So as he approached the station entrance, Deano came to a decision. He was going to go to the police and confess what he did, and where they could find the body; and finally, all these years later, he would face the consequences of his actions. He’d be punished, locked up for years and years, but at least he could get help for his drinking and depression. That’s what he was going to do, he was going to confess, and maybe one day when he was released, he’d finally be able to turn his life around.

It’s true that there’d been many times like this, when drunk and depressed, he had convinced himself that he was going to turn himself in, but then the next morning did nothing about it. But this time Deano was determined. First thing tomorrow, or most likely when he dragged himself out of bed after lunch, he would go to the police station. And then it would all be over.

Relief washed over him as he stood on the empty platform and wept again. Wracking sobs that made his chest heave so hard he could hardly catch his breath. Tears fell through his big hands, hands that had killed, and onto the floor.

But when he looked up, the sobs still catching in his throat, he saw that he wasn’t alone. Someone was watching him from the shadows.

‘What are you looking at?’ Embarrassed at being caught crying, his anger returned. ‘Piss off.’

Deano turned away, determined to ignore them. He wasn’t going to let anyone wind him up, not now he had come to a decision. But when he looked back, the figure was still there, standing in the darkness beneath the platform roof. All he could see was their glinting, watchful eyes, and that they held something long and thin, like a walking stick, close to their side.

‘You are one creepy weirdo,’ Deano said. ‘You know that, yeah?’

He heard the rumble of a train in the distance, and not before time. He was shattered, and just wanted to get home. He’d really like to smoke a cigarette on the train, that would help him relax, but when he patted his pockets, he realized he was out, so he swallowed his pride and called to the figure in the shadows.

‘Hey, mate, got a fag?’

The stranger reached slowly into a pocket, and Deano knew his luck was in. So he stumbled over – trying not to look too drunk or threatening, in case they freaked out – and stood with his hand out. The train was getting louder in the distance.

‘Cheers,’ he slurred. ‘No hard feelings, yeah?’

He couldn’t take his eyes off the hand trying to lift something from the pocket, a cigarette, or maybe the whole packet if the stranger was feeling generous, and Deano was already looking forward to that first hit of smoke filling his lungs. He had already decided he wasn’t going to get on this train, he’d sit on the bench and enjoy the cigarette on the platform.