And the carriage – now passing by the little station – had three little figures in it: two men and a woman in an old-fashioned hat. It was the same woman.
‘It’s that one,’ Patrick said. ‘Watch it as it gets to the tunnel.’
And as it rattled towards the little mountain tunnel, Carmen found her heart beating dangerously fast, and that she was holding her breath. The woman – her mouth opening – desperately trying to tell her something … it wasn’t possible.
Just before the little train entered the tunnel, they all saw it. The carriage made a little jump, nearly coming off its tracks, recovering just in time as it disappeared, then trundled out the other side.
‘It’s mis … misa … misalingilated,’ said Patrick.
‘Do you mean misaligned?’ said Mr McCredie.
‘I do exactly mean that,’ said Patrick.
Neither of them was paying any attention to Carmen, who was still staring at the little carriage in fear.
Mr McCredie shut the train set off from running, and very, very carefully picked the carriage up, unbolting it from the other carriages.
‘There’s something weighing it down,’ he said. ‘It’s dragging everything else off.’
He looked underneath the wheels, but couldn’t see anything. Then he pushed up his spectacles.
‘I think there is something in here,’ he said. ‘Between the wheel arch and the carriage floor.’
‘May I see?’ said Patrick. ‘I have very small fingers which are really very useful.’
Mr McCredie passed the carriage over to Patrick but he didn’t have much more luck. Whatever it was, it was just out of reach.
‘Hang on,’ said Carmen suddenly. She rummaged in her big handbag and for once came up trumps with a stray set of tweezers. ‘Let me see.’
They handed it over, somewhat dubiously, as she carefully pulled something out that was tucked just behind the wheel arch.
It was a very old, faded photograph, soft around the edges, black and white, folded up.
Mr McCredie started suddenly and gripped the side of the desk.
‘Are you all right?’ said Carmen.
‘I think … ’ he said weakly. ‘I think I’d better go and sit down … ’
Carmen – and Patrick – followed him through the stacks to his little fireplace.
‘Ooh, I like this very much!’ said Patrick approvingly.
‘Patrick,’ said Carmen. ‘I wouldn’t normally ask you but could you go back and see your mum and dad for a minute?’
Patrick opened his mouth to say a lot of very important things he needed to tell Carmen about his mum and dad, but when he saw the look on her face, he promptly shut it again and went off without a word. Carmen had grabbed a glass of wine as she went and handed it to the old man, who sat heavily in his chair, and then slowly, and with trembling hands, unfolded the little photograph.
Back out front, the party was heating up nicely. Ramsay had taken over pouring drinks for everyone – his arms were so long it was useful to pass things over people’s heads – and Zoe, unable to stop herself from her normal day job, was more or less just selling books if people wanted them, and Bronagh was there with her group of gorgeously attired mystical friends. The man who sold his fish books was there, as were the ladies from the Drunken Book Group. The hardware manager had brought them a new shovel; the man from the clothing shop was wearing an extremely daring pair of red trousers and a dashing cravat. The mums from the story readings were all there, enjoying the wine and planning on making very speedy in-law-based gift choices at some point. There were some cheerful backpackers who had wandered in and were frankly astonished in this expensive city that someone was giving them a free anything; Mrs Marsh could be seen up and down the shop running her finger along shelves out of habit; Mrs McGeoghan was curled up in her usual corner, carrying on withOur Mutual Friendperfectly happily – only 370 more pages to go, so she would likely be done by Eastertime – and there was a contingent of traffic wardens Carmen had invited on the pretext of being charitable at Christmastime (and distracting them while everyone parked). The carol singers were also back, having been well primed for the Victoria Street parties and doing very well.
And Skylar and Blair.
Skylar had been looking forward to this all day – showing up once and for all with the hot man of the moment on her arm before she took off to London (hopefully) for the Christmas break where she hoped he would take her to lots of places which might want her to set up a mindfulness class for people; rich connected people were always looking for more yoga. And of course he was terribly handsome and charming. That was very important. They didn’t really talk much about things Skylar liked to talk about, which was mostly Skylar, but surely he’d realise how fascinating she was in time and how many men wanted to be with her and come round to worshipping her like they did.
She looked absolutely her loveliest, all in soft pinks with the most adorable pompom hat – fake furobviously– on her blonde curls, her cheeks lightly pink from the cold snow, and Blair had given her the most blazing smile when she’d arrived promptly to pick him up from the airport.
‘Hey, babe,’ he’d said. ‘Right, let’s go dazzle them, yeah? You look great. Totally.’
Skylar had arranged her face in an empathic look as the doorbell tinged and they entered the shop. And undeniably, with Blair being there, his celebrity was like throwing glitter over the crowd. Everyone was pleased to see him and started smiling; the noise level in the room went up with a jolly frisson; the large group of mums started sidling towards him, brandishing books they wanted signed, and he put on his toothy grin and started being charming for everyone. Skylar joined in.
