Mountains of the Moon (48 page)

P
ortsmouth, depart from Platform 9, eight minutes. Tim’s anorak is wrapped twice around me. I’m shivering Siberian on the platform bench. A pigeon with one foot asks me for something to eat.

“Sorry,” I say.

It shrugs, goes off to ask everyone else. There’s a big crowd on the opposite platform, spread out and minding the gap. A Christmas crowd, with gifts and luggage and hats and scarves, all knocking against the cold. I open the zip on the case and lift my prize camera out. Super-zoom over the tracks. Viewfinder. Pan left along the platform on the other side looking for a picture in the crowd. And there she is—what a picture. An old friend. Click. Unmistakable. My old friend.

Streaming ribbon of corn-colored hair.

And the sleek train on that side, snaking in to take them away. I’m up. I’m running, the camera bag banging on my hip. There’s a blockage of Portsmouth people with prams at the barrier. I hurdle over the railing, sprint the distance to the stairs, fly them with the thwump of train doors slamming below. Hammer across the footbridge looking down at the train’s roof, and the empty platform and the whistleblower.

“Hey!” I scream. I leap the stairs in three bounds. “Hey!” The whistle blows. The last guard steps up into his train. I hop and step and jump right up into his chest.

“You’re lucky!” he says.

I’m hanging off his sleeve.

“I’m a sporting person,” I rasp. “I like. To give. A train. A chance to get away. Without me.”

I sway through the silent carriage, checking each seat, through carriages A, B, C, D, E, F and G. Clickerty-clacking, I rattle through the buffet car, through H and I, J, K. Climb over an army camped between compartment doors. Now the train is flying, L, M, N, O, P.

“End of the line,” a voice in a sleeping bag informs me. I turn around, go back. A woman in the window glass looks over me. She’s looking for someone.

“At ease,” I say, but the army shifts its knees again.

Wonder if I’m mental.

“Ticket please,” says a chirpy chappy.

I slide the ticket from my trouser pocket. Scan the backs of heads. Scan around all the tables.

“I think you’re on the wrong train, love,” he says. “This ticket says Portsmouth.”

Scan every seat facing.

“Either you’ve got the wrong ticket or you’re on the wrong train. Did you want Portsmouth?”

“Portsmouth,” I say. “Why would I want to go to Portsmouth? This is the train I want. Where’s this train going to?”

“Calais.”

Surprises me. I count the cash from my pocket.

“Looks like you’re having one-way,” he says.

“Thank you,” I say.

Sway back through the alphabet, stop at the buffet counter.

“Yes!” says the spotty lad.

“Can I have a carton of milk please?” I say.

Between D and C I open the milk, swig and sway through B and A.

“Hello again,” the guard says. “Lost something?”

I spin about. Doors slide open and closed behind me. Calais. I lean rocking by the toilets, on the rocking carriage join. Look through glass doors to the back of the train. Through glass doors to the front, can’t remember which way I’ve just walked. I feel for the butterfly. The toilet door opens beside me. Uh-huh. Here she is. I put my hand out,
squeeze her shoulder. A ribbon of corn-colored hair swings around to face me.

Doesn’t know me.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I don’t know where you got it from, or how long ago, but you’re wearing my coat and I want it back.”

I have a swig of the milk. Lick my lip. Can hardly wait for what happens next.

VIKING PENGUIN PRODUCTION: NEW YORK

PRODUCER/GAMBLER: Carole DeSanti

BACKSTAGE/FRONT OF HOUSE: Christopher Russell

REPRESENTATION: Zoë Pagnamenta

COVER DESIGN: Eric White

AUDIO EFFECTS: Nina Wakeford

I. J. KAY PRODUCTION: MADE IN ENGLAND

ORIGINAL SCRIPT STAGE MANAGED AND LIT by Anthea, Becky, Jason, Jenni, Pam, Richard F., and Sam

SPECIAL AGENT/VISONARY: Anna Webber

PRINCE OF PUBLISHING/KING OF COPY: Dan Franklin

BACKSTAGE/FRONT OF HOUSE: Tom Avery, Kathy Fry, Sally Sargeant, and Neil Bradford

FOREIGN RIGHTS: Jessica Craig and Zoe Ross

ANGELS: Arts and Humanities Research Council Arts Council South West

EARLY PROMPTS: Tim, Nicola, Tricia, and Richard K.

PROPERTIES/CATERING/TECHNICIAN/DRESSER/SHAMAN/RESEARCHER/SUPPLIER OF HERBS AND WORDS: Johnny Meadows

GASP IN THE LIBRARY/LAUGHS: Daniel Brookman

AIR IN THE KENYAN HIGHLANDS: Karen Blixen’s
Out of Africa

BACKGROUND STRINGS: Thom Thomas-Watkins and Richie Taylor

DOCTOR/FAN CLUB: Keith

BONE-CRACKER: Martin

ALTERNATIVE MEDICINE: Chris

CHAUFFEUR/AMBULANCE DRIVER: Jamie Nelson

COAL/GAS/SOLAR POWER: Digger

PEACE: Good peoples of K and A

MY THANKS TO THE CAST AND ALL OF THE ABOVE

Lulu’s musical renditions are drawn from the following works.