"So wait," and Edgar's halfway back to laughter by now, "who's got a wall with pictures and strings and shite? And how old are you?"

(Somehow, without him noticing, the overwhelming feeling of being on a train again has subsided into a quiet acceptance in the back of his mind: this is how things should feel, the sway and rumble, the vibration underfoot and all around. He's home, and he's close to people who he cares about, who care about him.)