Martin’s family had three opinions about which train he should take to his sister’s birthday lunch. Unfortunately, all three opinions arrived after he had bought the ticket.
His wife said the 9:20 was too early. His brother said the 10:05 was too late. His mother said a sensible man would drive, although she had spent the past year telling Martin he drove like a man pursuing an apology.
Martin chose the 9:20 and promised to send updates. By 9:25, the family group chat contained six messages asking whether he had left, two messages about the weather, and a photograph of a cake he was not supposed to see yet.
He found a quiet seat and opened a book. A message from his brother appeared: “Which carriage?”
“Four.”
“Wrong end. Exit at the front to save time.”
His wife disagreed. “Exit at the back. The taxi rank is behind the station.”
His mother wrote, “Don’t get off until the train stops.”
Martin thanked her. She replied with a thumbs-up and a warning that some trains had doors on both sides.
At the first stop, his phone rang. His sister wanted to know whether he would bring candles. He said he had been told not to bring anything. She said that meant gifts, not candles. While he searched the station shop, his train departed without him.
He told the group chat he was taking the next train. His brother sent a timetable. His wife sent a map. His mother sent “See? Driving.”
The next train arrived twenty minutes later. Martin boarded, sat down, and discovered it was going the other way. He got off at the following stop, where a helpful conductor showed him the platform for the correct direction.
Martin decided not to announce the mistake. He sent, “All going smoothly.” His brother replied, “Suspicious.”
By noon, the family had assembled at his sister’s house. The cake was hidden in the kitchen, the candles were missing, and everyone was watching Martin’s little blue dot inch across a map.
“Why is he near Westbridge?” asked his wife.
“Scenic route,” said his mother.
Martin finally arrived carrying a packet of candles, a station sandwich, and a timetable covered in his brother’s annotations. His sister welcomed him warmly and pointed out that lunch was not until one. He was, despite everything, early.
His brother said the 10:05 would have been easier. Martin calculated that if he had caught it, he would have arrived at twelve exactly, unless he had stopped for candles, in which case they would still be debating exits.
They ate lunch. When the cake came out, Martin lit the candles. Everyone sang. His mother kissed his cheek and said she was proud he had managed the journey alone.
“Alone?” Martin asked. “I had a wife, a brother, a mother, a sister, a conductor, and forty-three notifications.”
His sister cut him the first slice. “Next year, we’ll come to your house.”
“Wonderful,” said Martin. “I’ll send directions.”
His mother reached for her phone. “Make sure they’re sensible.”
Martin turned the group chat to silent. The first peaceful train of the day was the one he wasn’t on.