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‘Er, Miss . . .?’

She obliged. ‘Appleby.’

‘Thank you. Miss Appleby, could I leave our things here, and we’ll return? It’s the lad’s first train trip, so I should take him towards the engine.’

‘Of course. Your stuff is safe. I’m here all the way to Adelaide, so I won’t let anyone take your seats, I promise.’

‘Oh, excellent, thank you. Come on, then, Billy. Let’s see if we can get you a peek at the front.’

It was a mercy for Fleur that they’d departed. Maybe they’d be gone for an hour and she’d have that time alone with her thoughts.

The train began to roll, but it also seemed to be pushing hard. Now that she understood the reason, she too was intrigued to see if they could crest the hill on the first thunder towards it. It seemed everyone else in her carriage knew the track record too and an excited tension rippled through the air.

The train was gathering speed, travelling much faster out of the town’s reaches than she thought was possible in such a short run. She sat forward and watched. They were moving up the hill now and it was as though everyone, including her, was holding a collective breath as the train searched for the summit . . . and failed.

Wheels squealed, iron complained and there was a shuddering pause as, gently at first and then gathering to a slow but steady speed, the train began to roll back down the hill into town accompanied by whistles, laughter and sarcastic but somehow affectionate cheering.

She joined in with the laughter; her first genuine amusement in months. It was good for her.

The Ghan tried again. This time everyone in her vicinity began a sort of soft and encouraging cheer.

‘Come on!’ one bloke yelled.

‘You can do it!’ another called out.

Everyone shared smiles and chuckles as the train gathered speed again. Billy must have been chuffed, Fleur thought, before imagining the frustration of the engine driver hearing all the catcalls – but he’d be used to it.

They were hurtling towards the incline now. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a streak of someone running alongside the train and that person waving, probably in farewell, the train hooting as if in response – See you next time.

‘Yeah, we’ll make it,’ someone said.

But Fleur wasn’t so sure. And her instincts were right; as if the train were clutching at the crest with its fingertips, the top of the hill slipped away and, once again, the train slid backwards into town.

Inside the carriage, the cheering intensified. Fleur imagined this must be a regular sport for the travellers; they might even lay bets on how many tries it would take. She was openly laughing now with everyone else in her compartment.

‘Third time lucky,’ she said to a neighbour.

‘Maybe,’ the woman said with a chuckle.

The men in at the engine were obviously feeding it furiously for this third attempt. The sound of it was different now – more like a hungry beast. As it sped forward at what felt like full pelt, there was a sudden clatter to Fleur’s side. Her neighbour gave a small, alarmed shriek as the window nearest to Fleur was darkened by a shape; a man had leapt onto the moving carriages. What on earth was going on? Fleur thought, her hand instinctively going to her belly once more.

The train was reaching the base of the incline, travelling at the highest throttle it could under the circumstances, when the man bent his head to look inside the carriage.

Impossibly, Fleur saw Tom Catchlove grinning his crooked smile, and then his mouth widened to a full beam of white teeth, his laugh crinkling his eyes in that way that melted her, the rush of wind whipping at his hair.

‘Tom . . . Tom!’ she shrieked, half crying, half hysterical, with just enough presence of mind to know neither of those qualities usually belonged to her. ‘Tom!’ she screeched again, unable to believe it was him.

‘If we get over the top this time, I’ll have to go all the way to Quorn out here,’ he called through the glass, grinning lopsidedly.

People were moving to open the door and haul him in, with Fleur anxiously standing by, terrified he’d fall off or fall under the wheels on the track. And then suddenly he was inside. The door slammed and three burly men watched on helplessly as both Tom and Fleur collapsed to their knees in each other’s arms.

Her shoulders shook with the helpless tears that came . . . real sobs this time, as she felt the warmth and hard, muscled body of Tom holding her close, saying nothing, both of them listening to the raucous cheers as the train failed yet again to tip itself over the summit.

Through the cacophony, Fleur finally pulled back from Tom. ‘I have so much to say.’

He grinned. ‘You’ve said it all by being here. And you’re wearing green . . . You look so beautiful.’

‘No, there’s more. But how come you’re here? They said you’d gone!’