That was the moment a voice said, ‘Boys?’ – and Aaron was trapped. That was the moment they all looked up, expecting to be reprimanded for the foulness of Khari’s imagination – instead, they found themselves staring into the eyes of a nervous, agitated man they definitely didn’t know. He wasn’t a railway official: he was a member of the public, and they would never forget him.

‘Boys,’ said Michael quietly. ‘Listen carefully, please. Don’t speak.’

He had caught the delayed 13.55 from Bromsgrove, leaving the dead behind him. It had made up some time, zipping along the tracks to arrive in Birmingham just twenty minutes later. The Liverpool service was waiting, so Michael took a seat in the very last carriage and drank a little more whisky. He disembarked at the tail end of the long, long platform, and he stood for some time looking at the great tangle of rails.

This was Crewe, at last – and he had fifteen minutes to wait. Platform seven was the next one along, so did he want to use the footbridge or the lift? For a moment he had an urge to simply jump down and cross the rails, as quickly as possible. Then he could start walking, towards the warehouses where a curtain of bramble would conceal him. Nobody would see him hurrying up the line unless there were cameras. If he was spotted, they’d close the whole network and that would be that.

The Samaritans sign told him yet again that there was someone to talk to, and that someone was there to help him. He had tried them, and he couldn’t call again – for what could they say? A woman called Ella had helped him most, but to sit there whispering to her would be too intrusive and demanding. Ella had done her very best, and he didn’t want to addict himself to her or any of her measured, calm, lovely colleagues – whatever he had done. Whatever life had done to him. He stood still, mesmerised by the beauty of the glinting silver metal and the wonder of the engineering. A hundred and fifty years ago there might have been just one lonely line. There might have been just one train a day, rolling slowly in from Manchester, perhaps? Because that was the old days when railways were a nervous experiment. He smiled at the thought, and took another mouthful from his juice carton.