Author's Note: this fic came about as a result of a comment on a previous story made by Scrubb1910, who felt that James's character development was limited by some of his recent appearances in canon. Apology Impossible was highlighted as a particular example and I thought: ah yes, but what if the episode could be reworked to show his actions in a slightly more positive light? What if there was more going on behind the scenes to explain exactly why the standoff on the bridge came about?
In other words, I enjoy a challenge and I'm going to bend canon to my will.
(From the Head Office of the East African Railways and Harbours Corporation, Nairobi)
Dear Sir Topham Hatt,
Further to our telephone conversation of 14th September, I enclose documents relating to your purchase of EAR 11 class tank engine no. 18 'Nia'.
As the purchase is now complete, we will no longer be pursuing a criminal case against the engine's driver, Miss R. Mwangi, and fireman, Mr I. Kimani. We will, however, keep a record of their actions on file and any future applications made by either to rejoin the staff of the EAR will not be considered.
Regards,
Mr M. K. Njeri
Assistant to the General Manager
xxx
"I suppose Sodor's much greener than you're used to?"
The sun was beginning to set, painting the sky above Knapford Station a deep rose. Nia allowed herself a moment to admire it as she repositioned her features into a well-worn smile, her lips pressed tightly together to hold back the sharp retort on the tip of her tongue. Rebecca was only being friendly. She wasn't to know that Nia had heard this comment frequently enough that it had become tedious; these Northern engines all seemed to think the African continent was desert and nothing more. "It is very beautiful," she replied, evading the question. And then, because her self-control wasn't quite as firm as she would have liked, she added, "It is not as green as the Amazon rainforest, though."
Rebecca's eyes widened and she stared at the tank engine in amazement. "You've been to the Amazon? Wow! All of the engines on this railway have done such incredible things! I'd love to hear about it!" Her face fell as the guard's whistle sounded behind her and she gave Nia a resigned smile. "Oh well, I'll just have to wait, I suppose. See you back at the sheds, Nia!"
Nia dropped the façade as she watched her colleague depart, trying to push her feelings about the newcomer to the back of her mind. It still amazed her that the express service was able to travel all the way across Sodor several times a day. Although logically, of course, she had understood that the North Western Railway couldn't possibly be on the same scale as the East African, it was far smaller than she had imagined. She missed the tranquillity of long journeys, settling into a steady rhythm and letting the world roll by, the tracks stretching ahead reassuringly for mile after mile after mile. These days, of course, any journey which took her out of the shunting yard was something of a treat. She had travelled right around the world only to have her newly expanded horizons forcibly contracted again. No wonder she was in a bad mood.
To Thomas, Sodor was far bigger than its actual dimensions – not big enough, of course, or he never would have ended up in Kenya in the first place, but his perception of the island was strikingly different to Nia's own. Every inch of track was expanded by the volume of memories associated with it, many of the landmarks named for his friends: Henry's Forest, Gordon's Hill. Thomas could look at a field and see the site of his finest hour, the incident which saw him fly to the aid of a new engine in trouble, winning his branch line in the process. Nia just saw cows.
She was still undecided on whether coming to Sodor had been the right decision. Admittedly she hadn't had many options to choose from, and her crew were anxious to avoid returning home in the short term as they had technically stolen her. Thomas had assured her that it wasn't the first time that an engine had thrown themselves on the Fat Controller's mercy after arriving on the island unexpectedly. "Oliver will tell you all about the circumstances which brought him to Sodor the first time you meet him," he had told her. "And the second time, and the third, and the fourth..." Nia had laughed, thankful of the blue engine's efforts to lift her mood. The relief she had felt when Sir Topham Hatt had eventually returned home and set about dealing with the paperwork that was necessary to formalise her transfer from the EAR had been tremendous. Her driver and fireman were equally reassured and began a zealous programme of letter-writing, partly in order to let their families know of their whereabouts, but also to give Nia an opportunity to say a proper goodbye to the friends she had left behind.
This sense of security had proved to be remarkably short-lived. Her new owner had promptly demonstrated exactly how welcome he considered her to be by purchasing another engine, having 'NWR' painted prominently on her tender and allocating her to a specific job. The conclusion to be drawn from this action was clear. Rebecca was officially a North Western engine, chosen personally by the Fat Controller. Nia was not.
What made matters worse was the fact that Gordon, of all engines, had warmed to Rebecca so quickly. It had seemed such an unlikely occurrence; not only had she taken his old friend Henry's place in Tidmouth Sheds, but she had been allocated to help him with the Express, which surely must have caused a severe dent to the older engine's pride. But with a few well-judged words to his brother, Rebecca had won him over. By contrast, Nia had been forced to angle for sympathy in order to be accepted, pointing out in a rather unsubtle fashion that her closest friends were now thousands of miles away, while the engines whose departures had so upset Gordon were a relatively short distance along the Main Line. She still felt tolerated rather then befriended by the big blue engine.
None of this was Rebecca's fault, but acknowledging that only made Nia feel worse about her attitude towards the tender engine. "Every good story needs a villain," Shomari had once remarked, probably after one of Little Grace's unwelcome visits to their shed. Nia had laughed at the time, but now she found the memory troubling. As time went on, she was becoming uncomfortably aware that she might be a negative presence on her new railway, much like Grace had been back in Kenya. The resentment was corrosive, constantly eating away at her from the inside. It wasn't that she actually disliked Rebecca herself - her sunny, sweet-tempered disposition made such a thing virtually impossible – it was more what she represented. Nia knew that she should be better than this and she couldn't let her own insecurities damage her relationships with her new colleagues. All the same, she didn't seem to be able to suppress the fear that she was considered an interloper whose presence was permitted for the time being. So far, at least, she had managed to keep her antipathy towards the newest member of the fleet from the others but it would probably become obvious at some point. She wondered what Shomari would make of it all, whether her oldest friend would be disappointed at how bitter she was becoming, before firmly dismissing the question. No, she couldn't think about that just now. Keep those thoughts packed away, like cargo nailed securely into crates. She had spent so long putting aside the memories she found difficult that she sometimes imagined that her mind resembled the docks at Dar es Salaam.
A whistle sounded across the platform to her right, recalling Nia to the present, and she looked over to see Emily arriving with a local service, watching the last of the express coaches accelerate away as she rolled in. "Good evening, Nia! Was that Rebecca? She seems to be settling in very well, doesn't she?"
Nia hummed in a non-committal fashion, regarding the green engine carefully. She found her expression hard to read; it seemed open and cheerful but her words could be interpreted as a subtle dig at Nia's own adjustment to her new home. She didn't know Emily well enough to make an assessment of that yet.
Emily's friendly smile faded as Nia continued to examine her, to be replaced by a look of concern. "It isn't easy, is it?" she said gently. "There's something about the railway here, it isn't like anywhere else. I remember how difficult I found it when I first came to Sodor. My situation wasn't the same as yours, of course, but I was the first female steam engine purchased by the Fat Controller and joining a group who had worked together for so long and knew each other so well was... well, terrifying, if I'm honest."
Caught off guard, Nia gave her an apologetic smile. She really needed to stop being so cynical. Emily's approach might be blunt but at least she was trying to offer some support. "I am sorry, Emily. It is strange to no longer be 'the new engine' when everything here is still so unfamiliar to me, you know? How did you find your place on the North Western Railway?"
Emily grinned, looking slightly embarrassed. "I saved Oliver and Thomas from a nasty crash. Very convenient, I have to admit. Let me know if there's anything I can do to help, Nia. I know we can never replace your old friends but I've been very happy on this railway and I'd like to make that adjustment a little easier for you, if I can."
Old friends. 'Kindred spirits', Shomari had called them. "How lucky we are," he had said on one occasion, gazing up at the multitude of stars scattered across the skies above them. "A railway as big as ours and the two of us were allocated to the same shed. Such good fortune must be very rare."
It took some effort to drag her thoughts back to the present again but happy memories were just that and ignoring the real world was in no way helpful. She ought to be dwelling on these acts of kindness instead – it wasn't the first time Emily had offered her support, and then there was James, whose less obvious approach largely involved trying to make her laugh, something which had proved far more successful than the earnest attempts of the others. "Thank you, Emily," she said, and she meant it. She was grateful for the other engine's efforts even though she had no intention of confiding in her.
In the darkening sky ahead, the first star of the evening had become visible. Nia had no idea what time it might be in East Africa but she found it a comfort to imagine that wherever he was, Shomari might be able to see that same star. Tomorrow was another day. Nia was pinning her hopes on the possibility that it could be the day when news of her friend would finally reach her.
xxx
Tourists visiting Sodor often remarked that time seemed to move differently on the island. The pace of life was more relaxed than on the Mainland, and many of the trappings of the modern world had yet to become established. It was one of the primary attractions for visitors who found it all rather nostalgic, although some of the diesel engines fiercely resented the suggestion that they were effectively working for an open air heritage museum.
Thomas also wholeheartedly disagreed with this view. Barely any time had passed since he had returned from his international trip with Nia in tow and already he felt that his adventures had become old news. If anything he would have preferred to dwell on the past, he still had so many stories to tell, but the focus had moved on and all anyone seemed to be interested in now was the recent visit of the 'invisible engine' Merlin and the news that an old coach had been repurposed as a classroom. The latter had unsettled Annie and Clarabel and they had been on edge for a few days, which didn't improve Thomas's mood at all.
"It wasn't intended as a criticism, Thomas," Annie told him sternly as they raced down the branch line, a glorious sunset illuminating the sky above Elsbridge. "I was only pointing out that you don't need to go to Africa to see giraffes."
Thomas's frown deepened, his mouth pulled into a pout. "Yes, but seeing them at the Animal Park is hardly the same as seeing them wandering across the savannah, is it?"
There was a pause before Clarabel spoke. "What is a 'savannah', Thomas?"
"Lots of grass with some trees. You see, my trip was educational."
Annie sighed. "Percy didn't speak to us in that tone."
"Not this again!" Thomas groaned. "And there I was, thinking you'd be pleased to see me after I'd been away for so long."
"We are, Thomas, we are!" Clarabel assured him.
It had come as something of a surprise when Percy had informed him that he hadn't been directly replaced on the Ffarquhar line. "James was asked to do it but he refused," he had said, still staring at Thomas as though he couldn't quite believe that he was really there. "Daisy has her own branch line now and she couldn't be spared."
"James refused to do it?" Thomas echoed, incredulous. "And the Fat Controller let him?"
"The Fat Controller had already left to find you," Percy reminded him. "It was Mr Percival's decision."
"Well, I don't know if he was the right man for the job if he was prepared to let James dictate who worked where," Thomas retorted grumpily. "My branch line is very important, you know!"
Percy had looked upset. "I know that," he said quietly. "Everything was fine, Thomas."
Thomas had to agree that on the face of it, normal service appeared to have continued in his absence. The regular passengers had been delighted at his return but there didn't seem to have been any unusual incidents while he was away. He felt an odd sense that nothing had changed and yet everything felt different. Annie and Clarabel were simultaneously overjoyed to have him back and constantly spouting praise for Percy in a way that left the blue engine feeling sidelined. Percy himself seemed a bit bemused by it all, but then, that was nothing new.
"Percy was very good to us while you were away," Annie chided. "You should be grateful, if it hadn't been for him we might have ended up like poor Dexter."
"Or worse," Clarabel reminded her. "Dear Henrietta almost became a henhouse when her old line closed. Just imagine, Thomas!"
"That's not the same at all," protested Thomas, annoyed that the conversation had swung around to this topic again. "The Fat Controller wouldn't just get rid of you if I wasn't around, you're needed on this branch line!"
"Well, you did run off and leave us," said Annie pointedly. "No one knew whether you would come back. Anything might have happened."
"But it didn't," snapped Thomas, his frustration rising. "Everything was fine. You had a wonderful time with Percy and yet you still keep complaining about it!"
In the silence that followed Thomas wondered, not for the first time, whether the two were able to communicate telepathically. Eventually Clarabel spoke up. "We heard what you said to Bertie," she said reproachfully.
"We know what you're thinking," added Annie, rather more forcefully. "You're devising a plan to take you away from Sodor again, aren't you, Thomas?"
Thomas huffed, annoyed both at the carriages and at himself for the fact that he was apparently so easy to read. The conversation with Bertie earlier that day had been completely innocuous, but he couldn't deny that it had sparked an intriguing idea, possibly the beginnings of a plan which he would rather the others remained unaware of at this stage. Over the last few weeks, he had been relaying the tale of his round-the-world trip in an episodic fashion to his friend, providing an update each time they spent long enough in each other's company to have a decent conversation. Today's instalment had reached the point at which he and Nia had crossed the Chinese border and arrived in India, and Bertie's face had lit up.
"India? Did you see that charming engine with the fancy paintwork who got stranded here on her way to the Great Railway Show?"
"Ashima? No, we didn't head far enough south."
"Oh, that's a shame," Bertie had said, sympathetically. "I didn't see a lot of her when she was here but she seemed like good company. Very positive in her outlook."
"It is." Thomas had looked over at him thoughtfully. It had been so long since he had last seen Ashima and he had to admit that he did rather miss her. The brief time he had spent in India felt like something of a wasted opportunity and his disappointment at not having taken a detour to see his friend had increased since his return to Sodor. At the time, he had just been happy at being reunited with Nia and anxious to go home, but with hindsight, he appreciated that a slight extension to his journey probably wouldn't have made that much difference. "I travelled all the way to her homeland but didn't actually go to see her. Perhaps I should have made the effort."
And then the tiniest suggestion of an idea had begun to emerge at the back of his mind: he had made his way to India before, why not do it again? Obviously he would have to follow legitimate means this time; there was no possibility that he would be able to persuade anyone at the docks to load him on to a ship given what had happened on the previous occasion, but the North Western Railway had received an unusual amount of publicity as a result of his escapades and this could perhaps be used to his advantage. The main question was how he could broach the subject with the Fat Controller, but Thomas hadn't seen this as a problem, anticipating that he would have sufficient time to develop this vague outline of a scheme. Now, it seemed, that luxury had been taken away from him. He could deny it, of course, but the truth would come out in time so there didn't seem any point in going down that line. Anyway, the coaches knew him better than anyone and in all likelihood would recognise that he was lying. "I've always wanted to see the world," he said, trying not to sound sulky. "You both know that."
"Yes, and now you've seen it," said Annie curtly.
"I've only seen part of it. Now I know just how much is out there, how many other wonderful experiences I'm missing out on. Japan, for instance. I've heard so much about it from Hiro, just think how amazing it would be to actually go there myself!"
"But Sodor is your home, Thomas," Clarabel protested. "You belong here!"
"I'd come back! I don't want to go away forever, I just... want to see more," Thomas hesitated, internally debating how honest he was prepared to be, "...while I still can."
"And what do you mean by that?" Annie demanded. Thomas could hear the fear in her voice and hastened to reassure her.
"Don't worry, Annie, nothing has happened, or is going to happen as far as I know. I suppose I've been feeling my age, that's all."
Clarabel laughed. "You're not that old, Thomas!"
"I am. We all are." This realisation had occurred to Thomas a while ago. The Fat Controller had been reprimanding James for some misdemeanour and had ended by telling him, "You need to change your attitude, young steam engine!" Thomas had been struck by how ridiculous this comment was: James wasn't young, none of them were. Gordon was now older than Edward had been all those years ago when the former had first begun to mock the latter for his advanced age. As time had gone on, Thomas found himself increasingly troubled by the idea that there might be more years behind him than ahead. This was a deeply uncomfortable thought for an engine who was generally optimistic and cheerful by nature and he had been badly upset by it.
"You can't think like that," Clarabel said gently. "You're still really useful, and there are other engines older than you who play an important role on this railway. The Fat Controller isn't going to decommission you any time soon."
"You're right, Clarabel. But the Fat Controller is human." Thomas paused, not wanting to put into words the terrible fear that had been lurking in the dark corners of his mind ever since he had begun to ponder the matter. "He isn't going to be around forever. We all know that. And what will happen when he... is gone, no one knows."
"I see," said Annie slowly. "If time is running out, you want to cram as much as you can into what remains of it. That's why you rushed off in pursuit of that dreadful racing car."
"Yes, exactly! I know it sounds horrible, and I know I caused all sorts of trouble last time but if I don't at least try, I'll probably end up regretting it. And I do miss Ashima, that isn't an excuse."
The coaches fell silent again, although Thomas could sense their disapproval behind him. Eventually, Clarabel sighed. "Talk to the others, Thomas. Talk to Percy and Toby."
"You have responsibilities," Annie chipped in. "You need to consider what impact there will be if you leave again. This isn't just about you. It would affect all of us, in ways that I'm not sure you've given much thought to."
Thomas didn't answer. He wanted to feel relieved that the two were making little effort to dissuade him but at same time, he had anticipated more of a debate and in a way it was too easy. He realised that he wanted them to put up more resistance in order to show him that he was valued, but they didn't seem appalled, or horrified, or distressed, just... quietly saddened. If that was the extent of their opposition, he might as well go off to India. No doubt they'd be delighted at being reunited with Percy full time.
The hurt tone in Annie's voice was rather reassuring, though. Perhaps he had genuinely been missed after all.
xxx
The beam of the headlamp illuminating the tracks ahead only served to emphasise the total darkness on either side of the line. On any other occasion James would probably have felt nervous, his imagination running wild, but tonight he was far too angry to be troubled by anything vaguely spooky. His right eye twitched as he glared unseeing into the night, adding to his annoyance, and he cursed the weight of the trucks behind him which limited his speed.
Had the evening gone to plan, James would have been fast asleep in his berth by this hour. Although the Fat Controller had impressed upon him the fact that his train was important and absolutely had to be at Vicarstown ready for Hiro to collect first thing in the morning, James had been scheduled to depart in the early evening and the urgency of the job hadn't really been of much significance. It had become more of a concern when Philip had somehow managed to get a truck wedged in the points at Knapford. Clearing the line hadn't been an easy task and as a result, James had been delayed for so long that he was now charging along the Main Line ridiculously late, furiously planning exactly what he was going to say to that useless little boxcab the next time he had the misfortune to encounter him.
He was so incensed that he didn't notice another engine racing up the branch line from Brendam, not that it would have made much difference if he had. Henry was used to pulling the Flying Kipper along deserted rails and he hadn't given his full attention to the signal ahead as he reached Suddery Junction, only noticing that it was raised when it was too late to stop in time. As he unexpectedly found his route obstructed by the rear of James's train, he cried out in horror, shut his eyes and hoped for the best.
James didn't immediately register what was happening. The sudden sound of his friend desperately trying to avoid the collision combined with the overpowering scent from the fish vans seem to throw him back to another time, another night, a snow-covered siding outside Killdane, fear overriding his connection to the present. Despite the long years that had gone by, the memories were still fresh, the terror always just below the surface and easily awakened. James knew with absolute certainty that the crash would be inescapable and readied himself for the impact, expecting any second to hear the crunch as the brake van was obliterated. Instead the awful squealing of Henry's brakes ceased abruptly, and the green engine gave an audible sigh of relief before gave a calling out to him, his voice full of concern.
"James? Are you all right? Why have you stopped?"
Had he? James opened an eye he didn't recall closing and peered cautiously around him. Yes, he was stationary. Why had he stopped? That wasn't a natural reaction in the circumstances; he should have accelerated away from danger.
"Are you hurt? JAMES! Say something!" Henry was beginning to sound frantic.
"I-I'm fine," James gasped, dazed. "I'm fine, Henry. Are you-"
Henry was already apologising. "I'm so sorry, it was entirely my fault! I wasn't expecting to see anyone else out this late and I didn't think about the signal." He paused, anticipating a response which didn't come. "James? What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong." James was beginning to recover his composure and he wasn't prepared to let his friend see how shaken he had been by their near miss.
"Something isn't right," Henry observed shrewdly. "You're taking this very well. To be honest, I'm surprised you're not yelling at me."
"I don't have time for an argument," he returned tersely, beginning to move forward once more. "I need to get this train to Vicarstown as soon as possible if I'm going to get any sleep at all tonight." Could Henry really be blind to the parallels with that awful night? James had wondered on occasion how much of the crash his friend could really remember, and whether that might be a result of the damage sustained or the rebuild carried out at Crewe. Either way, he seemed oblivious and James had no intention of drawing his attention to it.
"Suit yourself." Henry sounded offended, but that was an issue to be dealt with another time and James accelerated away without reply. All he wanted to do was to find a quiet siding and hide there until the wave of panic that had overtaken him subsided completely, but he knew that wasn't possible. The best he could do was to focus on how lucky he had been that the outcome hadn't been worse. Henry, to his immense relief, was unhurt and no other engines had been present to witness his loss of control. In time, the horror probably would be replaced by fury as Henry had expected but the green engine wouldn't be the target of his anger.
James knew exactly who he held responsible, and it wasn't Henry.
xxx
"Why doesn't James like me?"
The question was by no means unexpected, but Edward couldn't hold back a resigned sigh as he dragged his eyes open. It had been a long day and he had been teetering on the edge of sleep before Philip's query had abruptly hauled him back. Still, it would be selfish to insist on adherence to the 'no-talking-when-I'm-trying-to-sleep' rule when the boxcab was looking at him with such a mournful expression. "Has something happened?" he enquired. "You are very late getting back to the shed."
"Well, I sort of slightly derailed a truck in the yard and had to clear up the mess. James's last train was delayed and he, er... wasn't happy about it."
Edward winced. He could well imagine how an unhappy James might have reacted, having himself been on the receiving end of his scorn plenty of times in the past.
Since he had moved back to Wellsworth, it had become clear to Edward that all Philip really wanted from life was to be liked by the other engines. This was perfectly reasonable in his eyes: it wasn't some kind of popularity contest, the boxcab just saw the appeal of being surrounded by colleagues with whom he could work amicably. His efforts to forge friendships with the bigger engines had been rebuffed repeatedly but he wasn't the sort to give up easily and seemed set to persevere indefinitely. Gordon's superior attitude didn't concern him as it once had, Philip having realised over time that the express engine was hardly effusive about those engines he genuinely did like. James was a very different matter. Anyone who got on the wrong side of him knew all about it and Philip was more downhearted than appearances might suggest at the knowledge that the steam engine actively seemed to dislike him.
Edward had given a good deal of thought to the ongoing tension between the two and it bothered him that he had still not come up with a satisfactory solution. He prided himself on his ability to understand other engines, his skills honed decades ago during those long days when he was left in the shed with nothing to do but observe the interactions of his colleagues. James, however, had always been something of an enigma, despite the many years that Edward had worked alongside him. There was a fundamentally decent soul under that self-centred veneer, of that Edward was absolutely certain, having seen evidence of the fact often enough over the years. But something about Philip brought out the worst in the red engine and Edward doubted that James himself really knew why. The result was this strange one-sided rivalry which invariably led to trouble.
Philip was still looking at him expectantly and the old engine decided that he might as well be completely upfront. "I must admit that I don't really know," he said gently. "It just seems to be something of a personality clash. That doesn't mean you've done anything wrong, Philip, more that the two of you have little in common."
"So what can I do to change that? I mean, I stopped him from falling onto the tracks when he came off the bridge that time, which was actually quite painful, really, and you'd think that would make him see that I'm a decent sort of engine. I'm always friendly and cheerful when I see him and I try not to annoy him, although he seems to get annoyed anyway so..." Philip trailed off as Edward stifled a yawn. "Am I doing the talking thing again?"
"You are, but I think you can be excused under the circumstances."
"I wish I knew what it is that he finds so annoying about me," Philip said, thoughtfully. "If I knew I could do something to change it, couldn't I?"
Edward gave him a disapproving look. "Do you really think that is the best approach? Anyone who expects you to change who you are does not deserve such effort, Philip."
"You're right," admitted the boxcab, subdued.
The blue engine frowned. It wasn't often that he doubted his ability to advise others – not that he thought he was infallible, he simply accepted that if one of his suggestions did backfire, it was generally within his capabilities to put things right again – but he had a bad feeling about how this one might play out. Ultimately, he acknowledged to himself, if the problem were easy to solve, he would have settled the matter by now. Counselling Philip to follow the same course of action he had taken himself all those years ago would not be helpful, the little diesel simply didn't have the same calm temperament. All the same, some aspects might prove to be worth a try. "Perhaps trying not to irritate James isn't the answer."
Philip stared at him in confusion. "What do you mean, Edward?"
"The two of you have been working together on this railway for some time now. I know that you don't set out to cause trouble with James, Philip, and by this stage, so should he." Edward paused; he needed to word this carefully. "I think perhaps the time has come to address his hostility towards you more directly. James may find it difficult to work with you, but ultimately he needs to accept that this is who you are and you are not going to change your entire character simply to please him."
Philip knitted his brows, trying to make sense of this. "So, what you're saying is... don't try to please him?"
"I'm not suggesting that you try to antagonise him," Edward clarified. "Just be who you are. And if you are unhappy with his treatment of you, don't be afraid to let him know, calmly and firmly. Make it clear that although he may not consider you to be a friend, you do deserve his respect as a colleague. When I was the subject of his disdain, years ago, I found that remaining professional and cordial and showing kindness towards him was enough to get through to him in the end. Oh, hadn't I mentioned that?" he asked, as he caught sight of Philip's surprised expression. "I had a few difficulties with James myself at one point. Don't be disheartened, Philip. I'm certain the situation will improve for you, as it did for me."
"After the incident today, I'm not sure he'll ever respect me," Philip said sadly. "It was my mistake which caused all of the trouble."
"Everyone makes mistakes. It hasn't been so long since James himself crashed through the back of Tidmouth Sheds," Edward reminded him.
"I suppose so. I don't think I'll bring that up, though!" Irrepressible as ever, Philip beamed at him, his mood bouncing back to its default cheeriness just as the older engine had hoped. "Thanks, Edward, I'll remember what you said. Sleep well!" He closed his eyes and Edward gave silent thanks when his gentle snores filled the shed a few minutes later.
Satisfied that he had at least tried even if he wasn't too confident of the outcome, Edward allowed himself to drift off. Just for once, he thought before sleep overtook him, it would be a pleasant change if someone else could be the peacemaker.
