A woman sits on the train, a man stands next to her. They talk. Work colleagues. The tube stops, the doors open, they close. Hey, isn’t this your stop? she says, then laughs when he looks up. She pinches his suit leg lightly. The train stops at Baker Street and the seat beside her becomes free. He sits. They talk without stopping, jumping in on each others words. His legs are crossed towards her, yellow socks. She leans in to him. Her blonde hair is tied up behind her, she wears sheer pale tights that bunch slightly at the ankles. She laughs. He grins. Neither wears a wedding ring.