The Clockmaker's Girl

And in the end,
The love you take,
Is equal to the love you make.

John Lennon & Paul McCartney

'So you've decided to come back to us after all.' Captain Lowther looked up from the papers on her desk. I saluted her as best I could. My left arm was still in its sling and my twisted ankle was encased in a stiff, heavy plaster.

'Yes, ma'am. Driver Moon reporting for duty, ma'am.'

'You took your time, didn't you?'

'Yes, ma'am, sorry ma'am. The trains and ships were rather busy.'

'And so now you want to rejoin us, do you? You know your friends are still out in Frankland and Switzerland, I suppose.'

'Yes, ma'am. But I had orders to return to Brytain, so I did...' I hesitated. 'I didn't come straight back...'

Captain Lowther pushed her hair back with her right hand. Her Deuteronomy flew down from a filing cabinet and perched on the desk. 'Sit down, Sonya. Tell me what happened out there.'

I took a seat and, slowly at first because I wasn't sure what I should say and what I should keep to myself, I told the captain about the things I'd done since the day I went off in one of her ambulances and dumped it outside Agincourt railway station. It took quite a long time.

'But now, ma'am,' I said when I had finished, 'I've got to take Mister Joyce's things to Oxford and give them back to his wife... his widow, I mean.' I rubbed my sore eyes furiously, even though I'd been told not to. 'It's my duty, if you see what I mean.' I showed Captain Lowther the knapsack.

Her face was full of wonder and compassion. 'Go on, Sunny,' she said. 'Go to Oxford. Take as long as you need. Come back to us as soon as you're well, won't you?'

'Yes, of course I will, as soon as I possibly can.' I leaned across the desk and kissed the captain on the cheek. She blushed slightly.

'Just as soon as I can.'

- 0 -

The Joyces had a very nice house, you had to say that. No, of course it wasn't as big as my own family's place, but neither was it in the countryside where there's lots of spare room for building. Just the same, there it was; a comfortable, solid, double-fronted stone-built house set in well-kept gardens less than a mile from the centre of Oxford. It looked as if making clocks, instruments and torpedo fuses was a pretty profitable business. I asked the cab to wait while I went to the front door and rang the bell.

A stout middle-aged woman in a maid's uniform of stiff-starched black and white cotton answered the door. She was wearing a black crape armband.

'Yes, miss?' she said. I handed her my visiting card and she glanced at it. 'Please come in, Miss Moon.'

I signalled to the taxicab driver that he could leave and followed the maid into the hall. It was wide and cool, with a black and white tiled floor, oak-panelled walls, a slow-ticking grandfather clock and an open staircase leading to a galleried landing.

'If you wouldn't mind waiting in the library, miss,' said the maid, indicating a half-open door at the far end of the hall. We passed through it and I sat in an armchair by the fireplace. 'Is Mistress Joyce expecting you?'

'No, she is not,' I answered. 'Would you kindly let her know that I have come to return some belongings of her late husband's to her?' I showed the maid the knapsack I was carrying.

'Certainly, miss.' The maid bobbed her head and left the room, closing the door behind her. While she was gone, I had a look around the library. It would have been very easy for me to sneer at what I saw. All the furniture there was so very new and shiny and the books were shelved in matching sets, all the same size and colour. I wondered if anybody had read them. At home everything is very old and very valuable, and you have to be careful how you handle things in case they fall apart. Nothing here was more than ten years old at the most. To put it another way, my home had a history and this house had none. All the same, the library was a pleasant room, not as dark as it might have been, and in a special wooden case on the desk was a row of incunabula that I could tell were very precious to their owner. I got up to take a look at them.

It was hard to read the titles of the books as their spines, although they were beautifully covered in gold-blocked calfskin, were well-worn with use. I rested my hands on the green leather top of the desk and peered at them, trying to make out what they said. My vision wasn't working quite right - the light still fell behind my eyes. I knew better than to touch the books, of course.

'They're written in Roman. You might not be able to read them.' I stood up.

A woman was standing by the library door. She was shorter than me, elegantly dressed in widow's black silk with her mid-brown hair worn in a neat bob. I suddenly felt terribly scruffy and unkempt in my Brigade uniform and spiky hair.

'I'm learning Roman at school,' I said, crossing the library floor with my right hand held out. 'How do you do, Mistress Joyce?'

'Miss Moon.' We shook hands. Hers were unexpectedly hard-skinned, as though she were used to working with them. Probably she was. She had helped Peter run their business after all. Mistress Joyce indicated the chair that I had been occupying and I resumed my seat. She sat opposite me. Alfie and her fox-daemon Montgomery exchanged greetings.

'Mason tells me that you have some of my husband's things to return to me. Did you know my husband, or are you calling on behalf of the Ambulance Brigade?'

She had identified my shoulder-flashes, then. Jane Joyce was an observant woman. I would have to be completely straightforward with her.

'Yes, Mistress Joyce.' I reached down by the side of the chair and lifted up the knapsack. 'I knew him. I travelled with him to Geneva and I was there when...' I paused to catch my breath. 'I was there at the Catastrophe.' For so the newssheets were already calling it. Thousands were dead, thousands injured. Many more were missing.

'I see. Will you take tea?'

'Thank you, yes, Mistress Joyce.' I wasn't going to be able to hand over the knapsack and retreat, then.

Mistress Joyce rang the bell and the maid reappeared, her daemon trotting at her heels. 'Tea for Miss Moon and myself please, Mason.'

'Yes, ma'am.' We sat in an uncomfortable silence while a table was set up and a trolley wheeled in, loaded with cakes and a Stokeware teapot and delft set, all matching and, seemingly, brand-new.

Behave yourself, said Alfie. Don't be such a rotten snob.

Trust me.

Mistress Joyce poured two cups of tea and handed one of them to me, together with a plate on which she put a large slice of Adelaide sponge.

'Now,' she said, putting down her cup.' What have you got for me?' Her eyes were very bright.

I reached into the knapsack. 'Here're his instruments.' I handed the tool-roll to her.

'Thank you.'

'And this.' That was the Sony. 'I'm sorry, but it's broken. It doesn't work any more. Mister Joyce said it couldn't be repaired. Not by anybody in this world, he said.'

Mistress Joyce sighed. 'He loved this little box. We used to watch kinos on it. Such marvellous films, you know, much better than the ones you see in Town.'

'Here's his holo of the Parry family. It's even more broken now than it was before.'

'Thank you.' Mistress Joyce took the cracked picture from me.

'He went under the name of Parry when we were in Switzerland.'

'Did he? You must tell me all about it.'

The knapsack was half-empty now. We were coming to the important things.

'Here's his story-book.' I gave Mistress Joyce the little brown volume. It was battered and dog-eared from its travels.

'The Book of the Wonders of Urth and Sky.' She sighed again. 'Do you know, Miss Moon, I never understood these stories. They disturbed me. There are no daemons in them, did you know that?'

'I know, Mistress Joyce - I read all of them - but I also know why that is so. Peter... Mister Joyce told me.'

If she had noticed my slip-up, my inappropriate familiarity, Mistress Joyce gave no sign of it. She paused to take a sip of tea and I crammed a mouthful of cake into my mouth in a very unladylike manner. I was hungry.

'Tell me a little about yourself, Miss Moon. You are rather young to be serving in the King's Forces, would you not say? How did you come by your injuries? Was it in Geneva?'

So I told her about home, and school, and Daddy, and HMS Thaxted and the Mornington Depot. I didn't say anything about what happened in the Chelsea Barracks and I glossed over some of the details of how I got to the crossroads and the Marie-Louise. Mistress Joyce appeared to accept what I told her at its face value.

'So your father is Sir Ronald Moon? The Government Minister?'

'Yes, Mistress Joyce.'

'He's a very important man. How is it that you were permitted to go gallivanting all over the place in the way you have described? Why didn't your father stop you?'

'He was at sea, Mistress, commanding his ship. He'll be back soon, I expect, now the War is over.'

Oh, Sunny, that was awfully tactless... Not everybody is coming back.

Sorry, Alfie.

Mistress Joyce paused to draw breath. 'Yes, I expect so. What else do you have for me?'

I drew out the alethiometer in its velvet pouch. 'I'm afraid this is broken too. I'm terribly sorry. Mister Joyce said he'd have been able to repair it if he... if he'd been in his workshop.'

Mistress Joyce gave the precious artefact a cursory glance and put it down. 'No doubt. I will give it to Daniel to look at when he returns from Frankland. He is my elder son and will inherit the business one day.'

I hid my disappointment at her lack of interest in Peter's alethiometer. 'Yes, Mistress Joyce. I'm glad he's safe. Mister Joyce told me he was serving in the army.'

'Did you have many... conversations, then?'

'Quite a few. When we were travelling... you know.'

'Yes, I am sure I do.' Mistress Joyce's face was frozen. 'Is there anything else?'

'Well, apart from his knapsack, only this.' I dug into the bottom of the bag and found the red exercise book. 'He wrote in it quite a lot while we were together.'

The book was taken - almost snatched - from me. 'Have you read what he wrote?'

'No!' I was indignant. 'It was private - like a diary. Of course I didn't read it. What do you take me for?'

Don't be upset by her, said Alfie. Can't you see?

See what?

She's afraid of that book. She's doesn't want to know what Peter wrote in it. Not yet.

Oh. Gosh.

'Would you like to read it now? Now that he is gone?'

'No, Mistress.' I took a sip of tea. 'It's private, and that's that.'

'Thank you, Miss Moon. I appreciate your sincerity.' Mistress Joyce leaned forward. For the first time I felt sorry for her. She was so strict in her self-control, so cold. How had Peter and she lived together? What did they talk about? What made them laugh? Where was their love - their passion?

'Tell me something, if you would, Miss Moon. Was he happy at the end?'

Oh, what a question! How could I possibly answer it? I thought for a minute.

'It was more like this, Mistress. He knew what he wanted to do - what he had to do. I was part of that, so I went along with him. When things were going well, I suppose he was... content. He got pretty fed-up when they went badly. Quite often that was my fault.' I shook my head. 'I'm sorry, Mistress.'

Mistress Joyce shook her head. 'Please don't apologise, Miss Moon. My husband always knew exactly what he wanted to do. Just like a man.'

We talked for a while longer, skirting round the details of what had happened, leaving unspoken those things that were better left alone. When our conversation finally came to its natural end I stood up and took Mistress Joyce's hand in mine once more. 'Thank you for seeing me. I know it's presumptuous of me to say so, but Mister Joyce was a good man. He treated me honourably - he always did. He was decent and considerate and fair. I'll miss him.' And to my surprise I realised that I was telling no more than the truth.

About time, too, said Alfie.

- 0 -

The maid saw me out and telephoned for a taxi. As we stood waiting by the front door I noticed that she had tears in her eyes. They were the first tears I had seen in that house of mourning.

'Did you like your master, Mason?' I asked.

'Yes, miss, I did. Very much. He was always kind to me.'

'Always? Have you been working here long?'

'Nearly fifteen years, miss. I first knew the master when he was an apprentice at James' in Shoe Lane.'

'Oh, wait a minute. You're not Carrie, are you? The James' house-maid? He mentioned you. He was fond of you too.'

'He was? Oh miss!' Carrie's face split in a broad smile. 'Oh thank you, miss! That's the best thing I've heard in ages!'

- 0 -

To my amazed delight an old man with a magpie-daemon and vivid blue eyes was waiting for me at the end of the Joyce's drive, standing next to a traditional horse-drawn hansom cab. 'Taxi to the station, Mam'zelle?' He doffed his cap.

I grinned. 'Yes, please, Mister Shire,' I said. He opened the door and helped me up into the cab with a perfect gentlemanly grace. With a giddy-ap! we set off and clattered on iron-shod wheels though suburban streets to the centre of Oxford. From there it was only a short drive down Park End Street and the Botley Road to the railway station.

We came to a halt in front of the main entrance and Mister Shire climbed down and opened the door for me. 'Here we are,' he said. 'The train will be here soon. It's only a few stops to Goring, and somebody will take you home from there.'

'Home?' I said, horrified. 'I can't go home yet. I've got to go back to London. They'll be needing me at the depot. I'm still under orders. Captain Lowther will be wondering where I am. Nancy and Mabel will be back before long. I've got to find them and make things up between us.'

'No, Sunny' said Mister Shire. 'You'll get your chance to see them, but it's time for you to go home now. Your aunt will be waiting for you at the station. It's time to put adventuring to one side for a while and be an ordinary girl again. You've been hurt. You need time to recover.'

'But... home? With Aunt Sybil? I can't go there! I couldn't stand it. She'll fuss over me, and she'll make me attend to my studies, and sleep in the Azure Room instead of my attic, and she'll probably send me back to Highdean School. I've lost a whole year. They'll put me back with the babies.'

Mister Shire looked me in the eyes. 'Don't worry, Sunny. You'll be able to manage all that now. You've grown up a lot these last few months. You wait and see. Aunt Sybil won't be any trouble at all, just you believe me. And remember, your father will be back soon.'

I laughed. 'I suppose so. You know I always believe you, Arthur. How can I help it?' I looked closely at him. 'This is you now, isn't it? The real you, at last? Not a Dust-spirit or a time-ghost?'

'Yes,' he said. 'This is the real me.' He held me and kissed me, and I nearly swooned with the pleasure of it. Me, Driver Moon, going all soppy over an old man! But he wasn't old, or young; just Arthur. I had a thought.

'Wait a minute... Can't I come with you instead of going home? Isn't your boat nearby? I bet it is.' I looked back towards the centre of Town.

'I can't slip anything past you, can I? It was Mister Shire's turn to laugh. 'Yes, the Maggie and the Jimmy are moored up in Hythe Bridge Street basin. My friend Harry is waiting for me there. But Sunny; it's like I said. You've got to go home now. Everybody is going home. The War is over and done with, and so are the reasons for it. We've got to rebuild everything.'

'Well, they certainly have in Geneva. What's left of Geneva, anyway...' I saw it again in my mind's eye, erupting like a volcano.

'That's true. But there's more to it than that. More than wood and bricks and concrete. There are lives to rebuild too. There's a whole world to redeem.'

'Oh Arthur! You know my copy of the Word was ruined, don't you? We did do right, didn't we? All those lives lost... All that pain and fear... How did you do it? How did Peter do it?'

'He did it with a terrible courage. Sunny, I can't hide this from you. Some of the most appalling acts of evil in history have been committed by men and women who were convinced that what they were doing was absolutely right. We did a dreadful thing in the Citadel, but we did it in all humility; knowing that our actions were not the end of something, but only a new beginning. That beginning is ours now, but its outcome is still uncertain. It may be that in a hundred years people will shudder with disgust at what we did, call it an atrocity and hold us in utter contempt. It may be that we have made everything worse than it would have been otherwise. But it may also be that the historians of the future will look back and mark the Fall of Geneva - the Catastrophe - as the point at which the changes which began with the War in Heaven and End of Death became irreversible and launched mankind on the path of enlightenment; free at last from the shackles of a meaningless religion and ready to build the Republic of Heaven. It may also be that the outcome which Martin James sought by his seduction of you and Alfie will come to pass, and in a way which creates a genuine link between the temporal world and the spiritual. You know, don't you, that there are some worlds where men and women have no daemons?'

'Yes, I read about them in Peter's story-book.' I laughed and shuddered at the same time.

'It may be a story, but it's still true. Those people are human all the same. They have lives that can turn to good or ill, just as ours do.'

I could see what Arthur was driving at. The sacrifice would all be wasted if we let it. The loss still might all be in vain.

'Like her life you mean? Mistress Joyce?'

'Yes, Jane. Poor Jane. She adored Peter; you know that, don't you? She kept him going through all his years of poppy-addiction.'

'Yes, I know that. But...'

'But it was always so hard for her. It was difficult for everyone whose life became entangled with Lyra Belacqua's; but particularly for the women. They couldn't help but feel that they were taking second place to her, all of them - Jane Joyce, Lizzie Boreal, Judy Parry, Marisa Coulter, Serafina Pekkala and the rest. Lyra wasn't safe - do you know what I mean? She carried mortal danger with her everywhere she went. She lived with it, worked with it. This world we're living in now - it was shaped by William Parry and Lyra Silvertongue, and something they did over fifty years ago. And not just this world, either. All the worlds of the Multiverse and the hidden world of the Metaverse were changed irrevocably by the actions of two twelve-year-old children. It's all quite extraordinary.'

'Yes.' I sighed. 'I'm not sure I understand it all yet, all this Multiverse and Metaverse stuff. I don't know if I ever will. There's so much I don't know. I don't know who told that witch to send her daemon down into the tunnel to rescue me, for example. And what about the Word of God? Were there any other copies left intact, or has it all gone to waste?'

'I don't know. But see, it doesn't matter. Yes, it would have helped if the knowledge and wisdom stored in the Crystal had been saved. But remember what you were told about information wanting to be free. It lives on - that research and learning lives on - in the minds of the people who discovered it. It isn't lost. Look!' Arthur swept his arm around his head. 'It's everywhere!'

'I hope so. I do hope so. I was so worried about it. And all right, Mister Shire, I'll go home if you insist.'

'I do insist,' he said, and his Sal winked at us.

I realised that I would have to catch my train in a minute or two, but I wanted to make the most of the short space of time that was left to us and there was one thing I needed to get absolutely clear in my mind.

'It's funny,' I said. 'I mean, what you said about Lyra and the effect she had on the people around her. Mistress Joyce was far too well-mannered to mention it, but I'm sure she thought that Peter and I had been lovers; that we'd slept together. Just imagine what she'd say if she found out we were at loggerheads for a lot of the time.' I had to stop speaking for a moment. 'Oh, Arthur. It was awful. I was beastly to him. I was absolutely horrible. When I wasn't teasing him and making fun of his wooden leg and his missing arm I was ordering him around, as if I'd been put in charge of him. I kept on acting all superior. How could I have been like that? How could I have been so awful? I didn't think I was a bad person, but I was, all the time, and I didn't even know it. I didn't know anything about anything. I was such a foul brat. I didn't deserve to get away. He didn't deserve to die. He certainly didn't deserve to die instead of me. He was worth something and I... I'm not worth a damn. Oh beggar it, beggar it, beggar it...'

I leaned forward and rested my head on Arthur's shoulder. He stood stock-still while I flung my arms around him and cried my eyes out.

'Sunny...'

'Yes?' I sniffled.

'Stand up. Look at me. You're not a bad person. Peter wasn't a bad person either.'

'Of course he wasn't!'

Arthur smiled. 'No. But he was so much harder on himself than he needed to be. He was ashamed of himself - over the poppy and about Lyra, in a way you probably don't understand. He felt guilty about her - he felt she came between Jane and himself. He was ashamed of his feelings for you - both the disgust and the desire. Don't you ever be like that.'

'He was a gentleman. Nothing improper happened between us, not even when we were forced to share a bed. I had no idea he wanted me, not at first. But you and I - we know the truth, don't we? We know who his girl was all along, and she wasn't me, was she?'

'No,' said Arthur, 'She wasn't you. There was only ever one girl for Peter...' He fixed his eyes on me once more.

Look...

And briefly, just for a moment, it was as if someone was showing a kino in the clear air between us and I saw England on a sunny, blustery day and a silver-shining, reed-fringed river and on it a punt gliding downstream; and in that punt there were two people, a young man and a young woman, dressed for a summer's day out on the Isis. As I watched open-mouthed, the punt drifted to the side of the river and came to rest under a stand of willow trees. The young man leapt ashore and held out his hand to the fair-haired girl who, lifting the hem of her long muslin dress, stood up and followed him. As her feet touched the bank she turned to face me and I saw her eyes; pale-blue and glowing with joyful anticipation. A strange sensation took hold of me, and I shivered although the afternoon was warm. There was a lump in my throat that I didn't seem to be able to swallow.

Then the vision dissolved into the air and I was standing in the busy yard of Oxford station once more. 'Yes,' I said, rubbing at my eyes again. 'Only ever one girl. Oh, Arthur - is he happy now? Is Peter happy? I do so want him to be. He was never very happy when I knew him and that wasn't fair, was it?'

'No, it wasn't. But Sunny, I don't think you're asking the right question. You see, for Peter there is no now, not any more. There's only forever.'

'But has all the pain gone? Is he happy in his forever?'

'Yes, I'm sure he is. Didn't you feel it, just a minute ago?'

'Yes, I felt something... it was like Alfie running his tail down my back or tickling my ears with his whiskers. Lovely; but I wasn't sure how long I could stand it.'

'Peter is part of all of us now. He lives in our memories, but also... Do you remember what Peter told you about Dust, when you were hiding out in Geneva?'

'He said that Dust is particles of consciousness. And we gathered it to help Peter walk. It helped us. It was on our side.'

'I'm glad you said that. I don't think the healing Dust would have come when I called if it didn't believe that what we were doing was for the best in the end, whatever the cost now. It's only a small consolation, I know.'

'All those people killed... You told me that atrocities have been committed in the past by people who sincerely believed that God was on their side. Is our belief in the goodness of Dust any different?'

Arthur shook his head. 'How can we tell? Sunny, you're asking the same question I've been asking myself. We can only wait and see and do what we can, and hope.'

'It's so hard... But I know what I saw and what I felt when the Dust came to us in the Cantonal Hospital. I'm sure it was good, not evil. Aren't you?'

'Yes, I am. I'm certain that Peter and Viola have become one with the Dust of the Multiverse, just as Lyra and Pan did before them. They're everywhere - wherever there is thought, and life, and love, and joy.'

'You mean he's dissolved into Dust? You mean he's not Peter any more? Is that what's going to happen to me and Alfie?'

'Not for a long time yet, if what I think is going to happen to you turns out to be true.'

'But... I'd hate not to be me. That'd be awful, just fading away like that, however wonderful it felt. I couldn't stand it.'

Arthur put a hand on my shoulder. 'Don't you worry about that. I can't imagine you, of all people, fading away. Far from it!' He laughed and I laughed with him.

'You see? You'll still be Sunny, and Peter is still Peter, even while he lives on in the breath of the worlds. And Sunny... you had a dream about Peter, didn't you?'

'Yes... He and his brother were flying kites. They were running on the grass. The sun was shining.'

'Remember that Peter too, won't you? That Peter didn't suffer any pain. That Peter was whole, and happy, and free. Remember him as you saw him last, full of the power and joy of the life of the universe.'

'Yes, I will. Thank you,' I said after a minute's silence. A locomotive whistle blew in the distance and I was drawn back to the immediate present. 'I think I ought to be going now, Mister Shire. Au revoir.' I kissed him on the cheek.

'Goodbye, Sunny. Bonne chance.' And suddenly he had vanished. I shook my head in wonderment and walked into the station, Alfie on my arm, bought a ticket, and stood on the platform. The Paddington train drew in and I got into a third-class compartment and bagged a window seat. The train pulled out of the station and I turned to watch Oxford disappear into the smoke behind us. Only twenty minutes' journey to Goring. I sat back with Alfie on my lap. We had the compartment to ourselves.

We will see Arthur again soon, won't we?

Yes, said Alfie confidently. Of course we will. We'll ask him to tell us about everything they did in the Citadel of Geneva while we were escaping through the tunnel. And we'll write to Mistress Joyce and tell her all the things we couldn't tell her today, and one day she'll find the courage to read Peter's book.

Good.

We would reach Goring before long, and there would be somebody there to meet me. Arthur had said so. It would be a little like it used to be in the school holidays when I was a little girl; like it was in my dream on the train in Frankland just before I met Peter. There would be no Gerry to come aboard and take my bags, of course - he was part of the Dust of the universe now, like Peter and Viola. But soon Daddy would be home, and maybe I'd be able to make friends with Aunt Sybil after all if I tried hard enough.

You two are more alike than you know, said Alfie with a wry smile.

We were gathering speed. I dug in my tunic pocket for a packet of cigarettes but decided against lighting one and put them away again. Instead I took my notebook from my pocket and started to write, trying not to let the motion of the train and the sling which supported my left arm get in the way:

The stars above,
The sea below,
A cloak of fear,
A pall of woe.

Another time,
A far-off place,
A swift goodbye,
A lover's face,

And you and I
Will never hear
His voice again,
Or feel him near,

Except in dreams,
Or else in signs
We've yet to see,
Along the lines

And tracks of trains
That restless roam,
Until they find
And take us home.

That's for Gerry, isn't it? said Alfie. The real Gerry, I mean.

Yes, I replied, but it's for Peter too. We mustn't ever forget him.

No we won't. How could we possibly do that?

I looked up. A familiar landscape was passing by the carriage window and I was surprised to find that we were already very nearly home. Time had passed swiftly while I had been writing. We were slowing down - our journey coming to its end. There was a puff of smoke from the front of the train, the engine's whistle blew twice and we rumbled across a level crossing and came to a gentle halt at Goring station, with the steam hissing from the train's brakes. I put my face to the window and looked out. Oh yes, there she was. There was my Aunt Sybil standing self-importantly on the platform and waiting for me as Arthur had promised. Next to her stood a porter ready with a hand-cart to carry my non-existent baggage, and next to him was the station master to make sure that everything was done properly and according to form. Trust my aunt to get the railway staff standing in line and dancing attendance on her.

I drew a deep breath. Here we go, then, I said, sliding the carriage window down and reaching out with my good arm to unlatch the door.

Here we go, said Alfie.