At last he was through and somehow they were face to face. Maria’s husband was shaking his hand, whilst the eldest boy – this was Lucas – Lucas took the bag. He knew that Maria would embrace him, but what he didn’t expect was that the children wanted to as well. For some reason, all he could think was how late it was, and how kind they were to come all this way when they could have been in comfortable beds. Hands were reaching out, and he thought, You don’t know me. You don’t know me at all, so how can this be allowed?

Roselle was placed in his arms, and he wasn’t quite sure how to hold her. Roxanne was presented next, and he did his best, still not sure what to do or what to say. He went down into a crouch, then, so as to greet the others – and he almost fell. They were saying things, but he could hardly hear.

‘Uncle,’ they said. ‘Welcome, uncle!’

He heard their names, and he hugged first Max and then Miguel. Lucas still held the suitcase, but hugged him as best he could, and when he saw Nikko he went to pieces completely, for the boy leaned in and kissed him. He kissed Michael gently on the cheek and then reached for his hand – and Michael let himself be led. He was guided like a blind man, towards a waiting bus. The children helped him with infinite care, and the next moment they’d found seats and they were moving.

‘So,’ said Maria. ‘How was the journey?’

Michael shook his head and laughed. There were absolutely no words, so he didn’t try to answer. Roselle was in his arms, and the family were squeezed around him as if they always sat together, in just this way. He kept nodding, realising that if he hoped to speak – if he was ever to find his voice again and say anything worth hearing – he would have to study hard and find a whole new language.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Train Man started on a train, and was meant to be a radio drama – but that didn’t work out, so I turned it into a novel. Michael is based on an old friend who killed himself years ago on a railway line. I don’t know if the Philippines would have saved him.

My apologies to those who notice the occasional liberties I’ve taken with timetables and geography: sometimes you just need to get where you’re going.

My agent, Jane Turnbull, was the first to read the book critically and suggest improvements. I’m deeply indebted to her. Clara Farmer helped enormously, as did my copy-editors Harriet and Mary. I’m grateful to Mike Smith, Maria Yambao, Steve Lewis and Sam North.