Robert strolled forward with his trolley, looking like he had already been crushed by four trunks – physically and spiritually. Last night had been a late one and he was quite certain he had gotten into a fight. But it could have just been a row with the pavement. Either way, he had lost.

“You take this one, Carrington,” one of his colleagues ordered, and the sniggering told him it was one of the shittier jobs even before looked up.

“Just don’t talk to the young lady,” another colleague chimed in. “We don’t want her family to complain to the NER.”

There were some snorts and sniggers and Robert rolled his eyes. Would they ever drop it? They had turned his every day a living hell ever since he started. Surely he had fully paid for his sins?

He turned to the young lady and her luggage and scowled. And couldn’t this have stayed the fuck home? Wherever home was. India, he suspected from her looks and the fact that she had clearly brought her entire life with her.

“Will you be needing assistance with your luggage, madam?” he asked, in an accent that sounded more appropriate to an Eton schoolboy than a railway porter, and a tone that said ‘please don’t tell me you need assistance with your luggage’.