He was still alive, and didn’t want to be. On the other hand, how wonderful not to have been blasted and smeared all over the tracks – not to be smashed to pieces, as if by a shell. He was holding his bag in both hands, and it really was as if the weather had turned – a sudden squall out of a clear sky. He cried and gasped, his lungs snatching at the air, the tears streaming down his face. He cried the way a child cries, and then stopped, and nobody saw him – at least nobody saw him.

And I am crying for myself! he thought, wishing he had something sharp to jab into his own flesh. Not for anyone I have loved, or lost – not for the brave boys of Bromsgrove, or their poor dear families…

He gasped and the fit passed. He stood up straight and put his shoulders back. He mopped his face with a handkerchief, knowing that if anyone saw him now they’d assume he’d been laughing.

He sat down on a bench and waited. A train came by and he didn’t catch it. He thought about crossing the bridge and going back south, back to his terrible flat. He thought of Amy and Elizabeth.

Nobody spoke to him, so he ate two tangerines. He had to go on, but it was now a long wait for the 13.55 which was delayed by eight minutes, so that meant he wouldn’t get to Birmingham now until quarter past two. How had he misjudged it so badly, and wasted so much time? He’d failed again, funking everything – the 14.41 would hurtle through Crewe, and he’d miss that too. Now it would be a push to meet even the 15.41 – but at least there would be no drama. At least he could get properly drunk and at thirty-five minutes past three he could stagger down platform seven and get himself atomised. Even he could manage that.

Morris was still in Cheltenham.

It was 15.31 and all he wanted now was to go home again. Keenan had messaged him at last, and he was fixing up something totally different, which would mean going on to Birmingham. That might mean spending the night there, but he’d earn something reasonable. He’d get something to smoke and something to eat – it was worth doing, and he had no choice. Maria, meanwhile, was standing on a similar platform up in Carlisle. She was realising she’d done something so stupid she couldn’t quite take it in: she had actually frozen.