Alex listened in disgust as the woman blew her nose into a paper handkerchief. The muffled sound sent bullets of revulsion through him with each breath and blow of her nose. She thought no one could see her as she carefully examined the contents held in her hand. Surely not, he thought, and knew his face did nothing to hide his horror when she folded it up and tucked it inside her handbag.

He had seen many things on his five-hour daily commutes between Edinburgh and Glasgow, many amusing and frightening things, but to Alex this was simply stomach-churning. There was nothing he reviled more and after a hard days work in his city centre office, shifting other people's money from investment account to investment account, the last thing he wanted to see was an obese female enjoying the collection of her own nose-phlegm.

And she was huge. Too large, in fact, to fit comfortably into the seat of Scotrail's standard fare chair. When she bounced onto the train at Haymarket with seconds to spare, the only seat remaining was the one she was currently prised into. She had missed the opportunity of a more spacious seat at a table and Alex had enjoyed watching her squeeze into the two-person space, bumping into the people already sitting front and back with her overhanging belly. He had revelled in her discomfort as she pushed her posterior into the narrow chair, and the awkwardness as the centre hand rail dug sharply into her plump posterior. Punishment, he reckoned, for having no self-control in front of the fridge.

Alex had been commuting between Scotland's two major cities for two and a half years. Since joining WorldNet Finance he had quickly grown in confidence and rank and was now a leading junior investment analyst for the small Edinburgh firm. The company was becoming a small pond for him to swim in these days, but at the moment it was rewarding him very well. There was no need to go anywhere else while the bosses continued to be impressed by his financial talents.

His social life had suffered but it didn't bother him. He never had one to begin with. There would be time for play later, he reasoned, once he had made some serious money, conquered the world of finance, and made his mark in the industry. Then he could take the pick of any woman he wanted. All they were after was cash anyway and he planned to invest his wisely, and play hard with the rest. He was still young and there would be plenty of time to for all that later.

He opened his worn copy of the Guardian and scanned the pages for something interesting to read. Ever since the broadsheet had changed to the handy tabloid-sized format, he had found it much easier to read on the train. There was no more having to awkwardly manipulate the pages each time he wanted to turn over, but the whole package had become a lot heavier as a result. His briefcase had almost doubled in weight as a consequence.

He couldn't concentrate on the financial reports, his mind wandering back to the fat woman sitting across the aisle. He watched her out of the corner of his eye, her cumbersome posture magnetic to his uninhibited stare, bumping and bouncing each time the train moved over a junction. "How can she live like that?" he thought. "She can't possibly be happy."

He turned the page of his compact daily newspaper to keep up the effect and watched discretely as she pulled a packet of sandwiches from the bag at her feet. She ripped open the plastic and the smell of cheese and pickle wafted through the carriage. "Wonderful," he murmured. Alex hated pickle.

There was no escaping this disgusting woman, this pig. She munched on her wholemeal bread, layered with a triple load of cheese and watched as she pushed more and more into her mouth as if trying to suffocate herself. Crumbs fell like snow from her chin onto her over-sized dress and with her chubby, yet delicate hands, flicked them to the floor.

Within minutes the sandwich was gone, though the aroma remained in Alex's nasal passage, tattooed to the walls of his nostrils to remind him how much this repugnant woman had ruined his journey home.

At least the feast was over. Or was it? "Can't she wait till she gets home like the rest of us?" he groaned. "Mind you, she'll probably have a steak pie and chips waiting for her." He chuckled inwardly, self-impressed by his own cutting wit.

A large packet of crisps followed, filling the carriage with the greasy aroma of cheese and onion and the sound of gnashing teeth crunching on crackling crisps. "She loves her cheese," he thought, and resigned himself to having to suffer the fat blimp while she ate her full evening meal. He felt anger swell inside him, an impatience that rose slightly with each mouthful of crisps and accompanying crunch.

She finished her crisps and perversely Alex knew - hoped - she wasn't done. He was almost looking forward to seeing what she was going to pull out of her food-filled bag next, just to annoy him. "Of course," he snorted, as he eyed the can of Coke in her hand. He shook his head and looked out of the window, but the reflection of her only shone back at him no matter where he averted his eyes.

He shook his paper and tried to find something to read that might calm him down. Meanwhile the woman held the can away from her body and pulled the ring-top. A small burst of gas exploded from the aluminium container and sent a single drop of cola soaring out the drinking hole, expelled by the sudden release of energy. The drop soared through the air, over the first page on the Guardian and landed on Alex's report of yesterday's Hibernian versus Rangers football match.

She looked up at him, her cheeks tinged with red and her long eyelashes spread above her kind eyes, with a hint of blue to match her outfit. Her jet-black hair looked soft and plush against her white skin. Her attractiveness caught him off-guard. It was the first time he had actually looked at her face.

"I'm so sorry," she said, in a soft and pretty voice.

Alex felt his anger draining away. He was confused, annoyed at himself for not having a pre-prepared line ready to bombard her with. He stuttered, unable to speak.

Eventually he spoke. "That's okay," he said. "It's only the Guardian. Load of rubbish, anyway." He found himself smiling back at her, amazed she was talking so nicely to him.

She laughed at his remark. "That's funny," she said, and looked out of her window.

If it weren't for her exterior, he could imagine her as one of those girls you get working on phone-lines for desperate men. Sexy voice but an ugly body; total deception of the male race. A few seconds passed and she looked back at him to meet his stare. It was Alex's turn to blush but she smiled kindly again, a comfortable smile to put him at ease, as if she knew what he was thinking.

He relaxed back into his seat. "What am I thinking of?" he thought. There was something about her, though, something he couldn't put his finger on. She sounded nice, spoke well, had lovely hair and eyes - but she was fat. God she was fat! Forget about it.

Alex shook his head and attempted to put her out of his head. He turned his attention back to the newspaper and articles about nothing in particular. After a while he noticed she had stopped making noises; nothing that annoyed him any more at least. He felt a desire to look at her, see what she was doing now. He glanced in the window's reflection but it didn't help much; he couldn't see her face. He wanted to see her face again, see if she would smile once more.

Curiosity won over and he adjusted his head slightly, just so much as to get a look at her, but no more that she would realise she was being watched. "Funny," he thought. "It never bothered me before when I was slagging her off."

He wondered what she did for a living. Must be something good judging by her shoes. That dress didn't look cheap either. Maybe she had family somewhere, a mother and father who probably loved her no matter what size she was. She had a masked Scottish accent; maybe she had foreign parents or had lived in another country. Wonder where she lives now, who she goes out with, what she likes doing at weekends. She looks the busy type; probably got more of a social life than he had. He wondered if she liked drinking wine alone in her flat, wishing she had someone to talk to, maybe to order a Chinese meal and watch the latest DVD with.

Alex finished the journey to Glasgow with a lot more questions he wanted to ask her. There was a touch of guilt when he remembered how he pleasured in her discomfort at the start of the journey. He felt something, not pity, not love, just a desire to be closer to her, to someone.

The train pulled into Queen Street and the passengers disembarked. He never noticed her get up from her seat and leave the train. He grabbed his coat and briefcase and walked onto the platform, head stretched out to see where she was. "What am I doing?" he asked himself, but deep down he knew.

He followed her into the main part of the station, saw her head for the underground, probably to a flat she could actually call a home. He only wanted to talk to her. Somebody to talk to.

He tapped her on the shoulder. "Excuse me," he said, and she stopped, a little surprised.

She turned to face him and smiled when she recognised the face. "Oh - hello again."

"Hello," said Alex, adrenalin pushing him forward. "I'm Alex."

She held out her hand confidently. "And I'm Tracey."

"Em - I don't suppose you'd like to go for a drink?"

And she smiled that beautiful smile back at him. It consumed him, it was all he could see, her gleaming white teeth and pink lips.

"I'd love to."