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Chapters (75)
  1. Cover
  2. Praise
  3. About the Author
  4. Title Page
  5. Intoroduction
  6. ONE
  7. TWO
  8. THREE
  9. FOUR
  10. FIVE
  11. SIX
  12. SEVEN
  13. EITHT
  14. NINE
  15. TEN
  16. ELEVEN
  17. TWELVE
  18. THIRTEEN
  19. FOURTEEN
  20. FIFTEEN
  21. SIXTEEN
  22. SEVENTEEN
  23. EIGHTEEN
  24. NINETEEN
  25. TWENTY
  26. TWENTY-ONE
  27. TWENTY-TWO
  28. TWENTY-THREE
  29. TWENTY-FOUR
  30. TWENTY-FIVE
  31. TWENTY-SIX
  32. TWENTY-SEVEN
  33. TWENTY-EIGHT
  34. TWENTY-NINE
  35. THIRTY
  36. THIRTY-ONE
  37. THIRTY-TWO
  38. THIRTY-THREE
  39. THIRTY-FOUR
  40. THIRTY-FIVE
  41. THIRTY-SIX
  42. THIRTY-SEVEN
  43. THIRTY-EIGHT
  44. THIRTY-NINE
  45. FORTY
  46. FORTY-ONE
  47. FORTY-TWO
  48. FORTY-THREE
  49. FORTY-FOUR
  50. FORTY-FIVE
  51. FORTY-SIX
  52. FORTY-SEVEN
  53. FORTY-EIGHT
  54. FORTY-NINE
  55. FIFTY
  56. FIFTY-ONE
  57. FIFTY-TWO
  58. FIFTY-THREE
  59. FIFTY-FOUR
  60. FIFTY-FIVE
  61. FIFTY-SIX
  62. FIFTY-SEVEN
  63. FIFTY-EIGHT
  64. FIFTY-NINE
  65. SIXTY
  66. SIXTY-ONE
  67. SIXTY-TWO
  68. SIXTY-THREE
  69. SIXTY-FOUR
  70. SIXTY-FIVE
  71. SIXTY-SIX
  72. SIXTY-SEVEN
  73. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
  74. CLIMATE EMERGENCY
  75. Copyright

Every time I hear my name it’s like an electric fist in my stomach, tightening. Under the table, I can feel Alan’s leg bouncing in nervous excitement. Vince sits with his arms crossed, looking as always like a dog at heel. I can feel my heart racing in my chest and I’m reminded again of Dana’s story. Not about Carl but about her father, about the well. I feel like I’m hanging over a dark hole, and someone has been lowering me down slowly all evening. The more I’ve listened, the deeper I’ve gone.

And in the musty room of that pub, when Carl tells us his plan, someone lets go of the rope that was holding me. I fall head first, and so fast that my mouth packs with rushing air. I can’t even scream.

FORTY

FORTY

Monday morning, and I wake up in my own bed, not entirely certain of how I got there. My bedside clock says it’s just after 5am, but I know I won’t be going back to sleep.

I roll over in the darkness of the first day of December and stare at the ceiling, last night replaying in front of my eyes as vividly as it did when it first happened. As vividly as it replayed again and again all night. I’ve barely slept; every time I drifted into a kind of sleep I’d be met by the faces of those men, swimming out of the blackness to snarl at me. Some invisible ‘Martin’ behind them all. Every time oblivion threatened to welcome me, Carl’s hissing voice told me again the details of what they were planning to do.

I shiver beneath the duvet. Dana was right. I shouldn’t have been there.

But I was. So, wrapping the covers around me, I shuffle over to my desk and open my laptop. I open one of the many sites that are now saved in my browser and start looking for the justification that I need.

I find what I’m looking for after a few clicks.

The pictures of the blown-out tube train float on the screen in the darkness of my bedroom. The whole room is lit by their blue-grey glow as I stare again past the twisted remains of seats, looking for what I thought I saw last time.

The pictures haven’t changed – they’ve been waiting for me patiently, holding their secrets. The blood in the foreground has the same pattern as I remember – blurred footprints. The buckled metal of the seats, the smashed over-head lighting; everything is just as it was.

I increase the image size and use the scroll-wheel to pick through the pictures section by section, like a search and rescue party sifting through a snowy field. But I’m not looking for survivors.