Oh Christ! Someone help me!

She couldn’t get the words out. The wind took every ounce of air away.

‘This is what it must have been like for her. For my mother. Don’t you think? When she jumped off the church?’

He was shouting into her ear while the world rushed past, the railway lines, the houses, the banks, the fields . . . someone would see. Someone had to see what he was doing to her.

But then, of course, it would be too late.

She would be dead.

‘The feeling of the wind, the resistance of it. It must almost be like flying, at first,’ he was droning on, relentless. ‘Until you hit the ground. And then it’s just a blank. Just nothing.’

‘Don’t, don’t . . .’ Dora was sobbing, her voice lost, snatched away by the wind. She turned her head, wanting to plead with him, to tell him that none of it had been her fault. And then, with a jolt that was purest terror, she saw it.

There was a train coming in the other direction.

He was holding her out here, and . . . the train was going to hit her. It was going to take her head off.

Dora let out a scream that no one would ever hear.

It was coming closer, closer, and she was struggling, fighting, but it was no use. The train was nearly on top of her now, it was going to be her last sight of this world. Dora closed her eyes tight, waiting for the inevitable. The shriek of the train whistle filled her mind, clanging around her head.

Oh please someone help me . . .

Donny yanked her back.

As he did so, the other train zipped by, clattering, the noise of it overwhelming. She felt the rush and suck of its passage, and then just as suddenly it was gone. He reached out and closed the door. Dora collapsed back against the wall of the carriage, frantically gulping in air, and stared at him. He was mad. Crazy. And he was smiling.

‘Frightening, isn’t it, Dora,’ he said. ‘Yeah. I reckon that’s how my mother felt, when she took that final jump. That’s what I wanted you to experience.’

Dora was trying to draw breath.

‘You’re bloody demented,’ she managed to get out, and surged off along the corridor, wishing someone would come, but there was no one. Dora hustled back into the empty compartment she’d come from on shaky legs.

‘Am I?’ Donny was right behind her, following her. He seemed to consider her words. ‘Well if I am, it’s because you’ve made me that way. And anyway – I’m the least of your worries.’

‘You nearly killed me!’ yelled Dora, shivering and trembling and fighting back tears of terror. She stood there, afraid to sit down, afraid to run, afraid to move. ‘What the . . .’ She took another breath, tried to steady herself. ‘What the hell do you mean by that? The least of my worries? What do you mean?’