by Jane Holland
I try to look round, but can only turn so far. There’s a mass of young men behind me, dressed for a night out on the town, swaying together mindlessly like plankton in an ocean current. They’re all chatting and singing, looking past me without seeing me, waiting to board the train . . .
All except one man, who’s clearly not with them. He’s right behind me. Middle-aged, with a moustache, a grey hat, collar turned up.
He’s not looking at the train like everyone else, but straight at me, with hard grey eyes that seem to pierce right through me.
Creepy.
The air is shuddering. Old newspaper is whipped up and about the platform walls as the incoming train begins to brake. The crowd shifts heavily as yet more people pour onto the already crowded platform, eager to get on board. We are all being forced towards the edge of the platform, including me and Jasmine.
‘Shit,’ I say, and grab at the person in front of me for balance.
It’s Sally.
‘Sorry.’ I release her. ‘People shoving me from behind . . .’
The crowd heaves forward convulsively, like a muscular spasm. It’s as if I’m being swallowed. I grab at arms and shoulders, and cling on, trying to save myself from being knocked to the ground. I’ve lost Dominic in the chaos and I can’t see Jasmine or Louise. I stumble into the person in front.
Suddenly there’s a terrible cracking thud ahead of us, like a ball hitting a cricket bat, only more muffled.
I try to see over the crowd but all I can see are heads and the silver-and-red flash of the side of the train going past. Then it brakes more violently and I see passengers in the lit-up carriages being thrown forward.
A woman is screaming.
‘Dom?’ I shout, my voice rising in panic. ‘Dominic? Where are you? Dominic?’
Jasmine pushes through the crowd towards me, saying, ‘Excuse me, excuse me,’ to everyone. Her expression is strained as she reaches my side. ‘It’s okay, I’ve got you,’ she says, putting an arm round my waist. ‘You can lean on me.’
‘Jasmine, what the hell’s happening? Where’s Dominic?’
‘No, trust me, you don’t want to look.’ I see the horror in her eyes as she tries to stop me pushing past. ‘I think someone’s gone under the train.’
Chapter Thirty-Five
My first appalled thought is that Dominic has fallen under the tube train.
But he appears behind Jasmine a few seconds later, looking as tense as she does, and I feel my heart jolt back into life.
‘Dom,’ I say, holding out my hand to him, and he draws me close. ‘Oh God, Dom.’
‘I’m here, baby.’ He kisses me on the lips. ‘Don’t freak out, okay?’
‘Jasmine says someone was hit by the train.’
‘Yeah, some old guy. Poor bastard . . . he must have tripped and fallen onto the tracks, I guess.’ Dominic catches me by the shoulders and holds me still, shaking his head. ‘Hey, stay back. There’s nothing anyone can do for him, and it’s not a pleasant sight.’
There’s an announcement over the loudspeaker system, but I can’t seem to focus on it. The crowd is slowly beginning to disperse. I don’t want to look, and turn my head the other way, shuddering. There’s a hat lying on the ground a few feet from us. I stare at it in shock, then let Dominic lead me away.
The police keep us at Embankment station for ages, taking names and witness statements from those nearest the edge of the platform. I don’t say much, as I didn’t see anything. The platform is closed while they deal with the incident, and we all have to file out of the station to be questioned. It takes nearly an hour and it’s freezing and dark outside. Once it’s over, we’re told the Underground is closed now until Boxing Day, so give up on that idea and cram into a taxi instead. Sally and Louise drop us off outside a Chinese takeaway near my parents’ house, then head home together with contributions towards the final fare from all our pockets.
We shouldn’t still be hungry after the meal we had earlier, but we are. All the booze and stress, I suppose. We grab some food at the takeaway, mercifully still open, and arrive back at the house at one in the morning. To my relief, my parents’ guests have all gone and the house is in darkness, though remnants of the party are still in evidence, the dishwasher on its rinse cycle and half-empty wine glasses everywhere. In the kitchen, over a hot drink and our Chinese food, Dominic tells me and Jasmine that he saw the dead man ‘fly’ past him, as he puts it.
‘I think maybe it was a suicide,’ he decides in the end, ‘not accidental. But obviously I can’t be sure. There were so many people near the edge of the platform. It looked like he jumped. But maybe he was pushed and lost his footing.’
‘There’ll be CCTV on the platform,’ I say, trying not to sound as shaken as I feel. ‘The police should be able to work it out.’
Jasmine looks unconvinced. ‘In that crush of people? It was so crowded, I nearly fell under the train myself. And the quality on those CCTV films isn’t brilliant. I doubt they’ll be able to see much.’
I help myself to some noodles, staring down at them.
‘I wonder who he was,’ Dominic says.
I say nothing. But my mind keeps flashing back to the only thing I saw as people dissipated in panic from that end of the platform.
The grey hat, trampled on the ground . . . no sign of its owner.
My hand shakes and I put down my fork.
It must have happened directly in front of where I was standing.
My heart feels like it’s beating incredibly slowly. As if the blood in my veins has turned thick and treacly. Was it me who pushed that man onto the tracks? I remember grabbing at someone’s arm in the chaos, and feeling them shift under my weight. Then I pushed hard.
Looking back, I realise I can’t be sure where anyone was. Or exactly what happened. But there’s this dark tide of guilt inside me. Guilt and fear.
‘Catherine?’ Dominic leans over to kiss my cheek, and I grab his shoulder, holding on desperately. He laughs. ‘I’m not going anywhere, stop panicking.’
‘I thought for an awful minute it was you.’
‘Me?’
‘Under the train.’
His laughter stills. ‘Why would you think that?’
‘I don’t know.’ I manage a smile, wanting to reassure him. But inside I feel like jelly. ‘Just being silly, I guess.’
‘Time for bed,’ he says firmly, and puts down his fork.
Jasmine takes the hint and starts clearing up the takeaway. She has barely touched her food, I notice. Not surprising, perhaps, after what happened in the tube station.
‘You two go upstairs,’ Jasmine says in a low voice, scraping her plate into the bin. ‘I can sort this out.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Of course.’ Her voice drops to a whisper. ‘You don’t look too good, Cat. Best go to bed.’
I head off down the dark passageway to the stairs. I hate being treated like a kid. Yet people seem to treat me like one on a regular basis. Maybe I’m behaving like a kid, too.
Someone is coming downstairs. It’s Dad. He looks old and weary in his dressing gown, his hair dishevelled.
‘Oh, Catherine, thank God you’re not hurt,’ he says as I flick the light on. He hurries to embrace me. ‘Jasmine’s text only just came through.’
‘Text?’
‘About what happened in the tube station. So terrible.’ He studies my face sympathetically. ‘Her text said you were very upset.’
‘I thought I knew him,’ I blurt out.
‘The man who went under the train?’ He sounds stunned.
‘Maybe not knew, exactly. I thought I’d seen him before, that’s what I meant. Quite recently.’ I trail off under his searching gaze. ‘I could have been mistaken.’
I look down at my feet. My ankle isn’t hurting as much anymore, which is one good thing, at least.
‘Of course you were mistaken, darling,’ says Dominic, appearing at my side. He strokes my cheek with the back of his hand. ‘Y
ou were traumatised by what happened, you weren’t thinking straight.’
I say nothing.
Dominic gives my father a reassuring smile. ‘Robert. Did we wake you?’
‘No, I wasn’t asleep, I was . . . reading. Ellen is asleep though, so we’d better keep our voices down.’ Dad is frowning, his gaze still on me. It’s unnerving. ‘Catherine, may I ask where you thought you might have seen him before, this man?’
I think back to that day at the food bank. The woman with the buggy and the attitude. The woman I followed out into the street to give her some money.
‘I saw him outside the food bank once. He was driving a Jag.’
‘And that was the only time?’
I nod. ‘He was the same man who was on the platform tonight. I’m sure of it.’
My father is silent.
Dominic shakes his head, making a tiny noise under his breath. ‘Sweetheart,’ he says, ‘I don’t want to hurt your feelings. But how can you possibly know it was the same man?’
‘The hat,’ I say simply. ‘That grey hat he was wearing. And the moustache.’
‘Hardly conclusive.’
Jasmine comes out of the kitchen, whistling softly. She stops at the sight of us all huddled in the hallway.
‘Merry Christmas,’ she says.
‘Of course,’ Dad says blankly. ‘It’s Christmas morning, isn’t it? Merry Christmas to you all.’ He glances at the hall clock. ‘Well, if everyone’s safe and in one piece, I’d better get back to bed. Your mother will expect me to be on turkey duty first thing in the morning. Goodnight.’
‘Goodnight.’
Dad turns and heads back upstairs. Jasmine follows him, yawning.
‘Oh hell,’ she says halfway up, looking back down at Dominic. ‘I forgot. The window in my room won’t shut properly. It’s probably freezing up there now. Any chance of a hand, Dom? Maybe some WD-40 too?’
‘More likely some elbow grease,’ he says with a grimace. Then he gives me a quick smile and heads up the stairs after her. ‘I’ll only be a few minutes. You okay to go up on your own?’ he asks.
‘I’m fine,’ I say, though in truth my ankle is aching again. I have a horror of people fussing over me. ‘I’ll see you in bed.’
I turn off the hall light.
The ground floor is dark and silent now everyone has vanished, but the landing light is on above. I walk up carefully, clinging to the banister in case my ankle decides to give way again.
I pause at the top of the stairs, hearing a muffled thud from the guest room. Dominic, presumably, trying to shut Jasmine’s window so she doesn’t have to sleep in an icebox. Further along the landing, my father’s bedroom door is ajar. My parents have separate rooms, just like the Queen and Prince Philip. They always have had, for as long as I can remember.
Perhaps if I talk to Dad on his own about what happened tonight, he’ll be more likely to believe me. I just can’t get it out of my head that I’d seen that man before . . .
I knock lightly on Dad’s bedroom door and put my head round when there’s no reply. The room is empty. The only light comes from a Tiffany-style glass lamp on the table next to his armchair, giving the room a discreet yellowish glow. Dad’s en-suite door is also open, the bathroom in darkness.
Where’s he gone?
I listen. There’s a rumble of low voices through the wall. Coming from my mother’s bedroom on the other side. I suck in my breath. Dad must have nipped in there to speak to Mum before heading back to bed, even though he said she was asleep. Perhaps he wanted to tell her what happened at the tube station. About what I thought I saw. Before I’ve even had a chance to give my side of the story. Once again, I can’t even go out for a drink with friends without everyone getting involved.
I am just about to retreat when I see it.
The black edge of a notebook, half hidden under some papers on the bedside table.
I wasn’t asleep, he had said. I was reading.
Chapter Thirty-Six
I can’t be sure, but it looks like the black notebook I found in the cellar. The one I hid under the cabinet in the living room. The notebook that mentions Rachel and her various psychoses and treatments. It disappeared and now here it is again on my dad’s bedside table.
I slip off my shoes and creep across the floor towards it.
‘Catherine?’
I jerk round so fast, I twist my ankle again and cry out in pain.
It’s Dominic.
‘Bloody hell, woman,’ he says, almost angrily. He hurries across the room to grab me in his arms, taking the weight off my leg. He looks down at my bare foot. ‘Are you hurt? You said your ankle was better.’
‘It is better. I was just—’
‘Trying to do too much before it’s properly healed.’
‘Obviously.’
‘You’re going to end up back in hospital if you’re not careful.’ He glances round at the empty room. ‘What are you doing here anyway? I thought you were going straight up to bed?’
Before I can think of a credible excuse, my parents appear in the doorway, looking at us in complete bemusement.
‘Yes, Catherine,’ my father says, an edge to his voice. ‘I’d like an answer to that question too.’ He thrusts his hands in the wide pockets of his dressing gown and does not move from the doorway, effectively blocking my escape. ‘You know my room is out of bounds. I bring official papers up here sometimes. Maybe not top secret, but sensitive documents all the same. What were you doing in here?’
I hesitate, my face flushing with embarrassment as they all stare at me.
‘I wanted . . .’
‘Yes?’
‘To find Rachel’s ashes.’ It’s the only reasonable excuse that comes into my head, so I blurt it out. ‘You said once that you kept her ashes in one of your cabinets. Or maybe I saw her urn in here when I was a kid.’ Except that was in his downstairs study, I realise too late, but press on regardless. ‘I can’t remember now. But the door was open, so I thought . . .’
‘You thought you’d do some bloody sleuthing,’ Dad says sharply.
I nod, trying not to look back at the notebook.
Mum is pale and staring. In a plain white nightie with a high buttoned collar, she looks oddly prim and Victorian.
‘Your father showed me your letter, darling,’ she says, glancing from my father to me. ‘What . . . what on earth do you want with your sister’s ashes? Is this because of what you said in the letter?’
I say nothing, but look pleadingly at Dominic.
‘I get the feeling Catherine wants to see Rachel’s ashes,’ Dominic tells them, ‘because she needs to be sure that her sister really is dead.’ He nods at me, his voice carefully neutral. ‘Am I right?’
‘Spot on,’ I say huskily.
‘You can’t have missed how much stress Catherine’s been under lately,’ Dominic continues, looking at Mum and Dad, ‘with all the odd things that have been happening. Plus the feeling that perhaps you haven’t been as open with her about how Rachel died as you might have been.’
I see Dad’s eyes narrow.
‘I know it sounds strange,’ Dominic says, ‘but it’s actually very simple. If Catherine could see Rachel’s ashes for herself, maybe even scatter them somewhere, I think she would be able to finally accept that her sister is at peace. And her life could go back to normal.’
Dad looks unconvinced, but Mum leans against the door frame, giving me a broken smile. ‘Oh, darling, you should have said something before. If that’s all it is, of course you can see your sister’s ashes. Can’t she, Robert?’
My father hesitates, then gives an abrupt nod.
‘Now?’ I ask, deeply surprised.
‘In the morning,’ Dad says firmly. He points at his digital alarm clock. It’s after two o’clock. ‘Her ashes aren’t up here. They’re in my study downstairs. But it’s rather late to go rummaging about looking for funerary urns,’ he says. ‘Especially on Christmas morning. We all have a busy day ahead. And
in fact, I believe your husband is working a shift at some point tomorrow.’
‘I am indeed,’ Dominic says ruefully.
‘Well then.’ Dad kisses Mum on the cheek. ‘You’d better go to bed, Ellen. I’m sorry I woke you. I’ll see you at seven, all right?’
When she has gone, my father steps aside to let us leave his room. He smiles at me in passing, but I can tell he’s not happy. It’s just an act. There’s a strain in his face that wasn’t there before. Like he’s been holding a string taut, using all his strength, but is about ready to give up and let go.
‘You two have a good night. We’ll talk more in the morning.’ He pauses. ‘Please try not to upset yourself, Cat.’
Cat.
He hasn’t called me that in years.
Upstairs on the top floor, pale moonlight streaming through our bedroom window, Dominic kisses me on the lips in a languorous fashion, and then sits me down on the bed and starts to help me undress. His hands are cool on my body, first checking my ankle, which is less swollen, and then working his way slowly upwards.
‘There you go,’ he whispers in my ear. ‘You’ll see Rachel’s ashes tomorrow. Maybe even get to scatter them. How’s that for a Christmas present?’
‘It’s pretty ghoulish, as Christmas presents go.’
He pulls back to look at me, frowning. His eyes glitter in the moonlight. ‘What’s the matter? I thought this was what you wanted. To know for sure that Rachel’s dead.’
‘Yes.’
‘But you’re still not happy. I don’t understand.’
‘It’s not that.’
‘Okay.’ He kisses my throat hungrily. ‘What then?’
I consider how to answer that. I’m still thinking about the notebook, wondering how I’m going to get access to it again without Dad finding out. Whatever’s in it, he doesn’t want me to know. Which means I must read it.
I haven’t mentioned the notebook to Dominic. I should do. It feels so deeply personal that even talking about it out loud could be dangerous, but he’s my husband. He deserves to know.
Yet even as I open my mouth, caution makes me change what I was going to say. ‘That man tonight,’ I whisper. ‘The one who died.’
