Close to the Edge Read online

  The swell of humanity seemed to catch the man by surprise. Laurie saw him shift his stance to accommodate the sudden pressure and was still looking at him when he realised that one foot was no longer on the platform. She just had time to register the change in his expression from amusement to horror, time to see his hand reach out in an attempt to regain his balance, and time to scream – an involuntary reaction to her own helplessness – before, with shocking suddenness, he was gone. The southbound train came out of the tunnel, slammed into his falling body, and carried it relentlessly into the station, before screeching to a premature halt halfway down the platform.

  Laurie stood there, her scream stopped as rapidly as it had begun. She stared at the train carriage that had appeared in front of her where the man had been only moments before. Inside, she saw faces turn from shock to bewilderment: this was not how their train was meant to stop. She saw commuters recover the dignity they had lost from being thrown into each other by the unexpected deceleration. She heard an announcement that due to an incident at Euston, Victoria line services were suspended until further notice. She watched passengers gather themselves together and leave the carriage, joined by those from further down the train, still stuck in the tunnel. She felt the platform start to empty around her.

  A chill spread from Laurie’s scalp, leaving a numbness in its wake that only amplified a sudden and overwhelming sense of claustrophobia. She had to leave. She had to be ahead of the crowd, be out in the open air. She raced down the platform, spared only a glance for the rubberneckers gathered round the front of the train, and began to shove her way through the queue for the up escalator, ignoring the mutterings around her.

  Whatever Laurie might have wished, the journey up was painfully slow. With both escalators packed solid, she could only stand on successive slowly rising staircases, waiting her turn. Forced into immobility, she began to calm down. Now she recalled her earlier panic with embarrassment. She looked around, wondering how close she was to people she had been pushing aside only moments earlier.

  Finally, Laurie reached the top. Another wave of her Oyster card brought her into the ticket hall. In forty seconds she was back in the plaza outside, looking across to the bike she had abandoned only a few minutes earlier. Nothing had changed. The sky was the same deep blue it had been for days. A helicopter overhead was pulling a banner advertising insurance; she had seen that earlier too. People were still rushing to work with the same air of hurried purpose. None of them caught her eye, let alone smiled like the man below had.

  The tiredness Laurie had felt underground came back upon her, but this time it brought no suicidal thoughts in its wake. Somehow, seeing the man fall had put paid to them. She walked over to her bike. It looked forlorn, with its chain hanging useless – like a horse that had cast a shoe. There was only one thing to do. Laurie pulled her mobile phone out from the pannier, swiped the unlock pattern, and pressed the green button twice. ‘Home’ flashed up on the screen. She could hear the ringing at the other end, and then the answer: ‘Laurie love. What’s up?’ She managed to get as far as, ‘Oh, Dad.’ Then she burst into tears.

  Dad was useless on the phone really. Laurie had known that before she called him. But even the sound of his voice made her feel better, and she had to smile when he suggested coming to her rescue, all the way from Somerset. Her breathing returned to normal. Eventually she was able to speak with a measure of self-control.

  ‘I’ve just seen someone fall under a train at Euston.’

  As Laurie told the story, standing there in the open air, only a few hundred feet from where the accident had happened, the tightness within her began to release. By the end, she was still exhausted, but with an accompanying sense of relief. She did not, of course, pass on the thoughts she had been entertaining just before the man fell – no need to burden Dad with that. She had moved from home; she was doing OK, honest.

  Dad didn’t reply for a while. Feeling the silence down the line, Laurie suddenly realised what she had done. Of course he would be thinking of Mum. Laurie had never seen her body after the accident, but he had. Was that the image that would now be forcing its way into his brain? Was that what she had brought upon him by calling home so unthinkingly?

  ‘Dad. I’m sorry,’ she began.

  ‘It’s all right, darling. I’ll be fine. But I’m still worried about you. Why don’t you come back here? I’ll meet you off the train. Get a bit of fresh air. You know.’

  ‘Dad. I’m not fifteen any more. I can’t just run away. I need this job.’

  ‘What, you mean you’re still planning to go into work?’

  ‘Isn’t that what you always say? If you fall off the horse, get straight back on.’

  ‘This isn’t quite the same thing. Still, you might be right, I suppose. But you’re probably in shock. Lots of sweet tea is the thing for that. Don’t rush anywhere until you’ve got your blood sugar up. And of course you’re still coming down this weekend, aren’t you? I imagine Fitzbillies can spare you then.’

  ‘It’s Fitzalan, Dad, Fitzalan Capital.’ Laurie was more amused than exasperated, but she had heard the note of entreaty in his voice. ‘And yes, of course I’m coming down. I’ll call you this evening.’

  ‘Good.’ Dad sounded more like his usual self now. As if to prove it, he threw in two final pieces of advice. ‘By the way, you might be a material witness to the accident; I know you don’t have particularly happy memories of the police, but you really should give them your name. As for your bike, it sounds to me as though your back wheel’s misaligned. That will be why the chain keeps slipping.’

  ‘Dad! That was years ago, and didn’t they swear there wouldn’t be anything on my record, as long as I went on that course?’

  ‘Well, I guess this will be your chance to find out, and to show that you are now a fine, upstanding citizen.’

  Laurie thought about things for a few moments after breaking the connection. Then she squatted down beside the bike. Dad was right. The axle at the back wasn’t fully engaged in its brackets. A spanner would put it right, but that could wait. She straightened, ready to go to work – and was instantly light-headed. Dad had been right about that too, of course. Sugary tea held no appeal, but some other treat would do the trick.

  Laurie was eating chocolate Brazil nuts as she walked through the station to the British Transport Police office. There, a buzz lock let her through to an anteroom dominated by a glass security screen: nothing like her memory of Cambridge police station, and all the better for it. The yellow-jacketed WPC behind the screen looked doubtfully at Laurie’s cycling shorts and t-shirt, but heard her out to the extent of taking down her contact details and promising that if an investigation was required then an officer would be in touch.

  That done, Laurie considered how to get to work. She couldn’t face going underground again: the inevitable announcement that ‘due to an earlier incident there are severe delays on the Victoria line’, the crowds even worse than before, the smell and the memory it would provoke. She would take the bus.

  Tuesday, 21 July – 10 a.m.

  ‘Laurie. You rock that Lycra look. In the immortal words of Big Cook, you are “hot, hot, hot”. Did you wear it just for me?’

  So much for being able to sneak in and change before anyone noticed her. Laurie should have guessed Nick would be here. He seemed to spend as much time leaning outside the front door nursing a cigarette as he did at his desk. Laurie could never have got away with that sort of behaviour, but then fee-earners always were cut more slack than support staff. Anyway, should she be offended by his remarks? She couldn’t be bothered; it was better, surely, to give as good as she got.

  ‘So, Nick, to all your other bad habits, do we now have to add a liking for children’s television? You are one sick individual.’

  Nick smiled back, enjoying the banter. ‘I’ve got children, haven’t I? So how come you know Big Cook, Little Cook, then? Please don’t tell me you’re young enough to have watched it first time aro
und?’

  ‘No.’ Laurie smiled. ‘Old enough would be more accurate. I do the recipes with my god-daughter. If you like I can sing you the song.’

  ‘Why spoil a wonderful moment? By the way, did you know you had a smudge on your nose?’

  It was just as well Laurie was walking past Nick as he spoke. His comment immediately brought to mind an image of the man on the Tube platform, leaning across to talk to her and pointing at his nose just before he fell. As it was, she was able to go downstairs to shower and change and reflect that at least she knew now what he had been going to say. She arrived at her desk as composed as on any other day.

  With Henry and most of the team on holiday there was little routine work to do, and certainly no prospect of overtime. Only one of Laurie’s nominal bosses was in the office. Michael was young enough to have grown up typing his own emails and had never shown the slightest inclination to use a Dictaphone. Did anyone under fifty? Nevertheless, he grunted assent when Laurie offered to do his filing, and even seemed mildly impressed by the energy she put into it. The work was hardly interesting, but it beat surreptitiously scrolling through Instagram until lunchtime.

  Tuesday, 21 July – 5.30 p.m.

  Laurie and the other two assistants stood up from their desks and headed for the door, weaving their way past analysts who would be there for hours to come. She had successfully negotiated a day at work. So far so good. It had been the right idea to go into the office.

  Spending the day at work was one thing; taking the Underground was another. Just thinking about it immediately reminded her of feeling helpless while the smiling man fell. Instead, Laurie returned to Euston on the bus and headed straight for the bike racks, determined to use the spanner set she had bought over lunch. Kneeling down beside her bike, she took off the lock and pondered the problem in front of her. Could Dad guide her through what to do on the phone? Perhaps she could YouTube it?

  Laurie was just about to pull out her mobile when she became aware of a presence behind her. She looked over her shoulder. A dark figure was silhouetted against the still-blue sky. Her heart quickened with the shock, but before she had time to react any more than that, the man spoke in a Home Counties accent: ‘Can I give you a hand with that?’

  Laurie stood up to see that this was another cyclist. Unlike her, however, this man clearly had not bothered with changing after work. Instead, bicycle clips at his ankles spoilt the line of a blue suit worn over a white open-necked shirt. The leanness of his neck suggested he must be fit, but his helmet made it hard to guess his age. Brown eyes looked into hers with friendly concern, holding her attention. Laurie registered elegant eyebrows and cheeks shadowed with a slight stubble before looking across to the bike he was holding: so shiny it might have been brand new, but just a Raleigh, nothing flash.

  The cyclist smiled as he waited for Laurie’s reply; perhaps she’d been checking him out for longer than politeness required.

  ‘Thank you. That would be lovely.’

  Propping his own bike against a pillar, the man retrieved a spanner from a little bag hanging behind its saddle and turned Laurie’s bike over so that it rested on its handlebars and saddle. In a matter of seconds, he had realigned the back wheel, checked that it spun freely without catching the brake pads and set the chain back on the cogs of the two gear mechanisms, first on the wheel, then by the pedals. A quick turn of the latter with his hand ensured that the chain was totally engaged, which allowed it to slip into its correct gear settings. Finally he flipped the bike back over and presented it to Laurie with just the slightest hint of a flourish, as of a waiter in a high-end restaurant serving the chef’s signature dish.

  ‘Oh, but you must have got oil on your hands. I’ve been scrubbing mine all day, and they’re still icky.’

  The man held his hands in front of him and turned them over: muscular and elegant; a pianist would have hands like that. And yes, the two fingers that had grasped the chain were both slightly oily.

  ‘Here, let me.’ Laurie found herself saying. She retrieved a wet wipe from her pannier and, holding his hand, removed the worst of the oil. Tending to this stranger’s fingers, Laurie couldn’t help remembering that last unsatisfactory date, months ago, the attempt at a kiss that had got nowhere before she broke it off. This felt so much more intimate, despite the innocence of her actions.

  He was speaking. ‘You’d better just try the bike. Make sure the gears change OK. I can always adjust them a bit more if not.’

  Laurie hoped she didn’t look as flustered as she felt. She got on the bike and cycled to the steps and back, checking out the gears as she did so. Everything ran fine. In fact, there was a smoothness to the ride that she was sure had not been there before. When she returned, the man was holding her pannier. He hooked it on her bike in the usual place above the back wheel. Oh God! She’d left all her stuff with him. What had she been thinking? Laurie was itching to get off her bike and check nothing was missing. Only embarrassment at the possibility of appearing rude made her stop.

  ‘Looks like you’re all set then …’ The man hesitated. ‘I don’t suppose you’d fancy a drink.’

  Laurie relaxed slightly. Surely he wouldn’t have made a suggestion like that if he really was about to run off with her purse? Nevertheless, her reply was automatic: ‘I’m sorry. I really am grateful, but I’ve got to get going. I’m already late as it is.’

  ‘Hot date?’

  ‘Well, something like that,’ Laurie replied, starting to regret her refusal. ‘It’s just, you know …’ She tailed off, not sure how to continue the conversation. What if she asked for his phone number?

  ‘OK. Well, safe cycling.’ The man held up his hand, almost as if he was issuing a benediction. Then pulled his bike from the pillar and wheeled it away.

  Laurie stared after him, disappointed, although whether with him or herself, she wasn’t quite sure. She briefly considered cycling after him, but she really did have to get home. Quite apart from anything else, she had decided to cook, and that would mean buying some ingredients. A quick check in her pannier revealed that nothing was missing – the man had been as trustworthy as he looked – before she started wheeling her bike towards the road.

  Laurie shouldered her way through the front door of the flat. Jess was on the phone in her bedroom, first giggling and then letting out a full-voiced, throaty laugh. Presumably she was talking to one of the Marks.

  Going through to the kitchen, Laurie unloaded the shopping and started stripping an onion. Then she got out her mobile and put it on speaker while she chopped.

  The phone rang twice at the other end before Dad picked up. She pictured him sitting there, waiting for her call, the crossword resting in his lap.

  ‘Hello darling. How are you feeling? What did the police say?’

  ‘Much better, thanks. They just took my address. I got the impression they weren’t interested, really. Anyway, I was glad I went into work. It took my mind off everything.’

  As usual, Dad didn’t ask for specifics and Laurie knew better than to offer them.

  ‘Well done you. Have you thought any more about this weekend?’

  Laurie swept the onion into the frying pan, sloshed in some oil, and turned on the heat. ‘Yeah. I promised to babysit Tessa on Friday. So I thought I’d probably get the lunchtime train down on Saturday, if you could pick me up at the station, the one that gets in at twenty to three.’

  ‘Sounds good. So you’re not going to bring your bike down? How is it, anyway?’

  ‘Fine, thanks. You were right about the back wheel. A nice man ended up fixing it for me. I’ve just ridden it back. And yes, I will ride in again tomorrow, but the weekend is something else.’

  ‘OK darling. Be careful, won’t you. And try not to fret about this morning. I’m afraid that sort of thing must happen all the time.’

  ‘Right. Love you Dad. Bye.’ Laurie put the phone down and concentrated on dicing the carrot she had been peeling.

  ‘What’s that about a n
ice man?’ Jess had come through from her bedroom and caught the tail end of the conversation.

  ‘Just a man at Euston station. He mended my bike for me.’

  Jess raised her eyebrows and Laurie was surprised to find herself colouring in response. ‘If you must know, he asked me out for a drink as well, but of course I said no.’

  ‘Of course,’ Jess said, with a wry twist to her mouth that suggested she might have behaved differently. ‘Laurie, I’m not going to try telling you to get out more, because last time I did you thought I didn’t like you hanging around the flat, and that’s not what I mean at all. But you’ve got to take a few risks, you know. London’s a great place to be young. Just give it a chance.’

  Laurie didn’t try protesting. She knew Jess was right. She’d known it even while she watched the man wheeling his bike away.

  Jess smiled. ‘It’s all right. Lecture over. Who am I to talk, anyway? Here I am, over forty, no one special in my life, having to exploit young cousins to help pay the mortgage.’ She looked at the pan. ‘What brought this on?’

  Laurie wondered what to say: that she’d been rescued from a moment of despair at Euston by the friendliness of a man who had immediately fallen under a train? That she had decided that a bit of cooking was the best way to take her mind off things?

  ‘I dunno really. Just felt like it. Plenty for you if you want some.’

  ‘Lovely. Here, have a glass of wine. Save me from being a solitary alcoholic.’

  Wednesday, 22 July – 7.30 a.m.

  Getting out of bed was as difficult as ever, but Laurie was still grateful for the alarm. It rescued her from dreaming about Mum for what seemed like the first time in years: Mum reaching out, yearning, her hands imploring for something – what? Help? Mercy? Forgiveness? And how had her car got onto the Underground?