The Midnight Train (The Midnight World, #2)(38)

‘But what is happening in your world, Wilbur? What have you got to tell me?’

‘I don’t know. I’m a proper professional. I’ve just been made the manager of Bagdale’s, now that Mr Bagdale is taking a back seat.’

‘Oh wow. That’s brilliant, Wilbur!’

‘If you come in I’ll recommend something just for you.’ He blushed, realising that might have sounded a bit forward. ‘Or your dad.’

‘He can hardly read. Left school at fourteen. Mam was the clever one.’

‘Ah, well, we have some Dr Seuss.’

She laughed. ‘Not funny.’

‘Not being funny. He’s a clever man. A doctor, after all. Green Eggs and Ham is a surrealist masterpiece.’

She reached across and pulled out a pen from Wilbur’s shirt pocket. The Ghost watched his awkward smile as she went into her handbag and got out a leaflet she’d been given that read: Day of Education Reform and International Solidarity Against the Slaughter in Vietnam. Sheffield College of Art. October 15th 1969.

She wrote her number across it.

‘And you should come to the protest.’

‘I have work that day. I need to pay my mam’s rent. She’s behind by quite a bit. And I have to work. I’m working a lot. I’m a bore. But I’ll see if I can come down afterwards.’

She smiled at him. She seemed concerned for him. For something in his expression. Or at least that was how the Ghost read it.

A minute later she said, ‘Do you ever feel free? You know, like that starling over there … Do you see it? There on the branch.’

He looked at the bird, surveying the scene from high in a beech tree.

‘Free? I don’t know.’ He thought about it. ‘I think I sometimes feel like places can trap you. Especially Sheffield.’

‘It’s the hills.’

‘Seven. Just like Rome.’

Maggie’s eyes lit up. ‘You can feel free anywhere though, I reckon.’

‘But I don’t know,’ Wilbur was saying. ‘I don’t know if I ever feel free. I don’t know if we are meant to feel free. What about you?’

‘I don’t know if I ever feel free,’ mocked the Ghost. ‘Ah, it must be so hard. Sitting on a bench next to the loveliest human being that ever lived, alive and warm inside your own skin. That is freedom, Wilbur, you idiot! You young cynic! Stop reading your French philosophers and wake up, lad! That is as free as it gets!’

Maggie stared at him a long time. ‘I feel free when I draw. There’s a moment, when you really get into it, and you aren’t consciously thinking about it. You are just doing it.’

The elderly lady who had been laying flowers walked by.

She looked at them with kind, slightly mischievous eyes. ‘Good evening, you two.’

‘Evening.’

After she passed, Maggie said, ‘She thought we were a couple.’

‘Well, reality is perception. That’s what my mate Charlie says when he’s tripping on acid … He’s working at Bagdale’s now. I’m trying to straighten him out. I’ve got him a job. He does all the accounts.’

‘You are waffling,’ his ghost said. ‘You always waffled when you were nervous. She doesn’t want to know about Charlie being your accountant. She wants you to make a move because she’s really not happy with Edward and he treats her terribly, that’s the truth of it. He tries to control her and she wants out and craves an escape and she’s hinting and you are just sitting there like a bloomin’ lemon in a still-life painting. Tell her what you think of her!’

Wilbur turned, as if looking for someone.

‘Are you all right, Wilbur?’ Maggie had noticed that Wilbur looked distracted.

‘Yes. Sorry. Just feel like I’m going a bit mad. I thought I heard something.’

‘What did you hear?’

‘Like someone talking. No. It’s nothing.’

‘Oh my God,’ whispered the Ghost.

Wilbur shook it away. He may not have heard any of the Ghost’s words but something of what was said seemed to get through.

‘When I’m with you,’ he said.

Maggie’s confusion grew. ‘What?’

‘That’s the answer to your question. I feel free when I am with you. I don’t mean it in an odd way. I know you are courting. But I just need to tell you. I feel free with you. Sitting on a bench. Talking. It is the most free I ever feel.’

Maggie looked at him. At first there was nothing. And then she smiled and it was like a door opening.

She leaned in and kissed him. Just a small kiss, but on the lips.

‘Oh,’ he said. That was it. Just oh.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Maggie.

‘No. I’m sorry.’

And at that moment the Ghost heard the whistle of the train. And he stood up, but stayed standing there until he heard Agnes, behind him, as harsh as a winter wind.

‘Get on the train now, Wilbur Budd.’





All Shook Up


Agnes was looking worried. Her fingers were tapping against her leg. The train took a few moments to start moving again, and when it did she sighed and sat back in her seat, clearly relieved.

‘Do you comprehend what just happened, Old Bean?’ Even with the familiar ‘Old Bean’ her tone sounded cracked and desperate.