They found a compartment, dimly lit with a small orange lamp at the window. They sat opposite each other; he was looking at her with a challenging eye and she held it as the strange little train racketed on through the dark countryside, the ancient lamp dimming and brightening again with every chuntering surge of motion of the old wheels clattered down the track.

Suddenly, Carmen couldn’t take it anymore. She stood up. And moved over. So there could be no mistaking what she meant. She did not break eye contact, and he smiled easily and lifted her into his arms.

The lights of the trains stuttered and blinked on and off as they entered a long tunnel. When they emerged, Carmen was sitting on his lap. Another flash and he was kissing her deeply; another flicker and theirs heads were pressed close together. The train sped up and a whistle blew.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

“Don’t make me do it!” said Carmen at breakfast, two days before Christmas. Federico was taking care of the children; Sofia was staying in bed with the as-still-unnamed baby (“Obedience” had been briefly floated and speedily discarded), happily eating toast and accepting the many gifts the amazing Edinburgh witch ladies had somehow had the time before Christmas to find and tactfully choose and beautifully wrap and send to the house. They were amazing.

Sofia was also getting used to Federico and Carmen being the most irritating double act in history: Federico would say, “Darling, I told you you had to slow down,” and Carmen would chime in, “That’s exactly what I have been saying,” and Federico would say, “You don’t need to organize everything,” and Carmen was like, “Right!” She liked them ganging up on her. Although she already had big plans for throwing the most impressive Burns supper Edinburgh had ever seen, and it had seen a few. She was also looking forward to Federico being at home for a whole month—he had pretty much just resigned himself to lying on the floor while the children jumped on him and playing nine hours of solid football a day with Jack—as well as the fairly monster Christmas present she was planning on reminding him she wanted. Things, she thought, really could not be better.

“But you have to do a story!” said Phoebe, cheerfully spooning up the cornflakes Carmen thought would probably do as a post-oatmeal compromise. “That’s what you do now!”

“It is not what I do now! It’s always a disaster!”

“You should pick a good book?” said Pippa, helpful as ever. “You know all those terrible books you are always picking? I suggest that instead you should pick a good one, Auntie Carmen.”

“Thank you for that,” said Carmen. “Have you got one you would recommend?”

“Yes,” said Pippa. “It’s about a girl band saving Christmas on their magic unicorns. All the unicorns have different kindness skills.”