The Girl on the Train 02 - 不列颠之味

Megan, one year earlier Wednesday, 16 May 2012 Morning I can hear the train coming; I know its rhythm by heart. It picks up speed as it accelerates out of Northcote station and then, after rattling round the bend, it starts to slow down, from a rattle to a rumble, and then sometimes a screech of brakes as it stops at the signal a couple of hundred yards from the house. My coffee is cold on the table, but I'm too deliciously warm and lazy to bother getting up to make myself another cup. Sometimes I don't even watch the trains go past, I just listen. Sitting here in the morning, eyes closed and the hot sun （阳光）orange on my eyelids, I could be anywhere. I could be in the south of Spain, at the beach; I could be in Italy, the Cinque Terre ([意大利] 五渔村), all those pretty coloured houses and the trains fearing tourists back and forth. I could be back in Holkham with the screech of gulls （海鸥）in my ears and salt on my tongue and a ghost train passing on the rusted (生锈的）...