The saucer clattered loudly as Polly put her teacup back down on the table. She’d been sitting totally motionless with the cup poised by her bottom lip throughout the entire report. But now her hands shook so violently that the stone-cold contents of the cup spilt everywhere in huge waves.
She looked around at the other customers in the all-night café. They were mostly taxi drivers in for their morning fryup. She’d been sat there since two a.m. last night; it was now 6.36 a.m. She was filthy. Her clothes were covered in black soot. She had a nasty gash on her forehead and the tip of her middle finger was crushed almost completely flat with the nail embedded deep in the skin – she hadn’t dared look at it yet.
She’d found the café under the railway arches just down from Paddington station. She had gone straight to the ladies’ toilet to try to clean herself up, but the bleeding from her forehead wasn’t ready to stop and there was very little she could do about the state of her clothes. The man behind the counter was less than pleased to see her, but soon parked her down in the corner with a cup of hot, sweet tea when he saw the shell-shocked state she was in. He’d asked several times if she was OK and whether he could call someone for her; she had just shaken her head and murmured that she was fine.
In the hours she’d been there everything had become numb; even the throbbing in her finger had become slow and rhythmical. She looked back up at the TV above the counter. It had been on all night, but this was the first item she’d seen about what had happened.
When she had seen Sebastian waiting for her on the eastbound platform of Lancaster Gate station, she had started to tremble, but not with fear this time – with pure, unadulterated rage. She’d watched him from the shadow of the stairwell. He was dressed impeccably in a pair of chinos and an expensive wool coat. He walked back and forth nonchalantly while he waited for the train.
Polly’s eyes narrowed as they followed him. His life had continued as if nothing had happened; he’d barely broken stride. She’d been a blip, a minor annoyance, a fly that he’d had to swat away. She’d lost so much because of him. She involuntarily clenched her fists hard, until her nails drew blood from each palm. And he was going to be allowed to carry on doing whatever the fuck he liked for the rest of his life. The world was his playground and he could dick around with whoever he liked in it.
The heady drone of the next train thundering down the tracks echoed in her ears. The sound taunted her as it grew louder and louder. Before she knew what she was doing, she was running straight at him. He didn’t see her until she was almost touching him. Her hands were outstretched and clawing for his coat. He quickly turned to try to defend himself. She planted both her hands on his chest and pushed him with all her might. Her nails dug deep into his shirt; she could feel them cut into the flesh below. She bit down hard on her tongue as she pushed harder.
He was forced to take a step back. His heels teetered on the edge of the platform. He reacted quickly, grabbing her around the waist to stop himself falling. They wobbled precariously together as if in an embrace. It didn’t take much for him to get his balance back – Polly was so weak and thin that it was like batting away a kitten.
Once he’d steadied himself, he looked up to see the train’s lights appearing in the distance in the dark tunnel. A wry smile played on his lips. He quickly swung her round so her back was to the tracks. She could hear the train getting closer and closer.
‘So nice for you to give me this opportunity to end it all for you, Polly,’ he said.
He grabbed her by her shoulders and used the rest of his body to force her over the edge of the platform. She tried to regain her balance and tip her weight forward, but he gave her no room to move. The front of the train appeared at the mouth of the tunnel. The noise was deafening.
It was then that the moment of clarity came. If she was going in front of this train, she was going to take him with her.
She looped both arms inside his coat around his waist, pulled herself tight into him and squeezed her eyes shut.
She could just make out his scream over the noise of the train as she jumped.
Forty-five
Polly’s first thought was that she didn’t think you could think when you were dead.
She opened her eyes. It was dark, really dark; she could barely see a thing. She used her hands to explore her immediate surroundings. She knew she was lying on her tummy, but couldn’t feel anything in front of her. She reached out as far as she could, but there was nothing. She kicked her legs back and shuffled a few inches backwards, but again there was nothing. She reached out either side and immediately hit concrete. From what she could feel, she was in some kind of concrete channel. She reached up above her head and felt hard metal. She quickly pulled her hand away when her brain caught up with the burning in her fingertips. Then it dawned on her. She was underneath the train. She’d fallen into the suicide pit.
Her eyes were slowly adjusting to the darkness. She could just about make out a faint light up ahead. She started crawling underneath the tracks towards it. She stopped dead when she realised she was dangerously close to the electrified third rail. She moved across so she was to the right of the pit, furthest away from it.
As she got closer to the front of the train, she could see some kind of sack on the tracks, out ahead in the light. The bottom half of it had fallen down into the pit and the rest was hanging over the side of the concrete blocks. She stopped when she recognised the expensive wool coat. His clothes were still completely intact, holding together his shattered, pulverised remains. All that was missing was his head.
Her body lurched back and forth as her guts heaved inside her until she could barely take a breath. She started reversing back under the train. Once she was a safe distance away, she stopped and took in big gulps of air.
Suddenly there was silence. The train’s engine had been switched off.
She heard the tube doors open and then voices as bewildered commuters started to get off the train.
The platform was suddenly alive with activity. She could hear footsteps running up and down the tiled floor, and the crackle of walkie-talkies. Then the tannoy system sprang into life.
Will all customers please make their way directly to the nearest exit. There has been an incident in this station. We need to evacuate all platforms and close the station. Please make your way to the nearest exit in a calm, orderly manner.
The babble of voices on the platform began to steadily rise.
She heard a door open then slam shut. The driver had just climbed out of his cabin.
‘Oh, God,’ he said. ‘Oh, Jesus fuckin’ Christ.’
More voices as people went to the front of the train to look.
‘Move away, please, ladies and gentleman, please make your way to the nearest exit,’ said a male voice, moving closer. ‘Are you all right, mate?’ said the voice, Polly assumed to the driver. The other people on the platform were moving away so Polly could hear them both clearly.
‘I don’t know what the fuck just happened. They came from … just … outta fuckin’ nowhere.’
‘They? You mean more than one went under?’ he said.
‘I don’t know, maybe. I thought I saw someone else, but … I don’t know. His coat … his coat was all bunched up, it didn’t look right.’
‘Look don’t worry, transport police are on their way, they’ll be here any minute.’
Polly heard footsteps moving towards the front of the train. ‘Bloody hell,’ said the driver, then he retched and the contents of his stomach splattered on the platform.
‘Come away from there, don’t look. Transport will sort this mess out.’
Polly stayed as still as possible, terrified that she’d give herself away at any moment.
‘You’re all right, mate, take a couple of deep breaths.’
Suddenly there were several pairs of footsteps running down the platform. Police radios crackled loudly echoing around the station.
‘Right,’ said a female voice. ‘
I’m PC Fowler and this is PC Daniels. We got three carriages with people in them still stuck in the tunnel. They’ve turned off the live rail so we can get down on the track now and get the body cleared. Then we’re gonna need to get the train moved forward to get everybody out.’
‘Bod-ies,’ said the man who’d been speaking to the driver.
‘There’s more than one?’ asked PC Fowler.
‘Oh, God, I don’t know,’ said the driver. ‘It all happened so fast, I thought I saw someone else, but I dunno now. Maybe it was just his coat, his coat was bunched up all funny.’
‘Are you saying that the train hit more than one person?’
‘I don’t know,’ said the driver, exasperated. He sounded as if he were on the verge of tears.
‘Right, well, let’s get this place cordoned off as a crime scene until we’ve had a look at the CCTV footage.’
‘Good luck with that,’ replied the man.
‘What? What do you mean?’ asked PC Fowler.
‘It’s been on the blink since Monday.’
‘What?’
‘I’m not the man in charge around here – not up to me when these things get fixed.’
Polly heard a loud crackle on the radio, then PC Fowler’s voice again. ‘Sarge, you’re not gonna fucking believe this … ’
It wouldn’t be long before they were down on the tracks. Polly had to get out of there fast.
She tried to turn around so she was facing the other way, but the gap wasn’t big enough. She started crawling backwards, slowly at first, then picking up pace when she heard the first thump as someone jumped down on to the tracks. Bits of dirt and gravel ripped up the skin on her palms as she crawled as quickly as she could. Even though the train’s engine had been switched off, the heat was unbearable. Beads of sweat trickled down her neck and dripped off the end of her nose.
She was nearly at the back of the train when she heard a loud squeak and something ran across her hand. She jumped up in fright, hitting her forehead on the metal undercarriage above. The pain gave her a few moments’ grace before it hit her. It was blinding. She instantly collapsed flat on the floor, warm, sticky blood oozing down her forehead. It hurt so much she couldn’t even make a sound to articulate it. She lay there incapacitated for several minutes. She contemplated staying put forever, keeping her eyes closed and just waiting until they moved the train and found her. Maybe now was the time to give up. But then she remembered him. She needed to survive because he hadn’t. What good was the world if she couldn’t exist without him in it?
With a superhuman effort she picked herself up and got going again.
The train went all the way back into the tunnel. Once she was sure she was clear of the undercarriage, she stood up. It was dark. The train obscured most of the light coming from the platform. She turned and looked down into the tunnel. She tried to estimate how long it would take to walk underground to the next station. Queensway was the next one down. When she was on the Central Line it always seemed to take ages between stations until it got to Marble Arch. It was probably at least a mile, maybe two. She debated it for a second before realising it was a stupid idea – what if there were other trains still running on the track? They’d said they were going to switch the power back on soon. She doubted it after what had just happened, but she couldn’t be sure.
She turned back to face the train. There was a small gap between the tunnel and the side of the train. She moved in close to size it up. It was tiny, but she reckoned she could just about squeeze down the ten metres or so to the platform. She took a deep breath and slowly eased her way in. She’d only taken a couple of steps when she found herself in front of a lit carriage window. There were several people down the far end, still stuck inside, waiting at the doors. She tried to duck down, but the space was so small it was impossible. She quickly slid back out behind the train before anyone saw.
She lashed out at the tunnel wall with her fist in frustration. What now? She had to get out of there. The police would be moving the train soon. What would they think if they found her down here? She suddenly had an image of a sharp-suited DC Watson giving evidence against her in a packed courtroom. Tears flooded her throat and threatened her eyes. She took a deep breath. Now was not the time to lose it. Once she was out of here she could fall apart into a million pieces if she liked, but until that time she had to keep herself together and focus on getting out.
After a few minutes, she’d calmed down enough to think straight again. There must be a logical way to do this. Her eyes had become more accustomed to the darkness now, so she was better able to stand back and evaluate the shape of the train. She noticed a small space to the side of the wheels. She bent down to take a closer look. The wheels of the train ran along the tracks above but didn’t quite run along the concrete edge, they came in slightly. There was a small gap about three feet by three feet between the train’s wheels and the tunnel wall.
‘You can do this, Polly,’ she whispered to herself.
She got down low to take a good long look. If she could make it to the end of the first couple of carriages, she’d be able to climb up through the gap where it joined the next carriage and on to the platform.
She got on her hands and knees and slowly made her way into the gap. She put her arms out ahead of her as a guide, then slowly pulled her body along. She was completely flat, slithering like a snake. She could see the light from the platform getting closer and closer.
‘Keep it going, Polly,’ she whispered to herself. ‘That’s it, nice and steady.’
Suddenly the train’s engine fired up above her. The vibrations along the track were bone-shattering. She panicked – not knowing whether to try to back up or carry on. But she was so close now. She had to keep going. She grabbed on to the rail above her head and started dragging herself along as fast as she could. Suddenly the train started reversing above her. A set of wheels crunched over the tip of her middle finger, mashing the nail deep into the skin and crushing the bone. The scream was out before she had a chance to stop it.
The train suddenly stopped and the engine cut out. ‘Whoa, whoa,’ someone was shouting from up ahead. ‘We’ve found the head. Someone just needs to jump down and get it, then we can get moving again.’
It was now or never. Polly pulled herself forward using every ounce of strength she had left. Her hands ripped and tore at the ground beneath her as she tried to get purchase. Moments later she reached the gap between the carriages. She grabbed on to the edge of the platform. She stopped momentarily to pull the hood of her jacket down low over her face and hauled herself halfway up. The exit was directly in front of her. She looked to her left. Police and tube train staff were busy watching the poor sod who had to retrieve the head. She bent forward and slithered on to the platform. She was up on her feet and out of the platform in seconds. She hid in a side tunnel for the next fifteen minutes until the remaining commuters were let off the train, then she calmly walked amongst them to the exit.
The news channel gave regular updates of the story on the hour every hour. It wasn’t until 9.15 that the Met finally made their statement. A DCI who looked far too young to have such an important job read from a single sheet of paper.
‘At 10.49 p.m. last night a man was his hit by a train on the eastbound platform of Lancaster Gate station. After a full and thorough investigation of the scene, we can confirm that no other parties were involved, despite rumours to the contrary. However, it is unclear whether the man jumped or fell in front of the train. The body has been identified as that of Sebastian Black, son of Robert Black.’
With this last sentence the crowd of waiting journalists went ballistic – a sudden surge forward, camera bulbs flashing, questions flying. The DCI was unable to continue reading his statement; instead he was forced into action, trying to calm the crowd.
After a few moments, the picture cut back to the studio, although with the live footage from the scene still playing in the background.
The newsreader lo
oked shocked. ‘As you can see from our live pictures, an announcement has just confirmed the suicide of Sebastian Black, son of the media mogul Robert Black and heir to the Black Inc. empire.’
He continued on struggling to cobble together whatever he was being told through his earpiece, with all hell breaking loose in the media mogul’s newsroom.
They had a real story to report now, one that Polly would play no part in.
She gathered herself together and left the café.
Acknowledgements
Special thanks to the innovative women at RedDoor for taking publishing in a direction that allows new authors to emerge, and for their endless enthusiasm and support. To my editor Linda McQueen for her patience and expertise, as well as the time spent scoping out tube stations. Thank you to my teachers at Brunel who supported the novel from day one, especially Matt Thorne, Celia Brayfield and Fay Weldon. Thanks to Kate Ramsay for the author photo in spite of my awkwardness. Lastly and most importantly, to my family and friends: it would all be nothing without you lot around me.
About the Author
K.A. McKeagney studied psychology in Bristol before completing a Masters degree in creative writing at Brunel. She won the Curtis Brown prize for her dissertation, which formed the basis of her first novel, Tubing. She has worked in London as a health editor, writing consumer information, as well as for medical journals. Her writing has been commended by the British Medical Association (BMA) patient information awards. She is currently working on her second novel.
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