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Arthur Grimestead

Arthur Grimestead


KGX.

 

‘Miss much?’

‘Class 91, light engine from Bounds Green.’ He flashed his notepad, the previous ten hours documented by a extensive list of numbers.

‘Damn it. Got you a tea.’

‘Ta.’

‘Your missus been in touch? Taxi from Peterborough’ll cost a bomb.’

‘Give her another ten minutes.’

‘She’s really getting into that am-dram thing?’

‘Yeh. Late home most nights.’

‘Mate, I’d have words.’

‘Townsperson #27 needs a lot of practice.’ He paused to document the 16.40 from Leeds. ‘I’m proud. I mean, it’s not like she’s having it away with the director.’

I sipped my tea. ‘Na. Course not.’

 

 

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