There was no station, no sign. There was a double rail track which was overgrown with moss and weeds, and a neglected little platform, cracked and overgrown too.
‘I don’t think this is going to work,’ whispered Carmen in a dreamy voice. ‘But I don’t want you to go to the airport so I don’t even care.’
The little train station, when they eventually found it, looked deserted. Warnings on their phones indicated all transportation had stopped, all journeys were finished, and people were being urged to stay indoors. They were going to figure something out – they had to. Oke had already managed to postpone his flight – and it was a good fifteen miles back into town, which was simply unmanageable. They walked down the little overgrown platform anyway.
Just as Carmen was about to suggest they give up, a light appeared down the track, and an answering green signal came on overhead, signalling go.
The train appeared; it was old rolling stock with a flat red nose. It stopped, but nobody got off; no conductor looked out to see if there was anyone there. Oke tried a door when they did not open automatically, and the handle opened to his grip and they climbed on, slightly giggling.
Inside, the train was completely empty; everyone must have obeyed the warnings on the radio as the snow streaked across the glass. The carriages were so old they still had sliding glass doors and separate compartments.
They walked up and down the corridors, hand in hand.
‘I think it’s just us,’ whispered Carmen. She wasn’t sure why she was whispering. There wasn’t a guard, or anyone blowing a whistle; just the train surging into the swirling winter darkness.
They found a compartment, dimly lit with a small orange lamp at the window. They sat opposite one another; he was looking at her with a challenging eye and she held it as the strange little train racketed on through the dark countryside, the ancient lamps dimming and lighting again with every chuntering surge of motion and the old wheels clattered down the track.
Suddenly, Carmen couldn’t take it any more. She stood up. And moved over. So there could be no mistaking what she meant. She did not break eye contact and he smiled easily and lifted her into his arms.
The lights of the trains stuttered and blinked on and off as they entered a long tunnel. When they emerged, Carmen was sitting on his lap. Another flash and he was kissing her deeply; another flicker and their heads were pressed close together. The train sped up and a whistle blew.
‘Don’t make me do it!’ said Carmen at breakfast, not long before Christmas. Federico was taking the children to school; Sofia was staying in bed with the as-still-unnamed baby （Obedience had been briefly mooted, and speedily discarded）， happily eating toast and accepting the many gifts the amazing Edinburgh witch ladies had somehow had the time before Christmas to find and tactfully choose and beautifully wrap and send to the house. They were amazing.
Sofia was also getting used to Federico and Carmen being the most irritating double act in history: Federico would say, ‘Darling, I told you you had to slow down,’ and Carmen would chime in, ‘That’s exactly what I have been saying,’ and Federico would say, ‘You don’t need to organise everything,’ and Carmen was like, ‘Right!’ She liked them ganging up on her. Although she already had big plans for throwing the most impressive Burns’ supper Edinburgh had ever seen, and it had seen a few. She was also looking forward to Federico being at home for a whole month – he had pretty much just resigned himself to lying on the floor while the children jumped on him, and playing nine solid hours of football a day with Jack – as well as the fairly monster Christmas present she was planning on reminding him she wanted. Things, she thought, really could not be better.
‘But you have to do a story!’ said Phoebe, cheerfully spooning up the cornflakes Carmen thought would probably do as a post-oatmeal compromise. ‘That’s what you do now!’
‘It is not what I do now! It’s always a disaster!’