Chapter 31
Ironically, it was the silence that woke Henry, his brain telling him that something was awry because he couldn’t hear shouts, echoes, clangs and bangs; there was nothing but stillness.
He switched into gear a second after sitting bolt upright, swaddled in the feather quilt.
He couldn’t remember having a sleep of such fine quality for many years.
He’d been dead to the world, no dreams – and he normally had a lot of dreams.
He folded up his bedding and dressed quickly. He presumed he must be the first one up because he couldn’t hear any stirrings, which was good, because he had work to do and wanted it to be a surprise.
But, as he found, someone had beaten him to it because the bar had already been decorated with clusters of pine cones, berries, bells, and sprigs, headed with red bows tied to the top middle of the curtain rails and garlands hung over the doors at either end.
In the dining carriage, ‘Old Tom’, it was the same story.
It looked better than he could have managed, definitely a female touch.
His money was on young Roo, who he knew had titivated the lounge so beautifully.
He’d checked out where things were stored the previous day so he could put his hands straight on them, determined to contribute.
In the dining room, he set the table for eight: new white tablecloth, dark-blue satin runner placed down the middle of the shorter table.
He laid out cutlery and glasses and stuck candles in three candelabras, placing them equidistant on the runner.
He rolled red damask serviettes and pushed them through the gold napkin rings, positioned them to the left of the forks and put a cracker from a box he’d found above the dessert spoons.
They were huge things, stiff and weighty.
The price had been written on the box and he’d marvelled at how some people had money to throw away like that.
Finally he put the charger plates in each setting.
He didn’t think he had much of an artistic leaning, but he hadn’t done bad, if he said so himself when he stood back to admire his handiwork.
Yep, that would be a lovely sight for his fellow train people to walk in to.
Frank noticed the table set and all the decorations up at the windows in ‘Old Tom’ when he went to put the oven on.
Someone was an early bird then. Ah, mystery solved.
Heading up to the fridge in ‘Yongle’, he bumped into Roo coming the other way.
She was carrying a sack while walking slowly and looking around on the carpet.
‘Well, Merry Christmas to you, Roo,’ said Frank, unsure whether or not to accompany his words with a kiss on the cheek, but she took the dilemma away from him by opening her arms and enclosing him in a hug.
‘Merry Christmas, Frank.’ She let him go. ‘I’m looking for a coin with yes and no on it, you haven’t seen it, have you?’ He saw her brow was creased with worry.
‘Ah, it belongs to you, does it?’
He slid his hand in his pocket and pulled it out. ‘This the one? I found it last night.’
The beam on her face was almost radioactive.
‘Yes, it is.’
‘What’s it for then?’
He’d think she was a crank if she told him it was her life guide.
‘Just sentimental value. It was my dad’s,’ she lied. She’d found it somewhere so long ago she couldn’t even remember where. Had it been her dad’s, it wouldn’t have been much use as a steer because he made just about every wrong decision in life there was to make.
‘Does it work?’
‘Well, because of it I’m on here, instead of in a shit Airbnb in Whitby or back home drowning my sorrows, so I’d consider that a win.’
Frank chuckled. ‘I think I should get myself one of those. What’s in the sack? You look like a burglar.’
‘Some more decorations. I’ve just been to get them from the storeroom.’
‘You set the table as well?’
Roo shook her head. ‘Nope, that wasn’t me.’
‘Ah okay, well, I’d better let you get on with it then,’ he said. ‘I think I can safely say that we will get to the end of the turkey at least, before any rescue party comes.’
They both turned their heads towards the windows. There had been no thaw, the snow was still inches deep on the branches of a nearby tree, but there were no clouds threatening more. The skies were clear and ice-blue, fading to polar white at the horizon. Frank took a step forward.
‘Hang on, what’s that over there?’
Roo narrowed her eyes to see what Frank was looking at. ‘Is it a church?’
‘Definitely some sort of building. Blimey, there’s us thinking we’re in the middle of nowhere and there’s probably a city half a mile away.’
He was jesting, all he could see was what appeared to be the top of a tall square tower.
An isolated folly maybe, because he couldn’t see anything else.
It couldn’t be the station where the guard and driver had ventured off to because it lay in the opposite direction.
Weirdly, he found the idea of being so near civilisation not as welcome as it should have been.
‘Well, the turkey is in anyway and—’
He cut off his sentence as Henry appeared at the end of the carriage and walked towards them, smiling.
‘Good morning, Henry,’ said Frank. ‘And a merry Christmas to you.’
‘A very merry Christmas to you too, Frank, Roo.’
Frank shook his hand and he seemed rather taken aback when Roo embraced him, an unexpected but welcome gesture. Frank wondered when he’d last felt the sweetness of a kiss.
‘That your swag bag, Roo?’ said Henry, aware of a blushing heat on his cheeks.
‘Ha.’ Roo grinned. ‘More decorations, actually.’
‘Good luck finding some room for them.’ Henry winked at her. He was right then, it was her who’d put them up.
‘Sleep well?’ Frank asked him.
‘Slept like a dead man,’ came the reply. ‘I hoped I’d be first up as I wanted to… do a bit of trimming and titivating. I’m just going to the top of the train to get some ingredients. I thought I’d make eggnog for us all to start off the morning, if I can remember me mam’s recipe.’
‘That sounds lovely and festive,’ said Roo. ‘Right, I’ve got stuff to do. See you both later.’
‘I’ll walk up to the stores with you, you can tell me how you make eggnog because I’ve never attempted it,’ said Frank to Henry and off they went.
Roo started when she entered the dining room.
She noticed the table so beautifully laid out and all the decorations hanging up.
Blimey, Henry had been busy. Ah well, she decided, she’d better find somewhere to put this lot she’d brought with her, rather than lug them back.
There couldn’t be too much sparkle this Christmas as far as she was concerned now.
Tim awoke hearing voices outside his cabin.
People were up, it was Christmas morning.
Maybe it was the sight of his Santa suit hanging up ready for later that contributed to the feeling he used to get when Fleur was little, the fizz that was generated by the prospect of her excitement.
He’d always dressed up on Christmas Eve to steal into her bedroom and put a couple of presents in a pillowcase at the foot of her bed.
The rest would be waiting for her under the tree downstairs.
She’d woken up once and he’d wanted to chuckle at the gasp she’d made, before she must have realised she had to stay very quiet or Santa would disappear.
He’d so wanted to have a conversation with her in the dark but he couldn’t risk her realising he was her dad and ruining the magic; kids were way too clever.
He gave himself a solitary brownie point for always being there for the Christmas holidays.
He used to fool himself that that made him a good father.
He got out of bed and released the blind onto a snowy world but one, at least, with pale blue clear skies and a watery sun. He pulled out a clean jumper from his suitcase and with it a pastel pink envelope that fell on the floor.
‘What the hell…?’
No, that couldn’t be. It was a letter, his address in Fleur’s handwriting, a Christmas stamp in the corner.
It was a letter he knew he had destroyed.
His hands came to his waist as he stood and looked at it lying on the carpet as if expecting it to disappear for the illusion it was.
He retraced his thoughts; he had definitely ripped it up, then he had put a match to it in his log burner.
So how come it was there now at his feet? Was he going bonkers?
He reached down, picked it up, slit it open with his finger, slid the pink fold of paper from it.
Dear Daddy,
Just a short letter to wish you a very Merry Christmas.
Eugene and I have decided to take a little break in a cabin by the beach.
Not too far away from civilisation just in case the baby does make a very early appearance, but not sure what the phone coverage will be like.
So… I won’t ring at Christmas, but as soon as we are back, I’ll phone you…
… Do you remember the Christmas when I woke up to find Santa in my room delivering presents? I can still recall that excitement even now…
… Love you, Dad. Come and see us – it’s great here. And Eugene is dying to meet you. And I want my baby to know you from the moment he (or she) lands.
Fleur xx
Tim slumped to the bed and his heart felt as if it had been flooded with warmth. She hadn’t given up on him after all. The reason she wasn’t ringing him at Christmas was because she was going away on a break.
When he got home he would sit by that phone and wait for it to ring and then he would answer it and speak to his girl and tell her that he was coming over to see her the first chance he got.