Her Name Was Lola

64 A Far, Far Better Fantasy

March 2000. Another vernal equinox. Noticed but uncelebrated by Max. He’s working but so far nothing significant has happened. While trying for Page One with Fujitsu/Siemens he takes little mental side trips. He’s always had a rich fantasy life but now his waking dreams take on a nobler flavour than before. ‘Let’s do the train one again,’ he says to his mind.

‘OK, boss,’ says his mind, and sets the scene: some bleak out-of-the-way place under a dark sky. A few ravens croaking around and looking black. A little thunder, maybe some lightning, some Hammer Horror effects. A level crossing with no barrier. Here come Lola and Noah in the E-type. Noah’s ten or eleven. Lola looks as she did three years ago. O my God, the car has stalled on the tracks. She can’t get it started. Max can feel the vibration in the rails. Now he hears the train. Now he sees it, coming fast, its single white eye boring through the greyness. Doesn’t the engine driver see the car? Is he asleep? Doesn’t Lola hear the train? She’s still trying the starter. Max runs to the car, tries to push it out of the way. The E-type doesn’t move. Max puts his back to it, gets a good grip on the rear bumper, heaves back with all his strength. Yes! The car is off the tracks, Lola and Noah are safe but Max falls to the ground and is crushed by the train. His dying words: ‘They’re safe!’

‘Why didn’t Lola grab Noah and get out of the car?’ says Max’s mind.

‘Maybe she couldn’t unfasten their seat belts,’ says Max. ‘Maybe she fainted. We can always change the details.’

‘Get real,’ says his mind.