The light’s been left on in the study, so I go in and sit on the leather swivel chair to read the instructions, trying my best to ignore the faint but lingering scent of coconut. Ross’s Mac whirs into life. I must have accidentally leaned on the keyboard as I spread the leaflet out.

I stare at the screen, my eyes stuck fast to the headline of an all-too-familiar news article. So this is why he was so long coming to bed. He’s been googling the accident.

NETWORK RAIL SAFETY UPGRADES TOO LATE FOR “OUR ALICE”

The distraught parents of 13-year-old Alice Dawson, killed by a train on an open crossing that traverses the Garleywood Public Footpath in Garleywood Tippet, have told of their heartbreak at losing their precious daughter.

“Alice’s death has devastated our family,” says Mick Dawson, Alice’s father, owner of Dawson’s Meats in Garleywood. “She was a beautiful, kind girl, popular with all her schoolfriends and loved by everyone who knew her. I don’t know how our family will ever recover from this.”

The exact circumstances of Alice’s death are unknown. She was out walking with a friend, 13-year-old Lizzie Molyneux. The two girls were frequent users of the Garleywood Public Footpath and had used the crossing safely on numerous occasions. But at 11:25 on the morning of July 19, 2007, Alice was struck by a four-carriage train. The post-mortem revealed that she died on impact. Lizzie Molyneux was found by the train driver and guard on the side of the track, having suffered a seizure. Lizzie, an epileptic, has a history of severe tonic clonic seizures. She has no apparent recollection of her friend stepping onto the track. An inquest jury returned a verdict of accidental death. The Garleywood Public Footpath crossing is part of a planned series of safety upgrades, says Network Rail spokesman Bill Redditch. “Too late for our Alice,” say the shocked community of Garleywood Tippet, many of whom are now calling for its immediate closure.

My eyes skim the article I last read twelve years ago and promised myself I’d never read again. I can’t help being struck by the disparity between the description of Alice and the description of me. The thought of Ross sitting down here reading this on his own in the early hours of the morning fills me with sadness. Fills me with shame. I know the reporter was only quoting the words of her father, and of course Mick Dawson would have said those things, that Alice was beautiful and kind, popular with all her schoolfriends, loved by everyone who knew her. She was his precious little girl and he’d just lost her in the most devastating way imaginable.