There followed a tense few days for the engines of the North Western Railway, although it is to their credit that few of the humans who had dealings with the railway were aware that anything was wrong. Freight was transported efficiently and promptly, passengers were treated with the usual friendly courtesy. Commuters, clients and tourists alike remarked on what a well-run railway it was.

It was different matter for the railway's employees, particularly those whose work took them to Tidmouth Sheds on a regular basis. News of Thomas's forthcoming excursion was closely guarded for fear that broadcasting it would incur the Fat Controller's wrath but it took very little time for reports of the quarrel between James and Nia to spread. Philip, it must be said, had attempted to be discrete about the incident but the trucks who had witnessed it had little desire to keep quiet about the argument. As a result, it was more than clear to everyone that a rift had developed between the former friends. Privately the workers remarked that Nia seemed to be the better of the two at handling the fallout. She appeared to have shifted her allegiance to Rebecca and Emily; a sharp contrast with James who had fallen into a sulky silence which made working with him a challenge.

At Vicarstown, Henry brooded over James's strange confession. He had anticipated Gordon's disapproval when he left Tidmouth but the red engine's behaviour recently had been odd and he was undecided on whether it was a bid for attention or something more. He didn't know whether to feel aggrieved or concerned, although his primary response was to feel relieved that he was well out of the way at the other end of the Main Line.

At Wellsworth, Edward trawled through decades of memories, frustrated that he couldn't identify some past incident which might explain James's recent conduct. He had a sense that he must have been around when the event which James had referred to had taken place. Why else would the red engine expect him to have noticed that something had changed? Unfortunately that didn't narrow it down much, and he was glumly starting to think that he would have to accept defeat.

At Tidmouth, Percy took a more direct, less considered approach in his efforts to resolve some of the conflict in the shed. Two days after Nia and James's row Thomas was dispatched to Ffarquhar Quarry in the early morning to deliver some equipment which was required urgently, and in his absence Gordon seized the opportunity to hold forth on the topic of the tank engine's disloyalty to the railway. He was just getting into his stride, making his thoughts on the topic of 'little tank engines with delusions of grandeur' known, when Percy intervened.

"You do know that there's no point raving at us about Thomas, don't you, Gordon?" he asked with a crafty grin. "If you really don't think he should go, you ought to tell the Fat Controller. At the end of the day, it's his decision."

"And will you be doing the same?" Gordon queried, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, I'm only a little tank engine. He probably wouldn't listen to me, would he? He only listens to important engines. I don't want anyone to think I'm getting grand illusions."

"I don't think Thomas does have delusions of grandeur," added Rebecca, thoughtfully. "He really is famous, you know, Gordon."

"He's not the only one who has had books written about him," argued Gordon. "The best way to make our feelings known is to stand together-"

"Or we could just let him go," Percy interrupted. "It's all right for you Main Line engines but I have to work with him every day and I don't want to listen to him moaning all the time, thank you very much."

Gordon snorted. "You've certainly changed your tune! You were the one who brought the matter to our attention."

"You were complaining that he would forget about you," chipped in Emily, frowning deeply at the smaller engine.

"Yes, well, now I don't think he will, not really. Anyway, is it really such a bad thing to want something more from life? Let him go and get it out of his system."

"It didn't cure him of his itchy wheels last time," Gordon told him sternly. "In case you had forgotten, little Percy, you spent most of Thomas's last jaunt afflicted by paroxysms of anxiety because you were convinced your friend had perished!"

"Duck says," Percy observed, "that using long words to sound clever and actually being clever are two different things. Anyway," he continued, ignoring Emily's chuckles and cutting Gordon off before he could air his views on Duck's words of wisdom, "you're wrong, actually. I wasn't flicked by any sort of parrots. That would be ridiculous! I don't know where you heard that."

"It means that you were distressed because you thought Thomas was dead," said Gordon, bluntly but not unkindly.

Percy's face fell. "How did you know that?" he asked, his voice suddenly quiet.

"You are not as subtle as you think you are. Personally, I don't see why we should all suffer again because Thomas has developed some sort of fixation with gaudily painted engines from the colonies-"

"Colonies?" Nia's voice rang out sharply. "Kenya has been an independent republic since 1964, which is more than can be said for Sodor, so the less you have to say about 'colonies', the more you will shine!"

Gordon huffed at her impudence but had no further response and retreated into haughty silence until the time came for him to depart. Taking advantage of the lull in the conversation, Emily remarked, "If Thomas really does want to see gaudily painted engines, there would be no need for him to leave Sodor."

She glanced at James as she spoke, a slight smirk on her lips, but the comment didn't hit its target. The red engine failed to react, staring morosely at the rails below. Emily rolled her eyes. This was attention-seeking on another level, even by James's standards.

Word of Thomas's intentions did, of course, spread throughout the rest of the NWR engines and Duck and Mavis in particular wasted little time in telling him exactly what they thought of his decision to leave again. While Mavis was partially appeased by Thomas's promises to arrange cover with the Fat Controller (and by Toby's valiant efforts to smooth things over), Duck succeeded in making him feel simultaneously very small and hugely indignant.

"I have spoken to Percy," Thomas hissed at the pannier tank. Their paths had crossed at the water tower in Tidmouth yard and he had no wish for the nearby trucks to disseminate the details of the conversation across the island. He would have rolled away if his fireman hadn't already begun filling his tanks. "He's feeling happier about everything and he supports me going."

Duck raised an eyebrow. "Does he? Or is he saying that to keep you happy? Could you even tell the difference?"

"In case you've forgotten, Percy and I were friends long before you came to Sodor," Thomas pointed out grumpily. "And anyway, he doesn't need you to fight his battles any more."

"How many battles have you fought for him? If you had stuck up for him all those years ago, perhaps he and I would never have become such friends."

This rang true, and Thomas had considered the possibility many times during the many years since. He wondered whether Duck had ever tried to poach Percy for his own branch line. It bothered him that he didn't know how Percy would react if the situation did occur. The saddle tank was fiercely loyal but Duck deserved that loyalty as much as Thomas did, if not more. Somebody has to be the favourite...

Duck sighed. "Beg pardon, Thomas, but you don't know what he was like while you were away before."

"I have been told. By Emily, mainly, but Percy has mentioned it himself. Look, Duck, I came back. I'm absolutely fine. Don't you think that's enough to show Percy that he doesn't need to worry so much?"

"He can't help it," Duck said gravely. "He sees Sodor as a safe haven in a cruel and dangerous world. Can't argue with that view, really, but he feels it, the same way the Twins and Oliver do. It's strange, given that he came here before modernisation really hit the Mainland. Makes you wonder what he might have gone through in his early years."

"The Fat Controller was the first owner to ever give him a name," Thomas added. A small part of him hoped that Percy had never divulged this detail to Duck but the Great Western engine seemed unfazed by the remark.

Thomas's fireman swung the hose away from his engine and Duck, recognising that their time was up, gave him a hard look. "Don't take him for granted, Thomas. He deserves better."

"It will be better this time," Thomas vowed. "For one thing, I'm going to make sure that he has some help on the branch line so he isn't worked to exhaustion again."

"Oh well, there's an obvious solution to that problem," Duck informed him.

Thomas frowned, but he was already moving off and there was no chance to interrogate the pannier tank. "An obvious solution?" he muttered to himself. If that was the case, he had better work out what it was in short order. It wouldn't do to have Duck lording it over him for any length of time.

XXX

For his part, James wouldn't describe his actions as 'sulking'. He just didn't particularly feel like talking very much.

In truth, the results of his recent behaviour had frightened him and his silence was partly borne of the fear that he might cause yet another row with his fellow engines. His friendship was Nia was probably damaged beyond repair and it would never have happened if he hadn't dropped his defences and told her about his terror of the Flying Kipper. Philip's revelation had genuinely caught him by surprise and he was deeply concerned by it. But it was Edward's refusal to accept his apology which hurt the most. He hadn't meant to upset the older engine so badly and he had run out of ideas to rectify the situation. It was probably best that he kept his mouth shut for a while. If there were any more incidents, word would surely reach the Fat Controller and he'd be in deep trouble.

He couldn't keep it up forever, of course. Things came to head one morning when Rehema Mwangi was responsible for what many saw as an audacious breach of rail etiquette. As she arrived at the sheds for the start of the working day, she strode straight past her own engine and halted in front of James's berth, glaring up at him with folded arms. "Have you apologised yet?"

James frowned in confusion. "I'm sorry, Ma'am?"

"Your behaviour towards my engine last Thursday was unacceptable. Have you apologised yet for treating her so cruelly?"

In the neighbouring berth, Nia flushed and averted her eyes as curious looks were sent her way. James adopted a hurt expression but was saved from having to respond by his driver, who swung down from his cab and approached his colleague. "Look, Miss Mwangi, I don't know how things work over in Kenya but on this railway, you have no right to reprimand another crews' locomotive. That's down to the controller."

"In Kenya I never had any cause to reprimand another locomotive," returned Rehema smoothly. "Lack of discipline was never a concern."

"Lack of discipline?" James's driver stopped short of his new colleague, hands on his hips. "That's a bit rich coming from someone who has only just arrived to begin work. My engine, on the other hand, is in full stream and ready to go, so I'd advise moving out of his way, miss."

"Very well." Rehema stepped back, lifting her feet smartly over the rails before turning on her heel and crunching away over the ballast. "But you need to see to your engine before his nasty attitude causes you further problems."

A dark, uncomfortable feeling settled in James's boiler, overshadowing the relief supplied by leaving the sheds and heading away from the disapproval of Nia's crew. It didn't come as much of a surprise when a set of points diverted him into an empty siding in Tidmouth yard rather than to the station for the early passenger service. He braked to halt, waiting for instructions and dreading the talking-to which he knew was coming next.

His driver was clearly in no hurry to start his lecture. He dropped lightly from James's cab before casting around for something he could use as a seat. James watched him mournfully. It was obviously going to be long talk if he needed to sit down for its duration. Eventually the driver dragged over a wooden pallet, propped it on its side and perched precariously on the top.

There was a pause and then the driver finally spoke. "Well, that was humiliating."

"Yes, Sir. I'm sorry, Sir." Contrition made James more deferential than usual.

"She does have a point, of course. You ought to apologise to Nia."

James stared in surprise. "Me apologise to her? She used something I'd told her in confidence against me! Isn't that a good enough reason to be angry?"

The driver cocked his head on one side thoughtfully, causing the pallet to wobble and an undignified scramble to retain his seat. "And does this relate to your conversation with Henry the other day?"

James's expression betrayed him, and the driver gave a low whistle. "Well, this is far beyond my area of expertise. Henry's right, of course. No matter how awful that accident was, you shouldn't let it scare you off taking the Kipper. You need to pull yourself together and get on with the job, no matter what that job is. Moping about won't do you any favours."

"We're going to be late for the passengers," James reminded him anxiously.

"So be it. This needs to be dealt with." The driver sighed, fiddling distractedly with his cuff. "I suppose it's my fault, really. I've indulged you, haven't I, James? How many times have I given up my evening to set up pranks to trick the other engines? I've taken you to the washdown more often than necessary and the Steamworks nowhere near as often as I should. I knew there was a problem with your brakes before you crashed into the sheds and instead of addressing it, I let you carry on racing against Rosie. I don't know how I kept my job. The last few days have been a bit of a wake-up call and I've made a decision," he went on, carefully negotiating a descent from the pallet and looking up at his engine. "I'm going to speak to the Fat Controller and ask to be transferred to another engine."

"No!" Horrified, James stared at him. He hadn't foreseen this.

"It's for the best. We're too alike and I don't think we're particularly good for one another. I've driven Douglas a few times as a relief driver and if all goes well perhaps I'll be able to take him out more regularly."

"But I don't want you to go!" James wailed. He had had many drivers during his time on Sodor, of course, but the current incumbent of the role had connected with him in a way that few people ever had. The thought of beginning again with a new person was just too much at the moment.

The driver reached forward, patting his buffer. "You've always known I'd leave you some day. I'm human; it's just what happens."

"That's different," James protested. "Everyone will know that I've driven you away. No one will want to work with me. Please, I'll be better..."

"You've said that before," the driver remarked.

He had, of course. Several times, most of them after he destroyed the back wall of Tidmouth Sheds.

"This time I have to be," he said miserably. "Nia is furious with me. Edward won't even speak to me. Philip is actually frightened that I might hurt him. If I don't do something about it, the Fat Controller will find out and then I'll really be in trouble. I don't want to be the engine that no one likes." A thought occurred to him and he chuckled, sadly and briefly. "I don't want to be like Diesel."

"What do you want?"

James thought. "I want other engines to enjoy my company. I want them to see me coming and think, 'Oh good, here's James, now we shall have some fun!'"

"You know that will only be possible if you make amends with the engines you've quarrelled with?"

"I've tried. Edward won't listen."

"Then leave Edward for the time being. Start with Nia instead."

There was another long pause, during which James could feel the fireman shuffling about awkwardly in his cab. "Do you think Nia meant to threaten me?" he asked eventually.

"No, I don't," the driver said with absolute certainty. "I couldn't say what actually happened to her but she seemed to have completely take leave of her senses and I don't think she was at all aware of what was happening around her. Her crew were very worried."

James grimaced. "Then how can I possibly make it up to her?"

The driver drummed his fingers against his chin thoughtfully. "What you need," he remarked, "is a Grand Gesture."

James raised a quizzical eyebrow.

"A Grand Gesture always works when I'm in trouble with the missus," the driver elaborated. "Dinner in a fancy restaurant, a weekend away in Llandudno, that sort of thing. Something to show that you accept you were in the wrong and you're prepared to make an effort to show that you're sorry. What would Nia like more than anything else?"

"To be back in Kenya with all her old friends around her," James said. "I think that's a bit beyond my abilities, don't you?"

The driver rolled his eyes. "All right, what would she like more than anything else on Sodor?"

The answer to this question was obvious, of course, and just as James realised it, he also saw how it could be achieved. It was like a series of points switching into place within his mind, the route to his objective clear.

And, with another sudden flash of inspiration, he saw how he might get back into Edward's good books as well. Grand Gesture? James the Red Engine was going to make the grandest of all possible gestures. He might actually be a genius.

"I can't make any kind of Grand Gestures without help from people," he said slowly, his eyes glinting as he watched his driver drag the pallet back to its original position. The man paused, his back to the engine, and James knew that he understood. "If you leave me now there'll be no one to help me put things right."

The driver's shoulders slumped and he turned to face James. "All right, you've got me there. I can tell you've got a plan. You tell me what you're thinking and if it's reasonable and doable, I'll stick it out until you've put it into action."

"And then?" James asked hopefully.

"Then we see how things go. Take this as a final warning, though, my lad."

Disaster averted, albeit possibly temporarily, James allowed himself to relax slightly. There was only one problem with his scheme, and he screwed up his nose at the prospect of the task ahead.

"I'm going to have to talk to Thomas," he said.

XXX

It was raining again. Heavy drops hammered down on the glass roof of Knapford Station. The resulting din wasn't quite loud enough to drown out the Fat Controller's voice as he shouted across to reprimand Oliver at platform 3. Thomas, waiting at platform 1 and therefore much closer to the source of the sound, winced.

"You were making so much noise that I thought something terrible had happened and you were summoning help! There really is absolutely no need to be whistling like that in the station. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Sir," Oliver muttered, his eyes downcast and his cheeks flushed.

The Fat Controller glared at him and cast a forbidding look at his number 1 engine as well for good measure. "Now, I have important matters to attend to. I am going back to my office and I don't wish to be disturbed again this afternoon."

The engines maintained a respectful silence for the few seconds it took him to reach the door. As it closed behind him, a scowling Oliver opened his mouth to speak but Thomas got in first. "I'm really sorry, Oliver. I didn't mean for you to get into trouble."

"You were ignoring me!" complained the Great Western engine. "I only whistled so loudly because you and Emily didn't react when I whistled the first time."

Emily had departed as soon as the office door had swung open, leaving Thomas in the firing line. On reflection, she probably expected to be on the receiving end of their owner's ire, what with Thomas being 'the favourite'.

"Were you arguing?" Oliver asked.

"Yes," admitted Thomas.

"Because of the India thing?"

"Yes."

"Can't see the appeal, myself. I'm perfectly happy here on Sodor and I wouldn't want to risk my position by giving anyone the idea that I have itchy wheels. Ashima must mean a lot to you," Oliver added, his eyes twinkling mischievously.

It was Thomas's turn to blush. "It's not like that," he muttered. "We're friends."

"Come off it, Thomas! You've met loads of foreign engines while you've been travelling and you're not suggesting going back to China or Brazil or any of the other places you visited to see them. There must be something special about Ashima!"

"Well, I might go to those other places if the India trip works out," Thomas argued.

Oliver grimaced good-humouredly. "Don't let Duck catch you saying that. He's had plenty to say about you leaving your branch line again."

"I know, he's already had words with me about it. I don't think he believes me but honestly, things will be different this time." Thomas sighed. "I just need to find a way to convince the Fat Controller that we need an engine to replace me, someone who can cope with branch line work and won't leave everything to Percy and Toby."

"That shouldn't be too difficult," remarked Oliver, as a whistle sounded behind him. "I mean, there's an obvious solution to that problem, isn't there?"

"Is there?" Thomas asked, but Oliver was already moving and any attempt to continue the conversation was made virtually impossible by James pulling in to platform 2 with a passenger service. "He means I shouldn't go to India, doesn't he?" he said to himself gloomily. "That's the 'obvious solution'."

"That isn't what he meant," James remarked, gliding past him to stop at the other end of the platform.

Thomas blinked in surprise, then took advantage of having no rolling stock coupled behind him to reverse along the track, drawing level with the larger engine. "Oh, you're speaking to me again now, are you?"

"So it would seem," returned James coolly.

It wasn't the friendliest of greetings, but Thomas's curiosity got the better of him and he let it pass. "What did Oliver mean, then?"

James eyed him sceptically. "You really don't know? You can't think of an engine who could go and work on your branch line?"

"You don't mean... you?" asked Thomas doubtfully but even as the words left his mouth he realised how ridiculous the suggestion was.

James snorted in indignation. "Me? I wouldn't do it for all of the coal in Newcastle. The Fat Controller could promise to never give me a goods train ever again and I still wouldn't do it. Even if he said-"

"All right, you've made your point," snapped Thomas.

"Right, let's get something straight here. Are you still set on going to India?"

"I am," Thomas assured him.

"Then I will help you," said James loftily, "but there are conditions attached."

"And how can you help?" asked Thomas, unconvinced. .

"I can solve your branch line issue for a start. And I can persuade other engines to come around to your point of view. More specifically, I can talk Gordon around and that's half the battle won. I know exactly how to change his mind. And in return I need you to do two things for me."

"Two things? You're not asking much, are you?"

James glared. "Do you want my help or not?"

"That depends on your 'two things'. I mean, you've spend days sulking and not really talking to anyone and now I suppose you want my help to make you look good aga-"

"Look, Thomas, I want to help Nia out and do something nice for Edward," James interrupted. "And I can't speak to the Fat Controller myself because he'll ask too many questions. But if you ask..."

"Oh, I'm the favourite so the Fat Controller does everything I ask him to?" said Thomas bitterly.

"You won't get into trouble just for asking. I would."

Thomas sighed, exasperated. "All right. If it's for Edward and Nia, I'll help you. What do you want me to do?"

James looked at him with just the slightest hint of a smirk. "You're going to help me to pull off not one, but two Grand Gestures."

XXX

That night, James dreamt about the Kipper incident again. It was a far more lucid nightmare than the usual vague impression of something inescapable and horrific looming behind him. Edward was there, busying himself with the clean up operation, but he didn't seem to notice James. Then James found himself facing the accident and there was Nia, not Henry, lying in the snow with her eyes half closed, muttering words he didn't understand. Henry was present, standing next to Gordon on tracks which weren't there. The big blue engine was stone-faced so James called out to Henry for help but his friend frowned and said, "But why?" And then it wasn't Henry, it was Philip, and the little diesel was giving him such an accusatory look and then his driver climbed down from his cab, revealing herself to be Dowager Hatt, clutching a string which led to a large pig, inflated like a balloon...

And then he was awake, staring out into the very beginning of a dark, misty November morning.

He found his eyes sliding to his right, to the still unfamiliar sight of Rebecca in the end berth. Was Henry out there in the gloom somewhere right now, dutifully towing the fish vans towards the Mainland?

Dwelling on the nightmare wouldn't achieve much. It was blatantly obvious what most of it meant, although the inflatable pig was an odd element. James shunted it firmly to the back of his mind, turning his thoughts to his plan instead. His negotiations with Thomas had been largely successful and now he needed to hone his strategy to win Gordon over. By the time he drifted off to sleep again, he had silently rehearsed his part over and over again and he was confident that the scheme left little to chance. It might not have an immediate effect but it would work eventually, he was sure of it.

Once upon a time Gordon had been left on sidings in between express services while his crew took their breaks. The acquisition of Rebecca meant he was afforded the luxury of resting in the sheds these days and so it wasn't until the late afternoon that James found an opportunity to speak to him. His driver had been as good as his word and managed to arrange his break so that there was a brief overlap with that of Gordon's driver before the evening commuter services began. James wasn't relying on a private conversation to initiate his plan but it seemed he would get one and that wasn't a bad thing.

"Good afternoon, Gordon," he said pleasantly as he reversed into his berth, glad to take shelter from the cold breeze which heralded the imminent arrival of winter.

Gordon, who had watched his approach with a detached air, raised his eyebrows. "Good afternoon. Did the silent treatment fail to achieve whatever you were aiming for?"

"I wasn't sulking. I've been doing a lot of thinking," James informed him.

"I'm glad to hear it. I hope you spent some time reflecting on your attitude. I must say, you have been letting the side down very badly of late."

"What side?" asked James, confused enough by this to forget his carefully constructed scheme. "The railway?"

Gordon rolled his eyes. "You seem to have forgotten your position recently, James. You are an important engine and a long-standing member of this railway. With all of these newcomers joining us, it's imperative that we show everyone we tender engines are the cornerstone of the North Western and deserve respect and appreciation. Now that Henry has gone to Vicarstown, it's more important than ever that both you and I set the tone."

It took James a few seconds to process this statement. While he glowed inwardly at being described as 'important', such an about-turn after being treated so coolly in the aftermath of his accident was rather confusing. "Oh, so you need me as an ally now Henry has left?"

Gordon frowned at him. "We've always been allies, James."

"Then why have you spent weeks freezing me out, blaming me for Henry and Edward going?" He hadn't meant to say it; the words had escaped from his smokebox before he had the chance to stop them. Gordon held his gaze, his expression unreadable. James suspected that this was the closest thing to an apology – or even an acknowledgement – that he was going to receive.

"Henry and Edward have made their choices," Gordon said, rather ominously, after a moment. "But we must stick together. Emily has never really understood her responsibilities, so it falls to the two of us to maintain the old standards."

James grinned. "If we're going back to the 'old standards', perhaps you ought to let me pull the express again?"

"Don't be childish, James. You know full well that the express is far too heavy for a small engine such as yourself these days. It isn't the same as it was back in the '30s."

"Exactly," James agreed, having long since accepted that he was unlikely to ever pull the express again and therefore not particularly upset at Gordon's remark. "Things have changed during the years we've been on this railway."

"And yet we go on." Gordon jutted out his chin, his eyes fixed on a point in the distance.

"You certainly do. On and on and on..."

Gordon glared at him.

"Come on, Gordon, it's a bit much for you to complain about my attitude when you're getting all maudlin again. Anyway, I wanted to talk to you about Thomas."

"This ridiculous India proposal, I assume?" Gordon asked, his mood instantly lifting from melancholy to disapproval.

"Thomas's visit to India might work in our favour, you know," James informed him.

Gordon glanced at him reproachfully. "Thomas is going to India for the benefit of no one but himself."

"Yes, I'd agree with that," James conceded. "But it might benefit us accidentally. Look at what happened last time he went away. The Fat Controller bought Rebecca because we couldn't keep up with the demand, and that was an unplanned trip. Imagine how much extra traffic we might get after a properly organised promotional tour! Everyone will want to visit Sodor to see us. We might get as much attention as we did when the Thin Clergyman published a new book."

"You and I both know that the Thin Clergyman's books do as much harm as good," Gordon pointed out, having never really forgiven the author for publicising the ditch incident.

"I'm well aware of that," James returned, having had more than his own share of humiliation from the same source. "This is a very different situation. The Thin Clergyman wants to tell stories. The Fat Controller wants people to visit our railway. If visitors from all over the world come to Sodor to see us, that would make it clear how important we are. Especially to new engines like Rebecca."

"Visitors would come to see all of us, not just tender engines," argued Gordon. "In fact, they would probably be more likely to want to see the tank engines if all of the attention is on Thomas."

"Ah," said James, trying not to smirk as his winning argument came into play, "but you have an advantage the rest of us don't. Your brother-"

Gordon groaned. "Must you bring my brother into this?"

"Yes, because it's relevant. Your brother has made a career out of the attention of rail enthusiasts but he never stays in one place. Isn't he in America at the moment?"

"Somewhere like that," grumbled Gordon.

"He's not easy to find," James explained, "whereas you..."

Gordon looked at him, his eyes widening almost imperceptibly, and James knew that his plan was working. "People need to be reminded that if they want to see an example of Gresley's finest demonstrating exactly what he's capable of, Sodor is the place to do it. Remember all the fuss when you went off to London and your picture was in the newspapers? Thomas's trip will show everyone that we are proper working engines doing proper jobs – not just running up and down a tiny stretch of line like Stepney and all the others on heritage railways. I'd rather like to have a bit more of that sort of attention."

"You like any sort of attention," muttered Gordon, but James could see a light in his eyes that hadn't been there before.

"If we show Thomas some support, he'd probably be more likely to say complimentary things about us," James added slowly, in the manner of one who was pondering the subject for the first time. He'd spent a lot of time deliberating exactly how to create that impression during the early hours of that morning. "The enthusiasts and the tourists will definitely want to visit us if he does."

It was at this stage that Gordon's crew returned but it didn't matter. James had done enough. Gordon held his gaze for a moment or two before saying, "You make an interesting point, James. I will give it some thought."

As he watched Gordon leave, he found himself reminiscing about his own siblings. He had learnt of their demise via a conversation with a careless enthusiast who had asked what class he was and, upon hearing the answer, remarked, "Oh, I didn't think there were any Class 28s left!"

He didn't think about them much. Perhaps that was something he ought to feel more guilt about, but instead James's response was one of resentment towards the management of the Lancashire and Yorkshire Railway. If they had been more like the Fat Controller and the board of the NWR, perhaps he would have had more of a relationship with the other engines of his class. They probably hadn't spared a thought for him once he had left for Sodor either.

Anyway, he had fulfilled his promise. All he could do now was to wait for Thomas to carry out his side of the bargain.

XXX

When it came, a couple of days later, Gordon's change of heart over Thomas's trip to India set more tongues wagging than Percy's had. And, as James had foreseen, with it came a shift in the mood. Once the big engine had added his voice to those of Percy and Edward - and, to a lesser extent, James himself who had begun to play up his expected vanity - public opinion gradually swung in Thomas's favour. By the end of the week the only remaining opposition came from Emily, who still held him responsible for the Fat Controller's previous departure from Sodor, and from the Little Westerners, who held their stance largely out of loyalty to Duck. Diesel objected too, but Diesel objected to most things so no one was particularly interested in anything he had to say.

This meant that Edward and Duck were in the unusual position of being on different sides of the argument. Both acknowledged, in brief, hushed conversations when their timetables aligned at Knapford, that it was fortunate they were mature enough to disagree without ruining their friendship but neither was happy with the situation. Duck openly – on his own branch line, at least - blamed Thomas for driving a wedge between them. Edward privately thought that Duck had a blind spot where Thomas was concerned. His moral code was unwavering and he simply couldn't see past Thomas's abandonment of his branch line and his colleagues as it ran contrary to everything that the pannier tank held to be sacrosanct. Duty would always outweigh friendship.

It wasn't Edward's problem to solve, but that didn't stop him puzzling over possibilities which might bring the two engines together and allow Duck to see things from another's point of view. It was also a welcome break from the frustrating James question and he applied himself thoroughly to considering the matter as he shunted trucks at Wellsworth yard one chilly afternoon. It was another job he didn't need to do – Philip often sorted out the sidings before settling down in the shed at night – but he enjoyed it and it gave him something to do while thinking. The day had been drizzly but as he worked, the clouds suddenly parted and a beam of late afternoon sunlight slanted down into the yard, turning everything golden. It was beautiful, and Edward was suddenly overcome with a deep nostalgia for... well, he didn't exactly know what. All he knew was that some quality of the light made him feel wistful for something now long gone.

He was so busy admiring the scene that he didn't notice the arrival of another engine until he heard a very familiar whistle. Looking across, he saw James approaching, red paint glowing warmly in the autumn light. Edward noted that there were no trucks behind him; he had no reason to be at Wellsworth at this time. No doubt he was here to attempt another apology.

"BoCo is in Ireland," the red engine said, apropos of nothing.

Edward stared, taken aback at this completely unexpected announcement. "He's where?"

"Ireland." James gave a wry smile. "It seems Thomas isn't the only one who gets have foreign adventures after all."

"But how do you know that?"

"I asked the Fat Controller. Well, strictly speaking I persuaded Thomas to ask the Fat Controller. You do know that you could have done that at any time? Anyway, I asked if I could be the one to give you the news." James looked him in the eye. "I told him that I had had a disagreement with you and I wanted to make up for it. My crew have a letter for you."

Indeed, James's fireman had swung down from his cab and was handing a letter to Edward's driver, who briefly scanned the page. "He's telling the truth, old chap," he remarked. "BoCo has actually dictated this himself by the sounds of it. Here, I'll read it to you."

'My dear Edward,

'I hope all is well with you and the twins are behaving themselves. I am in Dublin, would you believe! Mr Woods, the enthusiast who has borrowed me, heard that Irish Rail had a class of diesel engines who had been fitted with the same engine as I had when I was built. They have had all sorts of problems, the poor things, so he decided to take me to show the Irish engineers how the alterations to my system have made me a more reliable engine. When we arrived we found that things were even worse than we realised. The A class diesels have had so many problems that they are horribly low in spirits and completely lacking in motivation. Work has begun to replace their engines, thank goodness, but in the meantime I've been asked to stay on to fill in for those who are away at their Works and show the rest of the class that they can be really useful engines with the right care. It has given me a really strange sense that things have somehow come full circle. When I first came to Sodor, you showed me that I wasn't a hopeless case and told me I should have faith that better days were ahead. Now I am used as a shining example for other diesels with engine troubles! What a turnaround!

'My driver says I have to get on with my work now, so I will end by saying that although I am enjoying the chance to see more of the world, I am looking forward to returning home again. Please give my best wishes to everyone who remembers me and tell them I hope to be back soon.

Warmest regards,

BoCo"

Folding the letter and returning it to its envelope, the driver grinned up at his engine. "Just look at that smile!"

Edward couldn't help it; he was beaming so widely that each side of his mouth must surely have reached the very edges of his smokebox. He felt lighter on his frame than he had done for some time: clearly he had been more worried about BoCo than he had allowed himself to acknowledge. "Thank you," he told James sincerely. "That was very thoughtful of you. I really do appreciate it."

James smiled back tentatively. "You should have just asked the Fat Controller yourself. You could have saved yourself a lot of worry."

"I did!" Edward protested. "I've asked several times-"

"Ah, but there is a big difference between, 'Have you had any updates from BoCo, Sir?' and 'Sir, I am actually quite worried because BoCo ought to have returned by now.'" James pointed out. "And I can guess how you approached it." His eyes narrowed slightly and he gave the older engine a shrewd look. "Were you scared of what the answer might be?"

Edward raised an eyebrow. James didn't show such flashes of insight very often but when he did, he could be surprisingly perceptive. "I suppose that might have been a factor," he admitted. "I know that the Fat Controller would never let anything happen to one of his engines but still... Fears often aren't rational, are they?"

"You have no idea," James said solemnly, and now it was Edward's turn to cast an appraising eye over his colleague. James noticed and, with little attempt at subtlety, proceeded to move the conversation on. "I don't expect you to forgive me for the things I said, Edward," he said, speaking quickly as though desperate to get the words out as fast as possible. "I wanted to do you a favour because I knew you were worried about BoCo but I understand that it doesn't change what happened."

"It doesn't," Edward agreed cautiously.

"I shouldn't have reacted the way I did. It wasn't your fault." James heaved a deep sigh and looked away. "None of this is your fault, despite what I said the other day. I've realised something, Edward – actually, no, I haven't realised, I always knew... Oh, I'm terrible at this sort of thing. I have accepted that it isn't your responsibility to look out for me. I'd somehow managed to convince myself that it was."

"I would argue than on any decent railway, engines would look out for each other," Edward remarked softly. James rarely lowered his guard like this and he was genuinely curious to see where it might lead.

James's mouth twisted into something that might have been an attempt at another smile, his eyes still elsewhere. "The last few days have caused me to wonder if the railway I came from could be described as 'decent'. Engines there were in competition all of time, trying to prove that there was something special about each of us so we would stand out and get the best jobs. It took me years to properly understand that the North Western isn't like that. But I've been here a long time, haven't I? Long enough to have learned how to behave better. The point is, I've blamed you for not solving my problems because it gave me an excuse to get angry and it's easier to get angry than to try to solve those problems. It's easier to blame someone other than myself."

"I appreciate your honesty," Edward told him, "but I must point out that if you were to ask, I would-"

"You would have tried to help. Yes, I know. But that would mean I would have to ... discuss things I don't want to talk about."

"Are these things that you discussed with Nia?"

"When you spend all of your time competing against your colleagues, you learn not to show any sign of weakness," said James slowly. "And that has stayed with me. I regretted being honest with Nia as soon as it happened and I've been unfair to her ever since. Just like I've been unfair to you. Did you know Philip is afraid of me?"

Edward forced back the temptation to laugh. "I really don't think-"

"He is," James said, looking him in the eye again. "He pretty much told me so. And you don't see it because you know me better than he does and you know I would never intentionally hurt another engine, even one as annoying as Philip. Ask him if you don't believe me."

His sincerity was absolute and Edward realised that there was little point in arguing. "What are you going to do?"

"I have to be nice, don't I? Not just to Philip, to everyone." James sighed. "I don't have much experience of being nice."

Edward couldn't help but smile at this. "I must admit, the idea of a 'nice' James is a bit difficult to imagine. I wouldn't go to such lengths if I were you."

James looked offended. "I can be nice!"

"I'm not saying you couldn't, I just don't think you should. Don't force yourself to be someone you're not."

"I've caused all of these problems by being myself, Edward. That's the issue."

"And you're also trying to make things right because that's the sort of engine you are. You're determined and you don't give up when faced with a challenge, so I know you'll keep working at it until you've made amends. The best way forward isn't to change who you are, it's to demonstrate to everyone that there's plenty of good in you already. Be the best version of James you can be."

There was a pause, during which the clouds resumed their previous positions and the sunlight faded. James gazed thoughtfully at the rails in front of him and Edward did his best to hide his growing impatience as the silence stretched out. Eventually a thought struck him and he gave James a stern look. "Are you waiting in the hope of getting more compliments?"

James chuckled. "Well, if you wanted to send some more my way, I obviously wouldn't object. You haven't mentioned my paintwork yet. But no, it wasn't my intention. I was just thinking about your advice. Thank you," he added, his expression suddenly serious. "I know I don't make it easy for anyone to be my friend. I really am grateful that you persevere with me, Edward."

The earnest look on James's face strongly reminded Edward of the time following his own post-overhaul return to service back in the '50s when James had still felt beholden to him after being rescued as a runaway. "Oh, well," he said, suddenly feeling slightly embarrassed to be lauded in such a way, "sometimes we value things more highly if it took more work to obtain them."

"Sometimes we show how much we value the things we have by working hard to keep them," returned James.

Edward smiled in agreement. "I'll speak to Philip for you."

A flicker of annoyance crossed James's face. "I just told you, I don't expect you to solve my problems for me."

"I know, and I admire your willingness to solve them yourself, but I'd like to demonstrate my gratitude at you bringing me news of BoCo."

"That was a Grand Gesture," pouted James. "You're not supposed to feel indebted to me."

"James, you must see that it will be a lot easier for me to resolve this issue than it would be for you. Philip will listen to me." Edward watched as James's driver tapped on the side of his cab; a sure sign that it was time for him to move. "You don't have to do everything on your own, you know. Trust me, this is the best approach."

"I suppose you're right," James admitted grudgingly. "Well, I must go. I have another Grand Gesture to oversee at Knapford."

"Another one? You have been busy."

"You're not the only friend I've treated badly," said James frankly.

Edward watched him depart, unsure whether he ought to feel annoyed or amused. How many times had he found himself in exactly this position, singing James's praises to a third party following a bout of poor behaviour on the part of the red engine? Edward couldn't quite pinpoint whether James had an uncanny ability to persuade him to take his side or whether it was his own willingness to see good intentions rewarded which conquered his resolve.

But now was not the time to consider this. Now he was going to indulge himself by reflecting on the good news James had obtained for him. BoCo was safe, BoCo was happy and one day, hopefully not too far in the future, BoCo would be coming home.

XXX

"...and he was so firmly wedged in the wall that it took Donald and Douglas to pull him out! I saw him when he was on his way to the works and he had bits of wood and leaves and twigs all over his front. He did look a sight!"

Percy's laughter was infectious and Nia couldn't help but join in. "The Fat Controller must have been furious!"

"Oh, he was, and you can just imagine how angry the Stationmaster was too! Thomas was in disgrace for ages and that's when we got Daisy. She had to do Thomas's work for him and she was not happy about some of it. You should ask Toby about the time she met a bull on the line, you'll enjoy that story!"

Nia chuckled again. Percy really was entertaining company when he was in good spirits and besides, she had spotted James lurking in the evening gloom over on the other side of Knapford yard with his headlamp switched off. It wouldn't be a bad thing for him to see her having a laugh with another engine.

"Anyway, I'd better get a move on," Percy said cheerfully. "I've got a- oh, look! Here he comes now! Hello Thomas! Made any house calls today?"

The blue engine's puzzled expression as he approached was enough to send them both off into gales of laughter again, but their amusement was terminated abruptly when the Fat Controller leaned from his cab. Apprehension flowed through Nia's boiler at the possibility that he might have learned about her breakdown.

"Ah, good evening, you two. I'm glad I've caught you both before you set off for your next jobs," Sir Topham Hatt said, beginning to climb down to ground level. Percy and Nia exchanged puzzled looks as he descended, assisted by Percy's driver who produced a crate to act as a step. The controller reached the ballast safely before positioning himself at just the right spot to be illuminated by Thomas's headlamp. "Right, then. Thomas here has a proposal for you both."

Thomas grinned brightly as his friends turned surprised gazes in his direction. "Percy, I know that last time I went away you were left to take up the slack on the branch line and I am really sorry. I didn't mean to make things difficult for you or Toby. I don't want that to happen again so I've asked the F- er, Sir Topham Hatt - whether it would be possible for another engine who is already familiar with Sodor to cover my jobs while I'm in India." Thomas looked over at Nia. "Nia, you had a branch line in Kenya and I know how much you miss it. Would you look after my line for me, please?"

At first all Nia could do was stare at him. "Really?"

"Really. After all of the time we've spent together I know you well enough to be sure that you'll do a good job. I can't think of another engine I'd rather have looking after my branch line with Percy and Toby. Will you do it?"

"It is not my decision," Nia said slowly, glancing at the engine on the track alongside her. "Percy, it's your branch line too. Would you be happy for me to join you?"

The look Percy gave her in response was one of weariness, all of the light-hearted joking of a few minutes earlier falling away. "Please say yes," he said in a tone which was just short of pleading. It was easy to forget, sometimes, that Percy was a much older engine than he appeared but at that moment Nia could see the years clearly.

"Toby-" she began.

"Toby won't have any objections," Percy assured her.

"Then I will do it," said Nia, trying and failing to keep her delight in check. "Thank you, Thomas. And thank you, Sir."

"Excellent. We all have faith that you will do a good job. I'll discuss the details with your crew in the next few days," the Fat Controller told her. "Thank you, both of you. I'll leave you to continue with your work. Thomas, please could you take me back to the station?"

As he climbed back into Thomas's cab, Nia beamed at the blue engine. "It was very kind of you to think of me, Thomas."

"It was the obvious solution to the problem," Thomas declared. "Although... I did need a little help to see it."

"So whose idea was it?" asked Percy, one eyebrow raised quizzically.

The Fat Controller had completed his ascent and Thomas released his brakes. "James," he answered, beginning to roll away. "But he's right, isn't he? You are the best engine for the job, Nia."

Nia stared at Percy in surprise. "James? But why would he do that?"

"That's what James does," remarked Percy. "His self-importance gets the better of him and he behaves badly. Then he realises how much hurt he's caused and he'll do anything to show you that he's sorry."

"You sound like you are speaking from experience, eh?"

Percy smiled. "Well, yes. But have you noticed how he treats me now? He's always decent to me." He looked towards the siding where James was waiting in the shadows. "Talk to him, Nia."

And with that he also departed. Nia remained stationary, undecided on whether to speak to James or to maintain her strategy of ignoring him. In the end curiosity won out and she made her way slowly across the points towards him. James sat just outside the pool of light cast by an electric lamp, his face partly in shadow and his expression hidden.

"You told Thomas that I should look after his branch line while he is in India," she said quietly.

"Yes."

"Percy thinks it is an apology."

"He'd know, I suppose. He's witnessed enough of 'em. Did you agree to it?"

"That is a silly question."

"It isn't. I thought there was a chance you'd turn the offer down once you found out I was involved."

"Then you do not know me at all."

"Well, there you have it." James took a deep breath. "Nia, I honestly thought that you were trying to threaten me that day at the scrapyard. And I was furious. I thought that our friendship was just a tool that you planned to use for your own advantage. No, let me finish," as she began to object. "Edward told me I'd got it wrong, and my driver thinks so too, and I respect their opinions-"

"HA!" came a rather discourteous cry from the red engine's cab. "Since when?"

"...but I didn't listen," James went on. "I never listen. Too self-obsessed. It's all about me, is it? You broke down and I immediately decided that it was all some sort of scheme to boss me about. It never occurred to me that it had nothing to do with me at all."

Nia said nothing, scanning what little she could make out of James's face in the dim light and trying to gage whether another argument was building.

"Edward told me about Shomari. Don't be angry with him, he thought I already knew and he only mentioned it to persuade me to be kinder to you. I'm so sorry, Nia. I can't imagine how awful that must feel."

Grief threatened to overwhelm her again and she pushed it away, outwards, crushing it against the inner walls of her smokebox. She wouldn't give James the satisfaction of giving in to it in front of him.

In a quieter voice James added, "Everyone I've ever really cared about is here on Sodor."

"Maybe you should tell them that more often, you know?"

James gave a slight, awkward cough. "What do you think I'm trying to do now? Percy's right: I am apologising. I've been awful to you, and to Edward, and to Philip. During the last few days, I've started to realise that I really don't like the engine I've become. I don't want you to think I was built this way; I'm not usually so horrible. So I spoke to Thomas about you taking over his branch line because I wanted to show you that I really am sorry – and because everyone was getting frustrated that Thomas was being so idiotic and hadn't worked out by himself that you were the logical choice. Did you accept the offer?"

Despite herself, Nia couldn't help but smile at this remark. "Of course I did. Thank you, James."

"You deserve it. I don't much like branch line work myself but I know you do, so..." The limited light caught James's eyes as he glanced around the yard and Nia sensed that he was preparing to say something that he felt apprehensive about. "It isn't enough, though. I know that. A couple of Grand Gestures will only demonstrate how good I am at apologising. It's pointless unless I do something about my own behaviour. So I'm going to. This all started with the Flying Kipper and that's been the problem all along. I've spoken to the Fat Controller and I've volunteered to take the Kipper for the next week."

Nia looked at him, surprise giving way to a feeling of grudging admiration. "How does Henry feel about it?"

"I haven't spoken to him about it yet, but to be honest, I don't care. I have to do this to prove to myself that I can. If I don't fly into a panic every time I have to take the Kipper, I'm less likely to go around upsetting everyone. Edward said something earlier which really made me think. He said that I don't give up when faced with a challenge and it occurred to me that this is the one challenge I haven't stuck at. Perhaps if I hadn't given up all those years ago, things would be different now."

"What if it doesn't help? What if at the end of the week you still feel the same?"

"Then I'll keep taking it. I'll pull the Kipper for as long as it takes. Henry might not like losing his regular job but now that I've spoken to him he should understand why I'm doing it."

"And the others...?"

"I told the Fat Controller that I wanted to prove I could do as good a job as Henry and he believed me. That should be plausible enough to convince everyone else. Vain old James, always showing off."

He really was trying, that much was obvious. His remorse and his determination to be better were genuine and Nia couldn't help but feel impressed. And so she was torn: James had behaved appallingly and to a degree she wanted to hold on to the anger and the hurt that his actions had caused to remind herself not to let her guard down, not to be fooled into a false friendship again. But he had accepted responsibility and seemed to be doing his best to learn from his mistakes, so what more could she really ask?

She was so tired. Tired of losing those she held dear, tired of pretending to be someone she wasn't, tired of being an outsider. Maintaining an active animosity towards James would simply be exhausting and what would she gain from it? Nothing worth having. He'd already seen the error of his ways.

Shomari would have advised that she forgive James. He had always tolerated Little Grace and she had been a far more malicious character. "If Grace wants to spread worry and discord, let her. We don't have to pay any mind to anything she says," he had remarked once when Nia had given vent to her dislike of their boxy visitor. "Why fill your smokebox with negativity when you could be enjoying your life?"

Oh, how she hoped that outlook had served him well towards the end.

James was tense on the line next to her; she could hear pent-up steam escaping as he waited for her response. "Why are you sitting in the dark? It is not like you to hide."

"It seemed appropriate, I don't know why." Light flooded the tracks ahead as James switched his lamp on, casting a dim light on his own face. "Is that better?"

"Yes. Now I can look you in the eye properly while I tell you what I think of you." Nia paused, allowing her words to sink in and noting with some satisfaction that James appeared even more on edge than he had a moment earlier. "I think you are very brave. And if things become difficult and you need a sympathetic listener to share the burden with, then I am here."

Confusion spread across the red engine's face, quickly replaced by a broad but fleeting smile. "And I'm willing to do the same. Although I would completely understand if you would rather speak to Edward or Emily. I haven't been the most understanding engine recently. I'll try my best though. I'm sorry to ask, but... what news have you had of Shomari? Edward didn't say."

Nia exhaled deeply, picturing the crates she imagined within her smokebox. "He is missing. He did not arrive in Kampala and I have to assume the worse."

"Oh, Nia. I'm so sorry. Look, have you considered asking the Fat Controller if he can track him down? He has contacts overseas, that's how he arranged Thomas's trip to India."

James looked so hopeful that she almost felt guilty for dismissing the idea. "I have caused him enough problems already, you know? I do not want to be seen as a difficult engine."

James chuckled. "You're not difficult, take it from an engine who knows! I honestly don't think it would hurt to ask. He can be surprisingly understanding about that sort of thing. He once brought the Flying Scotsman to visit Gordon because he was low about losing his other brothers."

"I cannot ask him, James. If I do, and he finds out..."

Words failed her but James was not slow on the uptake. "It could be bad news."

They sat in silence for a few moments, a chill wind swirling around their wheels. James spoke first.

"Nia, I'm usually the last engine anyone would go to for advice so I don't know whether you'll listen to this or not but I feel that it needs to be said. If the last few days have taught me anything, it's this: dwelling on the past is a terrible idea if it means you can't do your job properly in the present. I have been so distracted by the memory of Henry's accident that I lost sight of what is important and I nearly ruined everything. I'm not saying that your problems are anything like mine, I'm not that insensitive. I just don't want you to end up in a similar position one day. I don't want you to be looking back all the time while life carries on around you."

"You would want to know?"

James considered this. "I think I would."

Nia smiled ruefully. "I think you are braver than I am."

"You've travelled all around the world. You're not short of bravery, Nia. But if it would help, I could come with you to ask the Fat Controller. Just for support. I wouldn't interfere."

He was right. She had extricated herself from whatever fate the EAR had designated for her, she had survived scrapes which would have defeated other engines and on top of that, she had saved Thomas from disaster more than once. She was brave. She could face up to this. She owed it to Shomari but more than that, she owed it to herself.

"Very well," she told James. "Then we will both be brave together."

Author's Note:

Well, that was a long time coming, wasn't it? This is the end of the story proper but there is an epilogue to follow (which I'm almost certain won't take me a year to write but I probably shouldn't make any promises).

I wanted to include a plausible (or as plausible as you get when writing about talking trains) explanation for BoCo's absence in this story and as luck would have it I happened across the Wikipedia entry for the CIE 001 Class, an Irish locomotive which suffered exactly the same engine issues as the Metrovicks. I like the idea that BoCo has been sent overseas as a mentor to another class of unfortunate diesels. There was an Australian class which also used the same engine so who knows, perhaps he has more adventures to come!