The country opened out when you got this far north. Dense patches of woodland, dry-stone walls, clumps of heather and gorse by the side of the track. The train, hemmed in for so long, now charged through the widened space like an animal. There was little to see outside, of course. Behind the blind there was the hint of the coming day, but that wasn’t of much interest to James. Besides, he couldn’t shuffle over to that end of the bed because that was where the phone was, and it was bad enough that he could see it even from here. He wished again he’d never taken it out of his pocket. Soon the battery would run down, surely. But then, the phone wasn’t doing much: it was just sitting there, reminding him of all the things it would now be dangerous to look at. James had all but given up the idea he would be able to get even a few minutes’ sleep, now. He lay motionless on his back, feeling the rattling of the metal body beneath him, trying to turn off the mental playback of all the things he had already, stupidly read.

Michaela. Please, James, I’m begging you. Just at least …

Sally. James, I’m going to keep messaging you. I …

Karl. Fam. I will never forgive myself. Txt me, please, cause otherwise my life …

Mum, from Lee’s phone. My boy. I know I haven’t always been …

There had been a grim satisfaction in knowing that he was being taken seriously, at least. For a second he’d allowed himself to dwell on the mental picture of Michaela’s big, scared eyes. Of her, pacing of the floor of the … of her … but that was where the picture evaporated. Because then he had to imagine where she was living now, and who she was living with. If he thought of Sal he had to recall a time when they were a team, when she would be perched by the bed improvising him a story. If he imagined Karl he had to remember the day they met in the café and Karl kicked the support out from under him.