"I'm on the bus now," she said, leaning back in her seat on the train 40 minutes before we reached Brighton. "I should be there in an hour and a half."
It's not often I overhear strangers lieing. In her twenties, she looked dressed up for a part in a play - a smart, schoolgirl-like suit, but not sexy. Also too much foundation on her face, over-rouged cheeks. Under film or stage lights, she might look fine. Her only bag was an outsized rucksack.
At the start, just after she lied, the phone conversation had sounded formal, but soon she was chatting in a relaxed, happy way. Then her voice tightened. Suddenly she "had to go". But why?
Any seasoned traveller on the line would have known we were about to reach a tunnel, where the mobile signal fades. Of course that happens on buses, too - but maybe she had a guilty conscience. How do I know? I'm not writing fiction, so I don't know her motives.
