Collecting tickets, Union Station, Chicago, 15 May 7.30pm

I give my credit card to the woman behind the counter. Becky (Ken’s colleague from Plymouth) stands next to me; Ken is right behind us texting.

‘Can I pick up our tickets please?’

‘Where you headed?’

‘Champaign-Urbana, please. Tomorrow morning.’

‘ID?’

I give her my university card.

‘Are y’all travelling?’ she asks.

‘Yes, we are. All three of us.’

‘Photo ID then. All of you.’

Becky starts rummaging. Ken continues texting. Becky mutters to me, ‘Might have a problem here. I’ve got photo ID but it’s got a different name on it, my married name.’

I turn to Ken, ‘Ken, you got any ID?’

‘No, I don’t think so,’ he says, looking up from his phone for a moment.

The customer service operative (or whatever) is tapping and clicking. ‘Yeah, I gotta have something from y’all if y’all is goin.’

Becky hands over her university card with the wrong name. ‘This you?’ The woman looks at Becky, ‘But with a different name?’ She tuts.

‘Yes,’ replies Becky. ‘Sorry.’

The woman sighs, and clicks and types and prints and staples.

‘Hey, how about you?’ she calls. Ken is texting again. ‘You gonna get me somethin’ or are you just wanderin’ around like you someplace else?’

I turn. ‘Ken,’ I snap. ‘Just give her something. Anything.’ He puts his phone on the counter to free his hands to dig in his bag. She looks at the phone with disdain.

‘I’ve got my cheque book and bank card,’ he says to me. ‘Will that do?’

‘Just give her something,’ I tell him. He places them onto the counter and takes back his phone.

She is clicking and stapling some more. ‘Your return tickets is gonna be on your right.’ I look down to my right, expecting to see them appear. I can’t see anything being printed. It’s just a sheer metal barrier.

‘You mean down here?’ I ask, indicating the counter to my right. I’m confused.

‘Oh, you funny. You the comedian?’

‘No,’ I tell her. ‘I’m just English.’

‘Here. Sign here. You sign all three here, since it’s your card.’ She ignores Ken’s card and cheque book and hands me the wallet. Outward tickets stapled on the left, return tickets on the right.

We thank her and walk away, Becky and me. Ken is lagging behind, texting.