Eight across: Vehicle to be sick on or just get a ringing in the ears? (8)

The train had roared through a cutting and was slowing down for Cabstock when she ejaculated: “Oh, good Lord! Carillon, of course, how stupid!” She looked up to find the young man smiling at her from the opposite seat.

“I stuck over that one, too,” he said.

“How far did you get?”

“All but five. Maddening.”

“So did I,” Nicola said.

“I wonder if they’re the same ones. Shall I look?”

He picked up his paper. She noticed that under the nail of the first finger of his right hand there was a smear of scarlet.

Between them they continued the crossword. It is a matter of conjecture how many complete strangers have been brought into communication by this means. Rimble and Bornlee Green were passed before they filled in the last word.

“I should say,” the young man remarked as he folded up his Times, “that we’re in much the same class.”

“That may be true of crosswords, but it certainly isn’t of railway carriages,” Nicola rejoined. “Heavens, where are we?”

“Coming in to Codling. My station, what a bore!”

“It’s mine too,” Nicola exclaimed, standing up.

“No! Is it really? Jolly good,” said the young man. “I’ll be able to bluff you past the gate. Here we go. Are you putting your coat on? Give me that thing. What is it, a typewriter? Sorry about my unsuitable bowler, but I’m going to a cocktail party this evening. Where’s me brolly? Come on.”

They were the only passengers to leave the train at Little Codling. The sun was shining and the smell of a country lane mingled with the disinfectant-cardboard-and-paste atmosphere of the station. Nicola was only mildly surprised to see her companion produce a Second Class ticket.