The Station Master's Ledger

Arthur Vane's house smelled of coal smoke and lavender, and every drawer was full of timetables. Elena found the ledger in the bread bin, wrapped in oilcloth, as though he had meant it to keep.

The first pages were ordinary: arrivals, departures, a cracked rail at Fenwick. Then the dates went on past the night the line closed — years past it — and every entry read the same. Departed 11:52. Passengers: one.

There were names beside them. Some she half-recognised from headstones in the churchyard. The last, in her grandfather's careful hand, was dated the night before he died.