Page 9 of Winter Magic on Railway Lane

‘Good job I had an extra coffee this morning,’ said Ethan, with a grimace.

But despite his laid-back tone, in fact he was as excited as his dad and grandad. The steam trains had finished running a long time before he was born. He’d seen them in the movies, of course, but had never been on one, let alone up in the cab when it was moving.

He picked up his shovel and began to move the coal. Once that job was complete, he wiped his forehead. ‘Glad we’re not doing this at the height of summer,’ he announced.

But Ethan couldn’t deny that the engineering side interested him. After all, it had been his dad’s love of trains that had first made him fascinated by engineering at an early age. He had always loved fixing things, creating circuits – something that he had carried on into his job. Although that love had paled slightly lately.

‘So this is it,’ said Ethan, with a slight hesitation. ‘We’re off? What if it doesn’t work?’

‘It’ll work,’ replied Eddie confidently.

‘As long as we don’t have a crowd,’ said Ethan. ‘Then nobody has to know even if we can’t get it going.’

‘Yeah,’ said Bob, looking sheepish. ‘About that…’

‘We may have mentioned it to a few people,’ added his grandad.

Ethan cocked his ear and realised that he could hear excited chatter in the distance. He peeked his head out of the train cab and looked along the short distance to the station. As opposed to the normal couple of dog walkers and customers heading into Platform 1 for an early coffee, there was a rather large crowd of people gathered expectantly, as if waiting for a show.

He sighed before turning to his dad and grandad.

‘Well, if we’re going to fail, at least it’ll be in front of a large audience,’ he told them, holding up two fingers tightly crossed.

5

Libby shivered in the cool autumnal breeze and decided to quickly change out of her flight attendant’s uniform and into something warmer in order to watch the inaugural journey of Bob and Eddie’s steam engine.

She glanced down, reminding herself that it would be the last time she wore the uniform. There was a mixture of sadness for her lost job but equally a sense of relief that perhaps the days of mixed up sleep patterns were finally behind her.

Her walk led her along the platform and past the end of the station where Harriet’s lavender spa was situated. Then the platform backed onto the picket fences of the gardens of cottages on Railway Lane. A glance over to the lavender fields on the opposite side of the track showed the mist was hugging the cold ground. Autumn had definitely arrived.

It was one of Libby’s favourite times of the year and yet the all-encompassing dread of having to tell her father what had happened was stressing her out. He would be worried and, no doubt, once more disappointed in her behaviour.

As she came upon the very last cottage along the short row, she let herself in through the rickety white picket gate that led tothe back garden. Expecting to find her father in his usual place at the kitchen table at that time, such was his rigid routine, she was surprised to see him standing behind the picket fence. He was wearing his smart overcoat, gloves and scarf in deference to the cool morning air.

‘Good morning, Dad,’ she said, going over to give him a kiss on the cheek.

‘Good morning, Elizabeth,’ replied Philip, the only person to have ever called her by her full name. ‘I saw your suitcase in the hall. Glad to see you safely back from your travels once more,’ he added, giving her a gentle pat on the back with his good hand.

His entire right-hand side of the body had been almost destroyed by the stroke that had so nearly killed him. It had been over ten years and most people would no longer be able to see the slight droop of his face on one side. Libby would always be able to tell, though, and when her father was overtired, he slurred his words ever so slightly.

He had slowly regained partial use of his right arm and leg, but it had been the depression afterwards that had devastated his career as a headmaster. Her father had always been highly intelligent, focusing all his time on educating both his pupils and himself. Libby knew that the embarrassment of having to give up his job had never left him.

He still took his daily walk to keep his muscles and body moving, but he always made sure that it was at first light when there was hardly anyone else around. He barely left the house for the remainder of the day, with only Radio 4 for company. He read the newspaper all morning and then a book in the afternoon. During the summer months, the garden would keep him occupied. But the winters were the longest time for them both.

This year, though, when winter arrived, she wouldn’t even have her work to take her away.

‘I was waiting to catch a view of the steam engine,’ he replied. ‘You’ve arrived home just in time.’

Libby looked out along the tracks to where the steam engine stood, proudly waiting for its big moment in the spotlight. The front of the engine was black, along with the short chimney from which steam was beginning to rise. The main barrel shape of the engine was red, along with the small square driver’s cab at the back, where Bob, Eddie and Ethan could be seen moving about.

‘I’ll just go and get changed quickly,’ Libby told him before rushing up the garden path and through the back door into the small kitchen.

Even now, despite having been away for one night, she could still make out the sweet smell of chocolate in the air. What had started as a hobby had grown into a passion, one which she could lose herself in. It wasn’t bringing them in any money, except a small amount which Libby had made from selling her home-made truffles at Platform 1. People seemed to enjoy the different flavours she liked to experiment with, such as raspberry or praline, but most of all, she enjoyed the process. The alchemy that happened when she melted the chocolate and immersed herself in the creative process. She could forget all her worries. Forget everything, except the magic.

Libby headed through the front room. None of the cottages along Railway Lane were very large, but they all shared a certain charm, with the exposed brickwork and cosy fireplaces. There was just enough space for a modest sofa and an upright winged back chair that her father sat in each evening.

There was no hallway to speak of, merely a patch of worn carpet with a couple of hooks for coats. The stairwell was narrow and steep, but thankfully her father seemed able to manage.