The Midnight Train (The Midnight World, #2)(75)

Her hand slowly slipped through his fingers. He heard the train buckling and breaking all around him.

‘Let go of me, Wilbur! I am safe! I will see you in eternity one day. But you have to live. Don’t let it all be for nothing. YOU MUST LIVE!’

She gave him an imploring look.

‘Good luck!’ he told her. ‘And goodbye!’

‘Au revoir, Young Bean.’

He let go of her hand and watched her fall back, then deliberately roll herself out of the door. He held on tight to the last brass rail at the top of the carriage as what remained of the train sped further and further, its whistle louder and louder.

‘Hold steady!’ he told himself, thinking of nothing but Maggie’s smile. ‘Hold steady!’

And, just at the moment one screw of the handrail flew away, causing the rail to loosen and twist wildly with his weight, the void began to lighten. The sky beyond began to burn and shift with yellows and blues. Brighter and brighter. He clenched his eyes shut against the glare. And now, just as the light began to soften, he realised that he was entirely still, and lying on something soft.

He had a feeling of mild confusion. The confusion, it seemed, of waking up.





The Miracle


Wilbur opened his eyes. He was lying on the bed in the hotel room in Venice. He was in sandals and flares and a summer shirt. His eyes were dry from the flight and the wine they’d drunk earlier by the Grand Canal. His mouth tasted a little sour.

He looked to see the guidebook had slid off his chest and onto the bedsheets. The Companion Guide to Venice.

Despite the sour mouth and dry eyes he felt mentally lighter. Like some weight had been lifted. His mind was refreshed.

Maggie was still in the bathroom. He could hear her splashing in the water. He could hear her singing to herself. It felt like ages since he’d heard her voice, even though it must have only been minutes since he closed his eyes.

‘Maggie?’

‘Yes?’

‘I just want to say I love you.’

‘Well, I hope so! I’d want my money back for the wedding dress if you didn’t.’

‘And I always will. I’m going to appreciate you for ever.’

‘That’s … er … good to hear,’ she said with a slight giggle from the bathtub.

He checked his watch. It was twenty-five past seven. He’d fallen asleep at twenty past. He knew that because he had remembered thinking they still had half an hour before leaving for the restaurant, and the place – La Zucca – was only a ten-minute walk away.

Five minutes. It seemed ridiculous that he could have fallen into such a deep, long and intense dream in just five or so minutes. Unless it really hadn’t been a dream. Unless he really had travelled through time and arrived back exactly where he started. Unless the Midnight Train had been real.

Trying to wake up a bit, he went over to the window. He looked out at moored gondolas and narrow buildings of varying shades of pink, the soft evening sun amplifying their beauty.

It was then that Maggie came out of the bathroom.

Wilbur turned and saw her in her underwear choosing her clothes for the evening. He couldn’t keep his eyes off her. In a couple of minutes she was taking out a large white paper bag from the suitcase.

‘It’s the dress from Coles. The one I bought yesterday. The one Claudette helped me pick. You haven’t seen it yet, have you?’

‘No. No, I haven’t.’

Except, he soon realised, he had seen it. It was the long blue dress she had been wearing when the Midnight Train had gone past La Zucca.

‘How do I look?’

Wilbur was in shock. But it wasn’t a terrible feeling. It was like, somehow, a shock of relief. ‘Like a miracle.’

She smiled, but then seemed a little concerned. ‘You all right, Wilbur? You seem a little dazed.’

‘I’m fine. I was on the bed and drifted off for a little while. I’m back now.’

He quickly got changed into his checked trousers and a polyester wide-collared shirt which he suddenly considered to be a little old-fashioned.

They walked to the restaurant through happy clusters of tourists and locals.

‘You in a rush?’ Maggie asked him with a little giggle as she struggled to keep up. ‘I don’t think we’re late.’

‘Sorry, Maggie … I’m just really excited to see the restaurant.’

When they were nearly there he told Maggie to go ahead and turn the last corner. He needed to test something out loud, to confirm he wasn’t going mad.

‘Can you see it?’ he asked her.

‘Ye-es.’

‘Is it limestone?’

‘I think so.’

‘With a plant growing up the walls? Does it have a wooden sign and is it perched at the bottom of the alleyway backing right over a little canal?’

‘Er … yes. How did you know that?’

‘There was just a very good description of it in the guidebook,’ he lied, knowing there was no description of it at all in there.





The Art of Belief


They entered the place.

There was noise and warmth and garlic.

Opera music could be heard softly in the background. An old mechanical fan whirred away on a reception desk. A smiling, moustachioed ma?tre d’ in a black shirt greeted them both.