The train driver was at lunch. The next train to depart, according to her blackboard, was 13.00. It was now 12.45. The miniature diesel locomotive and the row of blue carriages were empty in the station. Shut in his house on the far side of the lake, the lion, deeply troubled, was roaring his head off.
My grandson chose a carriage two from the front. He insisted on being the one who turned the little brass knob that opened the low door. The zoo train’s carriages are open carriages with room for two passengers, one facing forward, one back, knees touching. Our ice creams were starting to melt and drip. I found a paper serviette in my pocket and wiped the ice cream from his chin and hands and then I licked his lopsided ice cream back into shape and returned it. Alone on our beloved zoo train, we sat and finished our ice creams in perfect accord.
We’d had a marvellous morning.
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