The train stood for a few minutes before he heard doors banging and the sound of a whistle piercing the night. Slowly it began pulling away from the platform, gathering speed into the darkness. Bannerman looked across the empty receding platforms. Darkened waiting rooms locked up for the night, shutters pulled down on a news stand. A billboard poster flapped in the rush of air. Tonight’s headlines. The top half of the bill was obscured, but he saw the words, GIRL DIES, caught in a brief flash of light. The muscles of his chest contracted in a moment of pain before forcing tears to his eyes. Only one thought filled his mind. He had not even phoned to see how she was. She had died alone. And no one cared.

The door of his compartment slid open, but he was barely aware of it. Until the figure standing still in the doorway made him turn his head.

Sally smiled nervously. ‘Neil.’ She almost whispered his name. ‘I saw you on the platform . . .’ He stared at her blankly. His mind swam. He wanted to stand up, to take her and hold her. But it was as though he had lost all power in his limbs.

‘She’s dead,’ he heard himself say.

‘Who?’ Sally frowned.

‘Tania. I saw it on a billboard.’

Sally stood for a moment then opened her shoulder bag and pulled out a crumpled copy of the London Evening Standard.

‘You’re wrong,’ she said. She held out the paper and Bannerman saw its headline. SEX ATTACK GIRL DIES. ‘It’s some London story,’ Sally said. ‘Tania survived. I was with du Maurier when they phoned from the hospital. The doctors say she’s going to be okay.’

Bannerman felt as though a dam had burst inside him and everything he’d held back for all these years was flowing out. He felt the return of hope and light and love so sweetly. He rose and held Sally’s hands and kissed her, and drew her to him.

‘I’m so sorry about everything,’ she whispered. ‘I had to come back. I . . . I had to give us a try.’

He stopped her, pressing a finger to her lips. ‘Don’t be sorry. It’s a bad way to start.’

She laughed and kissed his finger, and he kissed her again and lifted her bag in and slid the door shut. She sat down and looked up at him. ‘Did you get your story?’

Bannerman smiled wryly. ‘I always get the story.’ He walked to the window and saw his own reflection staring back at him. ‘It’s funny how it seems so unimportant now. Beside the life of a child, beside the chance to love again. After all’ – the last of his bitterness seeped out of him – ‘it will only bring down a government.’