She didn’t say much, just that my dad had died. When I asked how she looked at my mum who nodded and Miss Ramdas said he’d killed himself by walking in front of a train. It wasn’t until a few months later, when Mum was pissed, that I got the whole story. Dad had been on his ride-on mower at the boules club. Someone in the clubhouse saw him stop it suddenly, right in the middle of the green with the grass half cut, and get off. They thought he’d run out of petrol or something but he didn’t go back to it. It was half an hour before anyone thought to find out where he’d gone. An hour or so after that the police arrived. Dad had cut through the wood and walked several miles up the railway line and then lain down on the tracks as the train drew closer. There was no way the driver could have stopped in time.

‘Kira?’ Billy grabs hold of my wrist. His hair is plastered to his face and there’s a scratch on his cheek. ‘This isn’t funny any more. We’re going back.’

‘To what?’ The rumble of the train is louder now, more like a rushing sound, accompanied by the high-pitched noise of the horn. The rain lashes down and the wind whips my hair around my face. It’s so dark I can’t see more than a few feet in front of me but I can make out the train track: a dark stripe beyond the bushes just six or seven feet ahead of me.

‘Home.’

‘That’s not my home.’

‘Don’t be stupid. Come on.’ He yanks at my arm, pulling me back towards the ditch. The train sounds its horn again, louder this time and I swipe blindly at Billy. I won’t let him take me back to Bristol. My fingernails connect with his skin as I scrape them down the side of his face.

He shouts in pain and lets go of my wrist. The train clanks on the tracks, louder and louder, roaring and whistling, and I spot the cab through the branches, speeding towards us.

I plough through the bushes, away from the wood and towards the track. The train is so close I can see the windscreen wipers swiping from left to right. The wheels clank-clank-clank on the tracks. The beams from the headlights temporarily stun me and I close my eyes, just for a split second. I need to do it. I need to do it now.

I can’t move.

I’m frozen to the spot.

The train rushes closer and closer. One more step. One more step and I’ll be out of the bushes and in front of the train. But I can’t move. I feel frozen to the spot.