where you going, old man?’
    The old man continued to ignore them. Football Shirt grabbed the lapels of the man’s jacket to force his attention, but all that happened was a bottle of pills fell out and rattled across the carriage table. Football Shirt picked them up, but was unable to pronounce the long name on the label.
    ‘You got a dicky heart, old man, eh?’
    The man nodded once at the youth, before putting his tablets back in his inside pocket and returned to staring out of the window. I knew how he felt; I wished I could imagine myself somewhere else too.
    Fake Burberry started back on me again. ‘Plymouth’s a long way for you, kid. So you’ll be pleased to know we’ll be keeping you company all the way. How about that? What a treat. You see we’re heading a bit further even than you, to beautiful Newquay… for booze, beaches and birds.’
    He laughed at himself.
    ‘You changing at Birmingham too, kid?’ said Football Shirt, gulping his lager.
    I nodded.
    ‘Brilliant. All the way, nine hours on the train together. What you got in your rucksack for us?’
    I shook my head. He grabbed it from the space next to me and whipped it open. He pulled out my mobile and my DS.
    ‘Excellent.’
    ‘Carl,’ interrupted Fake Burberry, ‘Inspector, behind you. Move, quick, toilets behind us are free.’
    And then they were both on their feet. Football Shirt still had my phone and DS in his hands though. He leaned back over.
    ‘If you tell the ticket guy about us, I’ll smash these. Got it?’
    Pinned back in my seat I nodded, wide-eyed. And they were gone.
    I took a deep breath, a sigh of relief, and rubbed my hands through my hair and down my neck.
    ‘They’ll be back, you know, son, in a minute. Do you realise what they’re doing?’ I shook my head at the elderly man. He wasn’t much help, but he was calm. ‘They’re travelling without tickets, that’s why they’re hiding in the toilet. You’ll be okay, just ride it out. If they want to spend some time in the toilets, I have no problem with that.’
    And then he did something very strange. The elderly man took out his bottle of tablets, unscrewed the lid slowly and then dropped one tablet into each of the cans of lager left behind by the youths. Before I had a chance to ask what he was doing, the ticket inspector appeared at our table. We showed him our tickets, he made a joke about it being a bit early in the day for me to be drinking, and he moved along. Just before the two yobs came back, the elderly man turned away, closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.
    Spooked by the ticket inspector, the two were a bit quieter on their return. They went through the rest of my rucksack, spilling my crisps all over, taking odd bites out of my sandwiches, and draining the batteries in my DS and my phone. There was nothing I could do but tie up my anxiety and just ride it out like the old man said.
    Half an hour later, and into his second can, Fake Burberry complained that the lager was going straight through him and he disappeared once again to the toilet. His mate sat for half a minute glaring at me across the table before feeling his stomach and disappearing to the other one.
    As soon as they were both gone, the elderly man opened his eyes. He didn’t straighten, but once again he did reach into his jacket and open the pills. This time he dropped two tablets into each can of lager. He winked at me and shut his eyes again.
    The two came back, making jokes about each other’s weak bladders. They drank the rest of their second cans in one go, crushed them noisily before spraying me with more lager as they opened their third. I smelled foul and sickly. Fake Burberry asked me how much money I had on me, but before I could stutter out a worried answer, Football Shirt spotted the ticket inspector coming back and the two of them darted along to hide in the loo again.
    I think the inspector guessed something was amiss and he stopped at our table.
    ‘Is everything alright?’ he said. ‘Is there anyone else sitting here?’
    I wasn’t sure what to say. The two youths had forgotten to take my gadgets with them this time. It would have been the ideal chance to get rid of them.
    ‘Everything is fine here,’ said the old man, before I could answer. ‘It’s just me and my young companion.’
    As the inspector left us, I felt dismayed. What was the old man thinking of? This had been our perfect chance to get these bullies kicked off the train. I looked at him. He was plopping another two tablets into each can of lager. What was going on?
    ‘Are you trying to poison them?’
    ‘Not exactly.’
    I thought about his dicky heart. ‘Will it give them a heart attack?’
    ‘No,’ he chuckled. ‘No, nothing like that. If that young man could have bothered to read the prescription carefully he’d realise these tablets are not for my heart, but for my bowels. I’m not a comfortable traveller, you see, and I get a bit, well, bunged up. These tablets are laxatives.’
    ‘Oh.’
‘Do you know what a laxative is?’
    ‘No.’ I admitted.
    He smiled. ‘A laxative loosens you up inside. It makes you want to poo.’
    ‘Oh!’
    ‘And they act even more strongly when taken with alcohol.’

It made the journey so much more bearable. Even though the two were still really unpleasant to me when they then came back, it bothered me much less. I smiled inwardly as they polished off their next secret laxatives. I smiled outwardly when they disappeared again soon after to the toilet, complaining of stomach cramps. One of the toilets was already taken so they had no choice but to pile into the other one together. I wouldn’t like to have been the person who followed in after them!
    The remaining journey to my change at Birmingham went by much quicker. Between hiding from the ticket inspector and attacks of diarrhoea, we saw very little of Fake Burberry and Football Shirt again. As the train pulled into Birmingham station, the elderly man wished me a safe journey for the remainder to Plymouth and we said goodbye. I heaved my case across the station, glancing up at the departures board, identifying platform seven as my objective. I watched full of smugness as my old ‘friends’ dashed past me and straight into the station toilet for another moment of relief.
    The Plymouth train was almost ready to leave, sooner than I had expected, and it meant that I was barely in my seat as it began to move. My relief at making the train then increased to shameless pleasure when I realised that their latest toilet stop had prevented Football Shirt and Fake Burberry from catching my train. Feeling safe and brave, I banged on the window as the train picked up speed. They watched in astonishment as I waved and smiled. They kind of waved back, the kind that uses rude gestures, so I waved again, stood a little higher and pointed to my bum before giving them one final thumbs up. They disappeared from view, looking angry and washed out. I felt victorious, and safe.
    I was falling asleep when the conductor came along ten minutes later. I showed him my ticket. He was about to punch the hole in it, but then paused.
    ‘Where are you travelling to, son?’
    ‘Plymouth.’
    ‘Mmm, thought so. That’s what it says on your ticket.’ He screwed up his face and thought for a moment. ‘I’ve got bad news though. You’ve got on the wrong train. This train goes to Portsmouth.’