I was just staring out of the window, trying to see past my reflection on the rain-streaked black glass of the night train window. Then I heard a woman saying to a man "I thought you only drank one bottle of port and some champagne. Well, more fool me." She sounded quite angry, but I didn't know the whole story and for all I knew she could have been completely justified in being angry. There was a kind of mumbling, then she said, "That's all very well. All very... clever." I wondered what he had said that was clever. There was a bit more mumbling, and the next time the woman spoke she said "I don't want to go there. Simple as that." Straight away the man hissed at her "Simple as what? What exactly?" I more or less glued my face to the window. "I mean, you haven't slept with me in weeks. Months," he hissed again. "Well," she said, "you donŐt want me to." The man hissed again, "It's not surprising. Your tone. It says it all." We were the only people in the carriage, hurtling through the lightless wastes of England. Your tone. It says it all.