Fallen From the Train

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  We hiked up out of the forest until the old station came into view. A couple of miles from my house, it was barely noticeable, buried beneath the forest. There was little left of it now besides the platform; the old station master’s house and a footbridge that I’d seen in photographs were long gone. There was, however, a rusted sign at one end of the platform, left behind, perhaps, for some reason of sentimentality. Reading West, it said in barely legible letters.

  The fence was broken in one place, partly due to rust and partly due to my adventures a couple of years before. Jess and me slipped under it and up onto the old platform.

  ‘Oh yes,’ she said, looking up and down. ‘This will do nicely. If Simon can’t run, though, we might still have a problem.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘Maybe I have an idea.’

  ‘Full of them, aren’t you?’