Winter Magic on Railway Lane, page 4
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 to the 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.
At the top, there was a small landing, from which led the two bedrooms and a bathroom. Libby headed into her bedroom to get changed, carefully hanging up her uniform in the wardrobe and wondering whether it would have to be returned to the airline at some point.
She checked her emails and sank down onto the bed as she read the one from her supervisor. It was all very formal, very finite, she realised. It really had happened. She hadn’t imagined it after all. She was out of a job. It was a mess and she had no idea how to make her life better.
After going back downstairs, Libby grabbed her coat from the hook before going outside to join her dad.
She cleared her throat as she went to stand next to him, knowing she couldn’t put off the moment any longer.
‘Dad, I’ve got something to tell you,’ she began, giving him a tentative look. She felt all of ten years old again when she had to tell him that she had lost her bike in a ditch and it was in pieces.
He raised his eyebrows at her but didn’t reply.
‘So, er, they’ve announced a whole load of redundancies at work and I’ve been laid off,’ she said, her words coming out in a rush. ‘With immediate effect.’
‘I see.’ He looked a little alarmed as the silence stretched out between them.
‘But don’t worry,’ said Libby, giving him one of her wide smiles. ‘They’re going to give me almost a month’s pay due to my years of service and I’ve got lots of feelers out for the next job. I’ll get one in no time.’
‘Of course you will,’ he replied, looking relieved.
Libby’s smile grew rigid as she tried to maintain it. ‘Just thought I’d better keep you in the loop, as it were. Now, what about this train?’
Thankfully, at this precise moment, the loud toot-toot of the steam engine whistle rang out and she was able to step forward with her dad to concentrate on the train as a plume of smoke rose up into the air.
‘It’s certainly been a labour of love for Bob and Eddie,’ he murmured.
Her dad had been to school with Bob and knew the family very well. Not that her dad ever socialised these days, with Libby always making an excuse for him whenever they were invited anywhere.
‘You don’t want to stand out on the platform and watch?’ she asked, looking back up towards the station, where a small group of people were beginning to gather.
Her dad shook his head. She wasn’t surprised.
‘Still, we’ll get a good view here, won’t we?’ she said, gesturing at the low fence, over which they would get a grandstand view of the steam engine.
It was only a little white lie about finding another job, she told herself as they stared down the line back towards the station. Her dad didn’t need to know about her two written warnings. And surely she’d find a job quickly, wouldn’t she?
But the twinge in the pit of her stomach reminded her that her whole career might be over and she had no idea how she was going to earn a living from now onwards.
6
Ethan stood in the driver’s cab of the steam engine and exchanged nervous but excited looks with his dad and grandad.
‘So it looks like we’re good to go,’ Ethan told them both.
‘Well,’ said Bob, rubbing his hands together. ‘No time like the present.’
‘Aye, son,’ said Eddie, nodding. ‘Let’s get this show on the road.’
The boiler was already packed with coal and with the water tank also full, the engine billowing out clouds of steam from its chimney. All it needed now was a release of the brakes for the train to move forward.
‘Better give the folks another warning,’ said Bob.
Eddie smiled. ‘You do the honours.’
But Bob shook his head. ‘Together, I reckon, Dad,’ he said.
‘All right,’ replied Eddie. ‘Together.’
So they both reached out to the chain hanging from the ceiling and gave it a hearty couple of tugs.
The train whistled and Ethan found that, despite the heat from the nearby coal fire, he had goosebumps up his arms. It was really happening, he reminded himself.
He thought back to the early days of his childhood, riding the trains with his dad and grandad, then rushing home to play with toy replica models. But this was a real-life, full-size steam engine. He could hardly believe it.
However, there was no time to reminisce as Bob pulled a couple of levers whilst Eddie hung out of the side of the cab to check the wheels. With a small jolt and another large puff of steam, the locomotive began to move forward. It was a slow movement but enough for them all to exchange another brief round of smiles.
Slowly but surely, the steam train puffed its way forward into the bright sunshine.
They all kept checking the gauges for temperature and water levels, but all seemed okay as they drew nearer to the station.
Ethan glanced down as they went past, waving at Ryan and Katy, who gave him wide smiles as they waved back.
Everyone else on the platform was recording the journey on their mobiles. So Ethan stepped back to let his grandad smile and wave at everyone.
‘How far are we going?’ asked Ethan.
‘To Cranley junction,’ shouted Bob, above the noise. ‘We can turn around there.’
The single railway track ran for ten miles until the main station in Aldwych town. Cranley junction was situated about halfway along. As the train chugged and puffed past the station, Ethan glanced out of the driver’s cab once more and briefly saw Libby and her father standing at their back gate. Eddie gave a wave of greeting when he too saw them.
Seeing Libby standing there, Ethan absent-mindedly felt for the bump on his head and smiled to himself. Libby still didn’t come with a rulebook.
Then the train went past his new home, the old school, a little square box in the same sandy bricks that the whole village had been built in. Despite being an impulse purchase, he quite liked the feel of the place. The large rooms and high ceilings were a plus point and it overlooked the railway line and then the lavender fields and countryside beyond.
Besides, he had happy memories of that little school. Those had been happy, carefree times and he remembered playing outside with Ryan, Flora and Libby. Before they all grew up and life and hormones got in the way of their relationships, he thought, feeling his ringless wedding finger. Of all the things he had ever planned for his future, getting married had never been one of them.
He had been in Las Vegas for a work convention but had grown weary of his colleagues and had taken a walk along the Strip to clear his head. He had been shocked to come across Libby, of all people, watching the fountains in front of the Bellagio Hotel.
It had ended up being a crazy, drunken night in a glamorous, glittering city with Libby, his oldest friend. After the disaster of the prom, he’d thought they would never be able to get back what they had lost, but that particular evening, the bright lights and romance of Las Vegas, along with enough alcohol to fell a moose, had broken through the barriers that Libby had dramatically put up between them. All he wanted to do was take Libby in his arms and admit how he really felt about her. But something went awry in the haze of alcohol and one of his jokes had suddenly become reality.
For a man who hated the idea of marriage, he had to admit to himself that he had been the one to drag Libby into the wedding chapel. Suddenly, they were buying cheap rings, signing a licence and standing in front of a fake plastic altar. The only clear memory he had of that whole evening was slipping the ring onto Libby’s finger. A sober Ethan would have been horrified but somehow he remembered feeling nothing but pure happiness in that moment.
Afterwards, they had drunk even more alcohol before passing out in his hotel suite. He had woken up to find himself alone, Libby’s wedding ring left behind on the bedside table as the only evidence of the previous evening.
The marriage could have been easily and quickly annulled and yet he had never completed the paperwork. For some reason, a tiny part of him was happy to remain married to Libby and he still didn’t know why.
Libby had never mentioned anything about the marriage and it was pretty obvious that she had regretted getting married to him. So to make things easier for them both, he had carried on as if it had never happened, even though he still carried with him a small sense of wonder that the whole night had even taken place.
The school was the last building at the edge of the tiny hamlet and as the train moved on, Cranfield was suddenly behind them and they were surrounded by the open countryside. It was slow progress as nobody wanted to max out the steam engine on the first outing. They had made a few tentative moves back and forwards within the confines of the train workshop, but this was the first time in the open air. And it was glorious, thought Ethan, shovelling in more coal. The sound was incredible. The hiss of the steam, with the clanging of the engine right ahead of them, along with noise from the air whooshing around them as it went past.
Time seemed to fly past until suddenly they were at the small junction near the village of Cranley. In the very far distance, just peeping out through the woods, Ethan could see Willow Tree Hall, the grand stately home, and figured that they must be right at the end of the estate.
The train slowed down as it neared a level crossing and they gave another toot of the horn to ensure that everyone in the vicinity knew that it was coming along the tracks. After the crossing, the train slowed down ever further until it ground to a shuddering halt with a hiss of steam coming up from all of the wheels.
All three men sighed a sigh of relief.
‘It works,’ said Eddie, with a huge smile.
‘Of course it works,’ replied Bob, laughing.
‘Let’s hope it works just as well in reverse,’ said Ethan through gritted teeth. ‘Otherwise we’ve got a long walk home.’
It had all gone too smoothly, he thought. Gone too well. He wasn’t a superstitious person, but surely nothing was perfect?
A few levers were pulled so that the engine would be able to reverse back up the railway track the way it had come. More coal was shovelled and gauges checked and then, with another jolt, the steam engine puffed back into life and they were off and running once more, this time with the driver’s cab at the very front.
Ethan was overwhelmed with what his dad and grandad had achieved over so many years, along with a bit of help whenever he returned home. His love of engines had all stemmed from these men standing beside him, both grinning from ear to ear like small children as they trundled along the tracks.
Soon, he could see the tiny hamlet of Cranfield along the tracks. The village was surrounded by rolling hills, all beginning to lose their green hues as autumn rushed in and replaced it all with its resplendent bright yellows, oranges and scarlet colours.
In the distance, just down the narrow path on the other side of the railway tracks was Cranbridge, the village split down the middle by the river. It had a well-stocked corner shop and a popular pub, The Black Swan Inn.
As they approached the station, the train slowed right down so that it crept along the platform. Then, with more steam, and the hiss and clanking of huge metal cogs and wheels, the steam engine ground to a halt just beyond the station.
Bob turned to look at his son and father, his teeth bright white against the sooty black-smeared face. ‘We did it,’ he said, with a laugh. But his blue eyes shone out with pride. ‘It’s been a dream come true to go out on the engine we’ve worked so hard on.’
Eddie nodded slowly, his eyes looking watery but he was smiling too. ‘Well done us,’ he said.
Bob and Ethan stepped forward at the same time to embrace Eddie and all three of them stood there for a moment, relishing the result of their ambition.
Even Ethan could feel his throat contracting with tears and emotion. ‘That was amazing,’ he told them both.
Bob nodded, still looking extremely stunned. ‘Let’s have a drink to celebrate!’ he declared.
‘It’s only half past ten in the morning,’ said Ethan, checking his watch and laughing.
‘Yes, but we’ve been waiting twenty years for a pint to celebrate the first run!’ said Bob with a grin.
7
‘Cheers!’ said Libby, as she and her friends clinked together their glasses that evening.
They were celebrating the success of the inaugural run of the steam engine earlier that morning. The cosy Black Swan Inn in Cranbridge was the perfect place, with its roaring fires and exposed wooden beams. Plus, it was only a short walk from Cranfield and so everyone had been able to come to celebrate after work.
Nearly everyone, thought Libby. Her dad had once more declined her offer to join them, preferring to stay at home with his radio for company, despite thoroughly enjoying watching the steam engine.
‘Wasn’t the steam train romantic?’ said Harriet, with a soft sigh. ‘I thought it was dreamy. Like something out of a movie.’
Everyone nodded in agreement.
‘I just can’t believe they got it going after all this time,’ said Flora, shaking her head in disbelief.
‘Oh, Eddie’s always had a can-do attitude,’ said Grams, with a nod.
Flora’s elderly grandmother, Helen, known to most people as Grams, was eighty years old, but her eyes sparkled bright against her grey hair and rosy cheeks.
‘And Bob definitely inherited that attitude from his dad too,’ added Maggie, with a smile.
Maggie was one of Libby’s neighbours on Railway Lane. She was a shy widow who had begun to come out of her shell over the past year, thanks partly to her skills in baking delicious cakes which were sold in Platform 1.
After the breakdown of his marriage, Bob had become friends with Maggie and they often went out for a walk at the weekend, followed by a drink in the pub.
‘I’m so pleased for Bob and Eddie,’ said Katy. ‘Everyone in the coffee shop today talked of nothing else.’
Harriet nodded in agreement. ‘All my customers in the lavender spa wanted to know when it’s going to be running again as some people missed it.’
