COVER

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Andrew Mulligan was born in 1962 and brought up in London. He worked as a theatre director for ten years before travels in Asia prompted him to retrain as a teacher. Having taught in India, Brazil, Vietnam and the Philippines he returned to the UK and now writes full time. He is best known as a children’s author; his novel Trash (2010) has been published in thirty-two languages. He also writes radio plays and film scripts. Train Man is his first adult novel: ‘What was the starting point? I’m afraid it was when a colleague did the unthinkable, and all I could think about was what might have saved him.’

DEDICATION

To Max

GOING NORTH

1

The first choice to be made concerned the 09.46.

The 09.46 meant no changes, whilst the 10.13 involved two – and deciding which one to take was a dilemma Michael had faced before because the two trains could be so very different. What made him anxious was the lack of control: you never knew what the 09.46 would be until it rolled up to the platform, and the type of stock made all the difference. The rail company had a tendency to switch the carriages, and the ones that Michael liked – which were roomy, with tables – were all too often replaced by those used for the commuter services. That meant no tables at all, and a lot less legroom. If things got busy you could end up squeezed against the window hardly able to move your elbows, and he so didn’t want to be trapped like that on this particular morning.

He wanted space, and he wanted to think.

If a commuter-style train turned up at 09.46 he would wait on the platform, and take the later service. There was flexibility after all: he needed to be in Crewe for the 14.41. If he missed it, the through-trains were hourly, so he wouldn’t be stuck.

He smiled. Was he always so particular about trains? The answer to that was an emphatic ‘no’, but he had been trying to learn from experience. He’d been making so many journeys over the last few months, taking advantage of off-peak tickets that sold in advance for next to nothing. As a result, he’d become very familiar with the different levels of comfort on different services.

There was a tannoy above his head, and it came to life even as he looked up at it.

‘We are sorry,’ it said, ‘but the 09.46 service from Southampton will have no catering facilities today.’

You could hear the hesitations as a computer patched in the particular time and place. The apologies were pre-recorded, of course, the phrases selected for the constant stream of cancellations and adjustments.

‘We are sorry for the inconvenience this will cause to your journey.’

Michael found he was smiling more broadly.