Chapters (75)
- Cover
- Praise
- About the Author
- Title Page
- Intoroduction
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EITHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- FIFTY-THREE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- FIFTY-FIVE
- FIFTY-SIX
- FIFTY-SEVEN
- FIFTY-EIGHT
- FIFTY-NINE
- SIXTY
- SIXTY-ONE
- SIXTY-TWO
- SIXTY-THREE
- SIXTY-FOUR
- SIXTY-FIVE
- SIXTY-SIX
- SIXTY-SEVEN
- ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
- CLIMATE EMERGENCY
- Copyright
I zoom in on a section of the train which must have been at the centre of the blast. The sides of the carriage are split and you can see the walls of the tunnel itself, the dim lights shining weakly between the ripped tin-can edges of buckled steel.
When the pixels start to separate from each other, and the whole screen looks like a collage of grey and brown squares, I zoom in even further. Eventually, just one square fills the centre of the screen. It is a very dark square, almost black. It is the colour of Dad’s pannier bag, and it will do.
I stare at it for a long time.
*
That single, black square hangs in my vision all day. I use it to block out the memories of last night; the looks on the faces of those men as they heard about what was going to happen, about what Carl was going to do. What he was going to make us all do.
About the thing that Martin said was pure gold. Whoever Martin is.
English passes behind this black square. So does Maths after break, and Geography before lunchtime. I spend these lessons staring at this black square in my mind. Later, it blocks out all the noise and jostling of the canteen. The same as I get my lunch. I sit at the window again and stare at the black square, imagining that it has been printed out on a huge piece of paper and stuck to the glass. It’s not quite enough, so I imagine living inside of the square, being enveloped by it, letting it take up all the space and sound around me.
But it’s still not enough. Every now and again, Carl’s face will get through the cracks where the black square isn’t black enough, or isn’t complete enough. Sometimes it’s his voice, disembodied and quiet, slithering into my ear. And there are thoughts I can’t keep out: not those of Carl or Alan or Vince or the other men, but my thoughts.
I don’t go, that afternoon, to my biology lesson. I spend almost two hours in the end cubicle of the boys’ toilets, staring at the wall and flushing the chain whenever the silence gets too loud.
*
On the way home, I drift along with the tide of people heading away from school. The traffic is at its usual almost-standstill, the drone of queueing engines oddly soothing. It is raining lightly. I think Ahmed waved to me as he got into his mum’s white 4x4, but I’m not certain. I’m not even certain of where I’m going, or of what I will do when I get there.