And under a tree that was centuries old when Mary, Queen of Scots, was a child, that had seen plotting and murder and history pass beneath its boughs, that was so old Pontius Pilate’s father could have known it, one more event in time was added: the best of many, many, many kisses that tree had seen.

THEY STUMBLED BACK up the muddy track, completely wrapped up in each other, Oke pulling his suitcase.

“What was your plan for getting to the airport?” said Carmen.

“There has to be a railway station,” he said. “Look.”

They followed the map, but Carmen didn’t feel optimistic. This wasn’t a road to a brightly lit station; this was yet another muddy track up the side of the pretty village.

But somehow, wrapped up in this man, she no longer felt cold and she no longer cared, despite their dying phones flashing warnings of transport disruptions and yellow and red warnings for snow and ice, cancellations and delays.

There was no station, no sign. There was a double rail track that was overgrown with moss and weeds and a neglected little platform, cracked and overgrown too.

“I don’t think this is going to work,” whispered Carmen in a dreamy voice. “But I don’t want you to go to the airport so I don’t even care.”

The little train station, when they eventually found it, looked deserted. Warnings on their phones indicated all transportation had stopped, all journeys were finished, and people were being urged to stay indoors. They were going to figure something out—they had to. Oke had already managed to postpone his flight, but it was a good fifteen miles back into town, which was simply unmanageable. They walked down the little overgrown platform anyway.

Just as Carmen was about to suggest they give up, a light appeared down the track and an answering green light came on overhead, signaling a go.

The train appeared; it was old rolling stock with a flat red nose. It stopped, but nobody got off; no conductor looked out to see if there was anyone there. Oke tried a door when they did not open automatically, and the handle opened to his grip and they climbed on, slightly giggling.

Inside the train was completely empty; everyone must have obeyed the warnings on the radio. The carriages were so old they still had sliding glass doors and separate compartments.

They walked up and down the corridors, hand in hand.

“I think it’s just us,” whispered Carmen. She wasn’t sure why she was whispering. There wasn’t a guard or anyone blowing a whistle; just the train surging into the swirling winter darkness, snow streaking across the glass.