Chapter 1: Platform Nine

The 11:42 was the last train out of Alder Junction, and the only person who ever waited for it was Esme Whitaker.

She worked late shifts at the hospital and liked the quiet of the empty platform. There was a wooden bench beneath the clock, scarred with initials and gum, and one night in October she found a folded note tucked beneath the slats.

To whoever sits here: the tea from the vending machine is terrible, but the bench is lovely. Sit a while.

She smiled, which surprised her, and wrote back on the receipt in her pocket. The tea is a crime. I will bring my own tomorrow. She slid it under the slats and caught the train.

The next night, there was a reply. And a packet of biscuits.

For weeks they wrote. About terrible days and small victories. About the old man who sold newspapers, about the pigeon with one leg, about the song stuck in someone's head. The writer signed himself simply as The Bench. Esme signed hers The Other End. She never saw him. He always left before she arrived, or arrived after she had gone.

She told herself it did not matter. But on cold nights, she found herself arriving early, looking for a stranger's silhouette that never appeared.

In December, an announcement was posted on the station wall. The line was closing. The last train would run on New Year's Eve.

Esme read it three times. Then she took out her pen.

I would like to meet you, she wrote. On the last night. Platform nine. I will be wearing a green scarf.

The reply was one line, and her heart stopped. I will be the one holding terrible tea.

On New Year's Eve, snow fell softly over Alder Junction. Esme arrived at eleven, her scarf tight around her neck, her hands trembling in her pockets. The platform was empty except for a tall figure at the far end, back turned, hunched against the cold.

The clock struck 11:42. The train hissed into the station.

The figure turned. He held a paper cup in each hand, steaming, and wore the most nervous smile she had ever seen.

"I am afraid it is still terrible," he said.

Esme laughed and took the cup. Behind them, the last train waited with its doors open, and neither of them stepped aboard.