She was almost close enough to touch the heather-tufted slopes rising steeply above the single track. Tom wormed his way out of his bunk and stood behind her. ‘The Highlands,’ he said. ‘Aviemore, to be precise,’ she replied. She saw the silhouette of an antlered stag up above them on a spur, poised, ready for flight. ‘Look.’ ‘What?’ ‘Stag.’ She pointed, but it had vanished. The train strained as it started its descent along the incline, then rolled into the station and stopped shy of the buffers. Passengers swarmed on to the platform in the grey light. Jim appeared from nowhere. ‘Follow me,’ he said authoritatively as he marched off, puffing dragon breath into the cold morning air, skilfully dodging any early-morning social niceties. ‘Good morning, Dad,’ she shouted after him. He ignored her, heading along the platform. The Cortina had already been offloaded from the trailer and was in the car park, its decrepit state exaggerated by the two gleaming metallic saloons parked on either side.
