Close to the Edge Read online

  Long enough for what? Euston must be close to impregnable. If someone was going to get onto that track, they would surely have to come to it from a less well-guarded station elsewhere, somewhere on the Victoria line, for example. That might be the obvious place to start, but there was no obvious access point: King’s Cross to the north would be as bad as Euston, and Warren Street to the south not much better – cameras everywhere. But how about the Northern line? There was that funny little station, Mornington Crescent, just one stop away from Euston. It was a fantasy, Laurie knew as she clicked on another site, but might that offer a route underground?

  Laurie continued her surfing, turning her attention to the Tube network itself. She could remember faintly unsettling moments when she’d been travelling on the Underground, staring out of the window to avoid catching anyone’s eye, and the wall rushing by on the other side of the glass had suddenly disappeared, sometimes to reveal another train, whose passengers’ looks of surprise mirrored her own, but more often onto an empty set of tracks. There must be intersections, and they raised the possibility of getting lost. The fantasy could quickly turn into a nightmare.

  One website discussed the history of the different companies that were eventually amalgamated into the Northern line. It explained why both the Charing Cross and the City branches stopped in Euston, and why their platforms were so far apart. Then there was the series of deep-level tunnels, originally planned for an express route running from Belsize Park to Clapham South, converted to air raid shelters and bunkers during the war, and now abandoned or used for document storage. Laurie was starting to understand why ‘London under London’ exerted such a strong fascination over so many people.

  Gradually, the pieces came together. All those underground junctions, it turned out, were in the City branch – the result of Euston’s reconfiguration when the Victoria line was built. She liked the idea of the loop that meant that a train could transfer from the Piccadilly line at King’s Cross to the Northern line at Euston, although it was never used now for passenger trains. Then there was the siding that apparently terminated at the end of the southbound platform at Euston. The Charing Cross branch, on the other hand, was clean and simple. It went straight from Mornington Crescent to Euston: a few hundred yards with no interchanges, perfectly doable. Emboldened by the sense that a solution, no matter how far-fetched, was emerging, Laurie decided to go for a little journey to make certain.

  The street-level indicator at Tufnell Park showed that the next southbound train was going via Charing Cross. Armed with Sylvester, Laurie got in the lift and let herself be taken down. She raised her eyes from the page as the doors opened, but otherwise remained determinedly engrossed on the short walk down another flight of stairs onto, first, the platform and then, after a brief wait, the train.

  For three stations, Laurie did not look up from her book. Only when the train pulled out from Mornington Crescent did she put it away and stare out of the window, allowing her eye to follow the cables that ran along the tunnel wall. There was something mesmeric about it. She had to concentrate just hard enough to focus, but not so hard that she took back control of her eyes. It was a relief when, after only a minute’s travel, the train arrived in Euston. Laurie was dizzy, almost disoriented by the experience, but it had achieved what she wanted. She was sure that the cable continued unbroken from one station to the other. She crossed to the northbound platform and repeated the exercise, with the same result. One more round trip, looking out of the other set of windows, and Laurie was certain: there really was no intersection. If someone did walk down the line from Mornington Crescent to Euston, there was no chance they would lose their way in the dark.

  Laurie broke the second of the two return journeys by checking the topology of Euston Underground station itself. She’d used it countless times, but always just following the signs, with no real consciousness of what she was doing. This time she forced herself to notice, properly, how everything fitted together: the way the line she’d used from Mornington Crescent was at one end of the station, the short flight of steps up from it to the main interchange level, the corridors leading to the two Victoria line/Northern line concourses – one southbound, the other northbound. She rode up and down the escalators that descended from the interchange level to the two concourses, and registered the way both were also served by a single spiral staircase coming down between them. Was she becoming obsessed by a fantasy? Well, at least it was getting her used to being on the Underground again, and that was no bad thing.

  Back at Mornington Crescent everything was much simpler – just a platform level and a ticket office, with lifts and a staircase connecting the two. Laurie climbed to the top, the metal steps ringing beneath her feet, satisfied that she’d worked out the answer to her notional problem. It was surprising how good it made her feel.

  Her phone was beeping. She had a voicemail: ‘Hi Laurie. Just calling to check you’re OK. Give me a call some time. It would be good to see you again. Bye … Oh, this is Paul, by the way, Paul Collingwood.’

  Paul! Laurie found herself smiling at the sound of his voice. Simultaneously, she realised that was the first time she had thought about him all day. Of course, it was Sunday; he’d presumably be back in London now from seeing his kids. Yes, Laurie admitted to herself, she would like to see him again. All of a sudden that little brass disc started to feel less important. The message envelope had his number. Within seconds she could hear it ringing at the other end.

  After such excitement, it was a little disappointing to go through to voicemail: ‘Hello, this is Paul. I’m sorry I can’t take your call just now, but if you leave a message after the tone, I’ll get back to you.’

  ‘Hi. It’s Laurie. Just got your message. I’m back above ground now. It would be great to talk to you. Call me back.’ Oh God, did that sound too eager? Should she have hung up without leaving a message, or at least called back once she’d had a chance to compose one that didn’t make her sound like a breathless teenager? What if he didn’t call back?

  Knowing it was ridiculous, that she should be getting home, that if he hadn’t answered now, then it was probably because he was too busy, or away from his phone, Laurie nevertheless stared at her handset, willing it to ring.

  And it did! The screen announced a number with no name attached. Laurie was pretty sure she recognised it as Paul’s. She lifted the handset to her ear.

  ‘Laurie, is that you in person? I was afraid we were destined to play phone tag all evening.’

  ‘Paul!’ Was that too breathless? Surely it couldn’t hurt to let him know she was happy to hear from him. ‘You know I haven’t had your number until now?’

  ‘I’ve just worked it out. I was wondering why you hadn’t been in touch, so I looked back at that text I sent you on Tuesday and realised it hadn’t delivered.’

  ‘Well, I guess I’ve got your number now. How have you been?

  ‘We had a lovely time, thanks. The kids always seem to relax when we’re at my parents. How about you? Your message said something about being back above ground. Does that mean you’ve been on the Tube?’

  Laurie could hardly keep the note of triumph out of her voice: ‘It certainly does. I remembered something else about the accident, and I’ve been checking it out.’

  ‘That sounds interesting. I don’t suppose you’re free now for a bite to eat?

  Laurie was beyond playing it cool. ‘I’m free. Where did you have in mind?’

  Laurie liked the romance inherent in Paul’s idea of meeting at the top of Parliament Hill. Eight o’clock? That sounded fine too. It was only after she’d hung up that Laurie realised it was already seven. She must have spent two hours underground, and she was in no fit state for that all-important second date.

  Luckily, the trains were running smoothly when Laurie went back down. It took less than forty minutes to get back to the flat and take a shower. After towelling dry, she shrugged on the cotton dress she had bought in Bristol two summers ago, slipped her
feet into sandals and put on a bit of lipstick; no time for anything fancier. Oh God, her hair was still wet. Two minutes with the hairdryer would have to do. Laurie tied it back in a ponytail and was out of the door at eight.

  Five minutes later she was locking her bike to the railings by the café, and walking fast up the hill. If she could be less than ten minutes late, that wouldn’t be too bad. The evening sunshine meant there were still crowds of people about: dog walkers, joggers, tennis players walking back from a game, even a few pushchairs. It was good to see these reminders of ordinary life, of people who might have lived in London for years without experiencing any of the horror she had witnessed in the last week; she really should come here more often.

  When Laurie got to their rendezvous, she picked out Paul immediately, despite all the people milling around him. He was standing at the very top of the hill, looking out at the view of London stretched out before him. In profile, eyes scanning the horizon, he was as handsome as ever. It wasn’t so much his looks, but his air of capability; nothing could faze him.

  As if to confirm the thought, Paul turned round just as Laurie approached – no chance of him being caught unawares. Why didn’t she find it unnerving? Perhaps it was because he was so obviously happy to see her: smiling broadly as he leant forward to kiss her on the cheek. His skin felt a bit rough against hers. If Paul had dashed home to get ready, then his preparations had not included a shave. He let his hand rest on Laurie’s waist for a fraction of second, long enough for her to feel it there. Then he spoke. ‘I’m glad you could make it. On days like this, I sometimes think there’s no better place to be. Just look at that view!’

  Laurie looked. It was good to be up high, looking down on the city after the hours she had spent underground. There was the Shard, the most immediately recognisable landmark, with St Paul’s looking dumpy right in front of it; were they really that close? Another cluster to the left must be Canary Wharf, but it looked so near. Then, as Laurie got accustomed to the scale, she began to pick out other buildings to the west: Centrepoint, the Telecom Tower, some pylon on the far horizon.

  Laurie felt a surge of pride in her adoptive city. It was just as beautiful, in its way, as the view towards Glastonbury from above Dad’s house. Paul was right. It was amazing that she had lived around the corner for almost a year and had never been here before. Now she knew she would return often, dragging her friends with her, claiming ownership with her ability to point out the landmarks. She had to stop thinking of London as a dark place, full of violence. ‘Where’s the Eye?’ she suddenly asked, curious.

  ‘What?’ Paul had been looking at her, she realised, not the view.

  ‘The London Eye. You know, the big wheel by the Houses of Parliament. I’m surprised you can’t see it from here.’

  ‘I’m not sure. Perhaps it’s behind that tree.’ Paul gestured to the beech in full leaf that stood in the foreground and provided the view with its right-hand frame. ‘Are you ready for your picnic?’

  For the first time, Laurie noticed the M&S shopping bag at Paul’s feet. He picked it up and they walked down the hill together, looking for a less crowded spot. As they did so, the Eye appeared from behind a tower block almost directly in front of them. The beech tree Paul had indicated turned out to be concealing Battersea Power Station. It was strange how the angles could play with your sense of perspective.

  Paul led the way down to the slope above the running track, high enough not to lose the view, and they sat straight down on the dry grass. Laurie watched while Paul extracted various pre-packed delicacies from the bag, realising how hungry she was as he did so. Breakfast seemed a long time ago. For a brief moment, she remembered the huge quantities of fresh vegetables sitting in the fridge back at the flat, then she consoled herself with the thought that they would still be there tomorrow, unwrapped a plastic fork and tucked in.

  In the meantime, Paul was producing a bottle of Prosecco and two glasses, with something of the flourish that he had displayed when repairing Laurie’s bicycle the first time they met. They sipped and ate as the shadows lengthened, admiring the sun’s golden reflection on the buildings below.

  At some point Laurie started to feel chilly. Goose bumps were appearing on her arms. Paul overrode her half-hearted objections – at least he had a long-sleeved shirt on – and draped his jacket over her shoulders – only linen, but it was better than nothing. They both lay down, heads beside each other, looking up at the darkening sky. Neither touched the other, but Laurie was sure Paul felt their proximity as much as she did.

  The silence grew. It had been so easy to talk before. Where had that gone? Laurie couldn’t help feeling that each was waiting for the other to cross some bridge, do something to break the growing tension. ‘Do you—’ she began, only for Paul also to start speaking. ‘Laurie.—’

  It felt good to laugh with him. ‘You first,’ said Paul, narrowly beating Laurie to it.

  ‘Oh, I was only going to ask what you think when you see aeroplanes going overhead, whether it makes you want to travel? Whenever I see the trails high in the sky, I always wonder where they’re going, wish I was on them, that sort of thing.’

  ‘I know what you mean,’ Paul replied. ‘Just taking off seems so tempting. Then I think no, I couldn’t bear it if I never saw my kids again. They keep my feet firmly on the ground. I can’t just up sticks, at least not while they’re little.’

  Silence fell again. Laurie tried to imagine the sense of responsibility that must come with being a parent. She thought of Dad and the way he worried about her while pretending to be unconcerned.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Paul, interrupting her reverie. ‘Was that a bit pompous?’

  ‘No, not at all,’ Laurie replied, her voice trailing off. Then, ‘Anyway, your turn.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You were going to say something before we so rudely interrupted each other.’

  ‘Oh, right,’ Paul paused in a way that suggested he might be having second thoughts. He took a breath. ‘Well, I was going to ask if I could kiss you.’

  Laurie only had to turn her head for her lips to meet his. She could taste the Prosecco on his tongue, its tip pressing against hers. She felt his arms around her, pulling her towards him. The sheer joy of it took her by surprise; she had been on her own for far too long.

  The silence was no longer awkward. Paul walked beside Laurie as she wheeled her bike back towards Tufnell Park. No need to be afraid of the gathering shadows with him beside her.

  Back in the flat Paul sat on the sofa while Laurie fetched some glasses from the kitchen and returned to sit beside him. She never got around to pouring out the last of the Prosecco. Now Paul was kissing her on the lips, on the nose, on her eyelids and earlobes, smiling as he made her laugh, until Laurie stood up and led him into the bedroom.

  Laurie lay with her head on Paul’s shoulder, his arm wrapped around her, hugging her close. She had been right to think of him as kind. A feeling of contentment enveloped her.

  ‘So,’ Paul said through a yawn, ‘what was it you were going to tell me about the accident?’

  The accident! The events of the last hour had pushed it out of Laurie’s mind so much that it took her a moment to realise what he was talking about. It was an effort to refocus, but as she did, she thought again about how she had spent her afternoon, and her satisfaction at what she had discovered; she wanted to share that with Paul.

  ‘Last night I remembered that the man had been holding something when he fell.’

  Laurie finished. She’d told Paul about her experience with the police at Euston, how she’d cast her mind back to check it really was an accident and been brought up short by the detail of the empty hand. She’d described her journey into London that day and how she had got herself back underground. And now she’d just revealed that yes, she had spotted something on the Victoria line tracks at Euston.

  ‘I’m impressed. So are you still sure it was an accident?’

  ‘What? Yes I am. He wasn�
��t jumping; I’m sure of it. He wouldn’t have looked at me like that if he was. And if you’re going to jump, you don’t hold something in your hand, do you?’

  ‘Don’t you? What if it was the last thing given to him by the love of his life before she died? Or the last coin he possessed in the world? Do you have any idea what it might have been?’

  ‘No, all I could really see on the tracks was a bit of brass.’

  ‘So, have you told the police about it?’

  ‘Not yet. Instead – and don’t laugh – I spent my afternoon working out how someone could get it for themselves when the electricity is turned off for the night.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Just a fantasy, really. I reckon someone could fairly easily get onto the Victoria line at Euston by breaking into Mornington Crescent. Although quite how they’d do that I’m not sure. Anyway, it doesn’t matter; I probably will tell the police eventually.’

  ‘Do you think they’ll take any notice?’ Paul had turned over so that he was looking directly into Laurie’s eyes.

  ‘No,’ Laurie sighed, ‘but there’s no real alternative, is there?’

  Paul continued in his examination of Laurie’s face, as if he were weighing whatever he was going to say next, wondering how she would react. ‘Well, if you really think you could get us from Mornington Crescent to Euston, then I’m pretty sure I could get us into Mornington Crescent in the first place. That would be an adventure.’

  Us! Laurie started to laugh at the craziness of the suggestion, while a tingle of excitement started to build in her stomach. The fear that went with it was exhilarating – thrilling, even. She would never have gone down there on her own, but with Paul? That was a different matter. It would, as he said, be an adventure. Her arms were still around his head; she pulled him towards her for a kiss to seal the deal. As she did so, she knew that if they really were going to do it, if her nerve was not to fail her, it would have to be tonight.