the wild mewl of the cat a split second before he lurched forward. A sharp jolt ripped through him, jarring his bones agonisingly as he landed on the unforgiving tracks. White-hot pain searing down his spine, he tried to raise his head. Couldn’t. Shit! Icy fear gripped his stomach as he heard a train approaching. He had to move. Now! Careless of the grit and gravel biting into his cheek, he brought his hands up, attempting to get some leverage. His gut twisted as he noticed the crimson stain flowering beneath him, felt the warm stickiness of his own blood. Christ, he had to get off the fucking tracks. Desperation clutching his chest, he tried to call out, but nothing escaped his throat other than a muted rasp.
Help me. He blinked at the phone, which lay tauntingly just out of his reach, and dragged in a harsh breath. The tracks hissed. Not a lucky black cat. Not for him. Deadly steel snakes vibrating beneath him, reverberating inside him. He heard the gurgle as he gulped back the coppery taste in his mouth. Felt the terrifying rumble of thunder beneath him. Heard a scream. Someone, somewhere, calling out.
One
Cassandra
July 2019
Cassie had wanted something upbeat in place of the traditional hymns, to reflect who Joshua was. She’d decided on something by a French band he’d been into since he’d heard their demo tapes on the internet. Tears stung her eyes as she recalled how he’d shown her a YouTube clip, explaining to her that it was electro-swing, and then promptly waltzed her around the kitchen. Sitting in the church, where she was somehow supposed to say goodbye to her son, she glanced sideways at Adam, grateful for the solidity of him, of their marriage. She wouldn’t be able to get through the service if it wasn’t for him, this dependable man who loved her unquestioningly – though she wondered whether he would still love her if he knew all there was to know about her.
Her heart aching unbearably, she clung to his hand as one of Josh’s friends from work recited the short poem she’d asked permission to read as a tribute. Adam squeezed her fingers as she listened to the girl’s tremulous voice: ‘“Do not stand at my grave and cry; I am not there, I did not die.”’
It wasn’t true. She squeezed Adam’s hand back, acrid grief crashing through her. Josh wasn’t here. And she needed him to be. She needed to see him, to reach out and touch him; her child, who’d come so unexpectedly into her life, filling the void inside her. He’d saved her, his tiny body comforting her when she’d been so bereft. Where was he now?
Adam wrapped an arm around her as fresh sobs racked her body. She bowed her head. She couldn’t look at the coffin. Her chest heaving, the tears spilled unchecked from her eyes onto the order of service on her knees.
She felt his arm slip from around her after a second, and wondered how he would contain his emotion as he delivered the eulogy. He’d loved Josh as if he were his own. He’d always been there for him. Cassie knew he was berating himself now for not being there when Josh had needed him most. As if he could have been. He couldn’t make himself believe that Josh had fallen onto the tracks and died such a horrific death because he’d drunk too much. The colour had drained from his face when the police had speculated about suicide. It was inconceivable, he’d told them categorically. Josh wasn’t conflicted or depressed. He’d texted him from the station, he’d pointed out. Showing them the text had swayed them back to their former assumption that he’d fallen accidentally, possibly landing awkwardly and sustaining an injury. His blood-alcohol concentration had been high, they’d eventually confirmed. There wasn’t much else left of him to establish cause of death, other than the obvious trauma caused by the train.
Still Adam was determined that he couldn’t have fallen. Josh had texted him, he’d repeated quietly as they’d left the inquest.
Feeling his pain, Cassie closed her eyes as he began: ‘Standing here today to say goodbye to our son, Joshua, is one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.’ She heard his voice crack as he spoke, and her heart bled for him. His face was pale, she noticed, incongruous with years of outdoor work; his expression taut. He was struggling, fighting to maintain his composure.