Ben tries to speak but breaks off to let the sobs come thick and fast. An outpouring of grief and loss and utter dejection. He tries to lift the pistol but she grips his arm, forcing it gently back down and sliding along to take the gun from his hand that gets flung towards Harry.

‘I can’t . . . let me go home . . .’

‘Okay,’ she whispers, remembering the man she saw on the track that day. His right arm comes up to touch her shoulder. His hand gripping with emotion.

‘Go home . . .’ he sobs. She turns him slowly, easing him round to draw him close so her arms can go round and hold him tight.

‘Okay,’ she says again.

‘Send me home . . .’

‘I will.’ She lifts her head, sobbing as much as he. Rocking back and forth in the mud and rain. The man on the tracks was decent. This was that man. This is Ben Ryder.

‘I’m so sorry.’

She whispers down with a hand on the back of his head, pushing him into her. ‘It’s okay . . . you can go home.’

‘Home . . .’

‘Home, Ben. You can go home.’

Give him his dignity. Give Ben Ryder his dignity. Let him be a man. Let him choose death over life. There’s honour in that. There is. She nods and kisses his head as the tears soak into his hair.

Twenty-Nine

Twenty-Nine

‘Where is he?’

‘In his room,’ Safa replies.

‘Christ,’ Roland says, walking to the table to grab the flask and several cups, which he carries over. ‘Is he okay?’

‘No he isn’t,’ she says darkly.

‘Why didn’t he shoot himself?’ Roland asks softly. Harry shakes his head, his mouth turned down at the ends. Malcolm and Konrad watch on, unsure how to act in the charged atmosphere of the meeting.

‘Still a survivor,’ Safa says, lifting her head to look at Roland.

‘Of course,’ Roland says, nodding with understanding. ‘Poor chap . . . I wish there was something we could do. Is there anything we can do?’ he asks the group.

‘Did you ever see the footage?’ Safa asks, looking round to Malcolm and Konrad.

‘Course,’ Malcolm says softly.

‘Konrad?’ Safa asks.

‘Years ago, when I was young,’ Konrad says.

‘I want you to see it now,’ Safa says to them all. ‘To remember him as he was and not like this. So we know who we’re . . . who he is. We owe him that.’

‘Course,’ Malcolm says again. ‘I can get it.’

Silence at the table. Coffee poured and cups lifted. Konrad swallows and draws breath. ‘How do . . . I mean . . .’

‘I have no idea,’ Roland says. ‘I never planned to have to take someone back.’

‘Fuck,’ Safa mouths and looks away.

‘Sedate him,’ Harry says after a pause. ‘I’ll carry him back.’

Another silence. ‘If you think that is best.’ Roland breathes the words out.

‘Aye,’ Harry says firmly.