“There were many things Viola could have said at this point. She had thought of all of them while gazing at the forest, the sacred river, the birds, ‘I’m sorry’ being foremost, but instead she told him about the dream. ‘And then you turned to me and you were smiling and you said, “We did it, Mum! Everyone got on the train.”’ ‘I don’t think it was about the train.’ ‘No,’ Viola agreed. ‘It was how I felt when you spoke to me.’ ‘Which was?’ ‘Overwhelmed by love. For you.’ Oh, Viola. At last. Bertie.”
