No other building other than this ramshackle, skeletal station.

He waited, huddling for shelter. Very soon even his heavy Harris tweed jacket was soaked through. Soon, too, the wetness on his cheeks wasn’t only from the falling rain.

This boy was patient. He waited. Then, growing tired of inactivity, he picked up his case and walked off along the road into the foggy gloom. A hundred yards, maybe a little more. Maybe there was something else hiding in the fog. Turning to look back he could no longer see the bench. Alarmed at losing sight of this one cheerless but familiar feature so quickly, he retraced his steps and huddled down again. The late afternoon darkened and fear added to his sodden misery.

‘My word and you’ll be the lucky one, then,’ the woman in Wellington had said. ‘Milk and butter and cream and eggs! Fresh meat,’ the woman licked her lips, eyes glinting at the thought. She chuckled. ‘Put a bit of padding on those bones of yours in no time flat,’ and she had pinched his cheek. ‘Look in a mirror in a couple of months and you won’t know yourself…The lucky one, indeed.’

‘What about our Janice?’ he had asked.

‘Who?’

‘Our Janice. My little sister. What about her, Miss?’

‘Goodness gracious me! Don’t you be bothering your head about your sister. She’ll be as right as rain wherever it is she’s going.’ The woman consulted a list. ‘Just er…not too sure at the moment…’

‘My father said…’ he began.

The woman didn’t give him a chance. ‘Whatever it was your father said, boy, must have been said a long time ago and with little knowledge of the er…state of things…er…’ The chuckle was well gone. ‘Your sister will be fine.’

‘But…’

‘She’ll be fine. D’you hear me? D’you understand? Now, then, no more of this nonsense. There are them as would give eye-teeth for the chance you’re getting. A farmer’s life for you, young fellow-me-lad. You’ll be living off the fat of the land and the pig’s back, and don’t you forget to show how grateful you are!’

The gloom faded still further into eerie darkness. Eventually the rain thinned into a chill and misty drizzle. The boy was shivering now and clutching to him the only thing of substance he had with him; his suitcase. Cold, wet, hungry and, increasingly, scared. Where was he? Where was this place that was no place at all? What was he to do if no one came? Had the train stopped in the wrong place? Would there be another train? Where would he go on another train if one came and stopped at this odd spot with a name he couldn’t read? His shivering grew into an involuntary shaking and his slight body was so convulsed he forced himself to stand, jumping up and down in an effort to get his body under some sort of control. It didn’t work and he slumped down again onto his suitcase.

A noise? He started. What was it? An animal? At first a faint whine …then growing…A train? Something.