He watched it, for it spoke of open countryside and fine, healthy hill-walking. This was Lancashire, and he had a notion that just beyond these towns there were wide moors. He stepped forward, wondering if now was the moment to break free: the rucksack was disappearing just like the Muslim man, and he had nothing in his head at all. The station was more forlorn and anonymous than any station he had ever visited. Its chilly, concrete blankness seemed extra-specially brutal in this particular light, but there were still a few seconds left to him before the train doors closed. Why Burnley? Why this place, when there were so many others? Even as he stepped back, he heard the warning bleep, and why he changed his mind again he did not know. He dived forward, and the doors caught him in their jaws. For a moment, he was stuck and crushed – but they opened almost at once, releasing him. Out he fell, stumbling with his bag, and there was nothing in his head worth having – how he longed to empty it, once and for all. He steadied himself, and just stayed upright. He looked around for the rucksack but it had floated away, leaving him alone again.

He turned, to reboard the train.

The doors closed in his face this time, and the train was a sealed unit, moving out.

The passengers who’d seen him stumble were staring at him, positive now that he was drunk. He glimpsed himself in a variety of windows, gazing back as he raised his hand to wave as usual, to nobody and nothing. His own image waved happily back. The train departed, and he was left looking at a length of track that was streaked in red. The sun was red, and the signal was red, too. His hand was in the air, and his fingers were splayed out wide – so he lowered his arm and put the hand into his pocket.

OS GRID REF: SD837321 TO SD299810

20

Maria didn’t notice him.

She showed her ticket, but the inspector hardly glanced at it, and when Michael came through the man turned his back completely – not out of rudeness, but because something was flashing on his screen. The station concourse was very small, and two pensioners waited in silence while a handful of other people fanned out across the car park. Maria stood still with her rucksack, checking a piece of paper.

She crossed to the other side of the road, where there were two shelters. At the second, a bus was waiting – Michael saw her and followed. He watched her speak to the driver, and once she’d bought her ticket he backed away. Then he changed his mind and approached.

‘I’ve forgotten where this bus goes,’ he said.

‘Oh,’ said the driver. ‘Where are you going, sir?’

‘I’m going all the way, but—’

‘To Bacup?’

‘That’s your final stop?’

‘Bacup is, yes.’