She wished Phillip paid a little more attention. After all, they had been married long enough for him to remember a simple thing like her birthday. None of her staff had remembered either, although if she were honest that was mostly by design. She had carefully cultured a professional distance in her role as manageress. Friendly, with an open door but very private nonetheless.
"Oh well, brush off your tarnished tiara, Princess. Communicate your needs a little better in future." Phillip would have been profoundly busy with his own worries, perhaps when she got home they could find a late reservation at a local restaurant and celebrate. He would doubtless enjoy the distraction. He worked far too hard.
The mini watched her from the car park. She liked to believe those round headlights were its eyes. Restoring it had been a labour of love and determination. The British racing green and the single white stripe for example, had taken countless hours to correctly colour match. Prepping the body and carefully spraying each of the thirty coats of enamel had taken her months. Her hands ached just thinking about the sanding and polishing. The rally spotlights, roll cage, most of the interior and the twin rear fuel cells had been imported to complete the rally look. A local mechanic friend who had worked on the European rally minis as a young man built the 1275 motor to competition specs. It was one of those vehicles that inspired you to take the long way home.
"Hello Layla," she spoke to the little car. "You remember my birthday, don't you darling." She tossed her handbag in the back seat and fastened the racing harness. The little key found its female on the dash and she smiled in anticipation of Layla's throaty rasping burble and the thirsty sucking induction noise of the twin Webbers.
The key turned and nothing happened. Confused, she pulled the key out and put it back in, turning it again. A faint click rewarded her and she immediately looked to the light switch.
"Dammit. Dammit to hell." She could not recall having turned the lights on. "Bloody hell, Layla. What to do now?" Taking her phone from her handbag, she tapped through for Phillips number.
"Phil, can you call me when you get this love. I left the lights on in the mini again. I'll get the train so will be a bit late home. Don't worry about dinner. You can take me out to Francos and you can try to remember my birthday in future you arse-piece. If you ring early, you should secure a reservation. Love you darling. Mwa."
"Hi, Classic Autos Association. How can we help?" This second phone call felt horrible to make. She was proud of her automotive ability and despite Phillip insisting she took roadside assistance insurance, she had vowed never to need it.
With arrangements made, she fetched her purse from the hand bag and locked the mini. It was a five-minute walk to the train station and by the time she arrived, she was wishing she had brought a shawl. She wore only a light cotton sundress and the evening air was cooling quickly. Braless, her nipples responded naturally and made bullet shaped points against the floral cotton. She had only to follow the eyes of the two men waiting on the small platform to become aware of this.
"Bugger." She folded her arms across her chest and examined the timetable where she found the two connecting services that would get her. Purchasing tickets, she felt the familiar vulnerability public transport invoked. It was born of an irrational fear of someone pushing her from the platform, mixed with the remembered news stories of muggings and assaults and it was why she insisted on having her car despite the cost of city parking.
The central link was uneventful. Tired looking business people with their faces glued to their mobile phones and tablets sat silently as the train whirred along toward central station. "Organised sheep," she thought as the train stopped at a station and people herded themselves on and off the train still focused on devices and seemingly oblivious to each other.
It was only a short wait for the suburban link to arrive. The electric train whined to a halt and the doors hissed open. A few weary looking absent eyed people got out and Sue caught herself waiting for more to disembark before she realised they weren't going to. A helpful woman extended a hand and Sue took it, squeezing herself close to the huddle of people in the corridor of the carriage. Feeling the doors hiss close just inches from her she grabbed overhead for a strap. They were all being used, so she leaned against the closed doors for support, praying they did not open accidentally.
The train lurched forward, whining its way up to speed. The joins of the track clacked rhythmically, lulling her disgust at this huddle of human smells and faces in a steady cadence of urban fact. Tickety, tack, tickety, tack. A bridge loomed against the sunset sky and for a moment she saw along the river far out to the bay suburbs. This city was as beautiful as it was anonymous. There must be a hundred strangers standing in twenty square meters of carriage, pressed more closely than is comfortable with loved ones but none make eye contact or speak.
A change in the electric hum of the motors heralded an approaching station and the throng around her bustled with mumbled 'excuse me' and 'thankyous' as people shuffled for position near the door. She found herself pushed more centrally and spying a free leather strap she grabbed it more for security than for need. The doors hissed and vomited strangers onto the platform like a bloated caterpillar regurgitating aphids. More people got on and shuffled closely around her. She could feel them press against her. A woman stumbled and roughly shouldered Sue's breast. "Beg your pardon."
And on it went away from the city lights. Jostled and shoved amid anonymous smells and grunts, she smirked wondering if this was what it felt like to be a porn star in a gangbang scene. "Typical," she thought, "thinking about sex at a time like this." In her mind, the carriage held moustachioed men getting their dicks fluffed by kneeling women in preparation for their turn to roughly bump into her tits or stumble against her back. On the platform outside, she imagined a smoking woman holding a mop ready to clean up and still more men milling around wanking.
A sudden set of turns pushed people roughly about and she became aware of someone pressed almost leaning against her lower back and arse. A faint cologne suggested a male person. He was so close that when the train bumped she felt his wallet in his pocket push against her hip. Her right hand held the strap tightly and her left pushed against her side. The train jostled her again and her forearm brushed the man's wallet. In that instant she realised that it was not his wallet but his aroused penis.
"Gross..." she thought as she convulsed in a full body wince.
She was startled by a deep voice behind her head, "Oh god, I'm so deeply sorry. How horribly embarrassing."
She tried to turn and identify the speaker but could only see the side of his jaw and a dark business suit. "Hang on; I'll move a little..." She felt him put a hand on her hip and shove around and his thing dragged across her arse then stopped pressing into her. "I'm so sorry."
