car park and was now a waist-high weed jungle with a series of increasingly bigger potholes where there had once been concrete. The railway track was also overgrown and in its entirety only measured about a hundred metres; on it was a dilapidated old railway carriage. The station building itself was in better condition, it looked grubby but its golden Victorian brickwork was easily visible. Daisy felt like she was in a Poirot movie and despite the lack of more track a steam train was going to puff into view any minute.
Tamsyn stopped running up and down the platform and held her arms out wide. ‘What do you think?’
‘Probably make a nice museum.’ Daisy squinted in the sunlight.
‘But it’s soooo pretty. Isn’t it?’ said Tamsyn, jumping down from the platform and landing on the railway line. Daisy could see why her grandfather, Arthur, had wanted to build on the land, it was in a prime location about a mile inland where the ground got flatter, close to the town but convenient for the main roads and just a stroll to the beach. It was prime holiday rental territory but if the council weren’t going to let them build on it she couldn’t see much use for it – even if it was a pretty little building. Tamsyn came to stand next to her.
‘I love the three chimney pots,’ said Tamsyn, studying the tall stacks spread across the roof.
‘Hmm,’ said Daisy. ‘I’m guessing inside it’s split into three rooms.’
‘Dunno. Shall we open it up?’
Daisy looked at the boarded-up windows and door and the missing roof tile. ‘We’d need tools. I don’t think there’s a lot of point to be honest, Tams.’ She glanced at Tamsyn who was gazing at the building the same way children look at Cinderella’s castle at Disney World – it was a look of complete awe. Daisy had another look herself, perhaps she was just more of a realist than Tamsyn.
‘Come on, I thought you were the adventurer – you’re not telling me you don’t want to explore inside?’ said Tamsyn, giving Daisy a small dig in the ribs.
Daisy had to admit she was curious. She liked old buildings. Daisy shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t mind a snoop about but—’
‘Right come on then. My dad has tools,’ said Tamsyn, striding back to the bike. Daisy took a deep breath, she knew it would be easier to simply go along with her. She checked her watch. She wasn’t going to get far tonight, she may as well stay, have a good home-cooked meal with Aunt Coral and head off tomorrow. She didn’t feel good about sneaking out earlier. Aunt Coral deserved an explanation before she moved on, it was the least she could do. She hoped she hadn’t already found the note she’d left.
Back at the cottage Tamsyn went to hers to get the tools and Daisy slunk inside quietly in the hope Bugsy wouldn’t go off like a house alarm. A quick peek through the kitchen and she could see Aunt Coral was in the garden. Daisy let out the breath she was holding in and scurried through to her bedroom. She dropped the rucksack and went to retrieve the note from the pillow but it wasn’t there. She hunted about the bed and floor but there was no sign of it. Her heart sank. What must Aunt Coral think of her? For a moment she considered making a run for it anyway but something twanged at her heartstrings and she decided she’d simply have to face up to things. She went through to the kitchen and was about to go out the back door when a flash of black and white caught her eye as it scooted under the table. She crouched down. There was Bugsy with the envelope she had written the note on.
‘Good boy, Bugsy, give me the envelope,’ she asked politely stretching out a hand but he reversed away emitting a low growl, his teeth clamped tightly to his treasure. ‘Drop it,’ she hissed. ‘Leave, give. Hand it over.’ But nothing was working. Bugsy backed away. He looked from his treats cupboard to Daisy. ‘Are you blackmailing me?’ This creature was smarter than he looked – but she supposed that wasn’t hard.
As Aunt Coral turned the handle of the back door Daisy lurched underneath the table and made a grab for the envelope. She had a grip on it but so did Bugsy. They both pulled and the envelope ripped in half making Daisy topple backwards and bang her head on the underside of the table. ‘Cock!’ said Daisy loudly as Aunt Coral came in.
‘Oh dear,’ said Coral. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Yeah, sorry about the language.’ Daisy shuffled from under the table rubbing her head where she’d bumped it. ‘I was just leaving you a note to say I’m going to take a look at the railway station and Bugsy stole it. But now I don’t need to leave a note,’ she said quickly screwing up her half of the envelope and shoving it into her pocket. She eyed the dog who was now defiantly tearing his half to shreds, which was perfect and she felt a sense of superiority at outwitting the canine blackmailer.
Tamsyn’s dad gave them and the toolbox a lift to the old railway station and Daisy hauled the large box of tools out of the boot. ‘Right, where shall we start?’ Daisy asked Tamsyn who still had one foot in her father’s car and was checking her phone.
‘Oh, SOS. The café want me to come in to work. Tell me tonight if you find any treasure. Good luck,’ she called before getting fully back in the car and being driven away.
‘Great,’ said Daisy. She tucked her locket inside her t-shirt and walked onto the platform, where she stopped by the boarded-up door and opened the toolbox. She found a useful-looking small crowbar and set to work trying to prise off the boards. It was hard work and she tired quickly. Her arms started to throb, but she continued all the same. It took her some time but eventually she felt the lower board give a little and it spurred her on. Another heave and the nails gave way and pulled free.
Daisy felt a sense of accomplishment as she dropped the crowbar and stuck her head through the gap. Her nostrils twitched. ‘It whiffs in here,’ she said, which was something coming from someone who had experienced the toilets in the remote corners of Goa. This was an altogether different, more musty smell. She peered inside but with everything boarded up and only an odd tile missing from the roof it was dark. There was little point going in.
Daisy went to put the crowbar back in the toolbox but found herself having a quick rummage instead. She soon came upon exactly what she needed – a head torch. She pulled it on, adjusted the strap and crawled inside the old building. She stood up, dusted herself down and looked about her. She was in a perfectly square room. There were two boarded-up windows – one next to the door and one on the far wall – and a cursory swipe over with the torch showed them to be intact. On her right was a find that made her face light up almost as much as the torchlight: it was an old-fashioned ticket window. She was in the ticket office.
She went through a doorway to the right to find another square room with a large cupboard. She peered inside. Its many shelves were well worn and she suspected this may have been some sort of luggage storage. She crouched down to find a dusty sign on the bottom shelf. When she went to pick it up she was struck by how heavy it was for something half the size of an A4 sheet of paper. Most likely cast iron, she thought. It had a red background and gold letters that read ‘Beware of the trains’, which she thought was a bit obvious at a train station but you never could account for the stupidity of some folk.
A further grope around uncovered a brush with GWR painted on it but not many bristles and a box of papers that generally looked quite dull apart from the beautiful script of the writing; sadly she doubted they were worth anything. She popped the heavy plaque and old brush into the box and carried them out through the ticket office and into the last room, the door to which still had a sign on it saying ‘Waiting rooms’. The door was heavy and ornate and the hinges groaned when she opened it. Inside it was like stepping back in time. This had two more rooms off it labelled ‘Women’s waiting room’ and ‘Men’s waiting room’ but it turned out they were simply single toilets.
