It’s almost dark. Lily and the children have changed from the London express on to the branch line. There’s a stretch of single-track railway ahead. As each train goes through, the driver hands over the key he carries to the waiting train at the other end. There is only ever one key, and it must be taken before the train can go forward. In that way, there will never be a collision on the single-track line. Paul already knew about the key system and he explains it to Bridget, who drums her heels into the upholstery until dust flies. The making of this journey is the one thing that has lightened Paul’s mood, but he knows that soon they won’t be travelling any more: they’ll be there. No London; no school; no Danny; nothing that he knows anything about. He won’t think about Dad. Their bags and suitcases are up in the racks. Two trunks have been sent ahead. Nothing else is coming with them. Sally preached at him yesterday about how much worse it must have been for Mum when she came to England, but even Sal is silent now, with her cheek pressed against the cold glass of the window.
