At six fifteen, the gate book said, Celia entered the yard. Her train ticket said she was still forty miles away. She showed both documents to the manager after her father's funeral, expecting him to admit that somebody had used her name.
The manager remembered the morning because the gatekeeper had called for a chair. Celia's father was waiting outside with a parcel too heavy to carry home. He said his daughter would collect it and gave her name for the book. The gatekeeper entered the expected visitor before she arrived.
Celia found the parcel on a high shelf: her childhood sewing machine, repaired and wrapped in oilcloth. Her father had died before she could make the promised visit. The manager offered to correct the book, but she asked him to add an explanation beside the original line rather than erase it.
Under the impossible time, he wrote expected, not present. Celia carried the machine through the gate at noon. This time, the guard watched her pass before writing anything down. She waited until he finished, then thanked him for the distinction.