Five(4)

He has lost all of the money from his trust and sold the vintage Rolex left by his Colombian grandfather, which he mourns every day as it was the most meaningful object he owned. And the ?32,000 debt would have been ?27,000, except that instead of paying it off, as he had told himself he would, he lost half the money he got for the watch on his favorite poker site.

If he could just get a better job and start earning more, he could pay off the debt, put this behind him, or work two jobs, bring down the debt, pay the debt, or he could play a game right now, because you never know, he might win, he could win enough for it all to go away, or it could all end now, this morning, and he could do what he planned to do and just go to the edge of the platform, just there, and at the right moment, at the right time, imagine it, the relief, he could just jump in front of the—

“Oi, you can’t do that!” the voice of the businessman suddenly cuts through Sonny’s conversation with Mrs. Worth and the constant monologue of the debt, the debt, the debt flowing under his every thought and action.

Emma yells, “Just watch me!” as she jumps down onto the tracks, so overtaken by adrenaline and anger and frustration that she just barely registers her son mimicking her somewhere, “Just watch me, watch me!”

“Oi!” the businessman shouts again, as he jumps down onto the tracks after Emma.

Perhaps now is the time to introduce him properly. His name is Liam. He is tall and broad, conventionally handsome, the alpha male in every room he enters. He wears exactly too much expensive cologne. He has a Mediterranean complexion, always tan in defiance of the sunless English winter. His smile, charmingly imperfect with that slight gap between his two front teeth, is a small gift he bestows upon women. When they deserve it.

He is in his midfifties, but age has only made him more attractive, adding salt, pepper, and distinction to his close-cut beard, which matches the dark stubble of his close-cut shaved head. Even Liam cannot make hair grow where nature has determined it no longer will, but he has turned his hair loss to his advantage. He is ruggedly handsome, his male-pattern baldness a credit to his virility, as though his hair simply could not survive his potent masculinity and so surrendered, defeated, leaving his scalp as a shining emblem of his vigor.

Liam gets up at five every morning to run and work out in the very expensive gym in the finished basement of his enormous suburban house, and it shows. No potbelly of middle age for him. He has the abs of a much younger man. And the bank account of a very rich one.

Liam usually drives to his office in London. He’s only at the station today because he was hoping to catch Emma. He hates taking the train with all of its sad, ordinary people. Having been ordinary himself once, he prefers not to be reminded of those days. Although when doing business, he does like to bring a touch of the common man into the room. It’s a useful tool that makes men born into affluence uncomfortable and deferential. Especially in today’s climate. It is why he still thickens his accent when he speaks to men of greater education and higher birth. He knows it stings when his dropped H’s and double negatives remind them of his lesser beginnings but his bespoke Italian shoes remind them of his greater wealth.

If he survives and gets to his meeting, Liam will make an investment in an opportunity presented to him by two young people from the generation that people Liam’s age have little respect for because they’re sensitive, self-centered, and politically self-righteous. But these two are onto something, he can feel it. And if he is right, as he usually is, it will have global implications. And if he can get Emma to get his brother on board, all his problems would be solved.

So it really would be a shame if Liam died before making today’s investment. Perhaps even a greater shame than if Gideon, the child, died. Gideon, after all, has nothing to invest. Neither does Emma, who is in debt, having invested all she has in Gideon. Liam knows this. That’s why he follows her onto the tracks.

Now, pause here.

Take note of their positions.

The child, the mother, the businessman, the old woman, and the gambler.

Consider these five in relation to one another.

Consider them in relation to themselves.

Leave them here and meet the others, the witnesses to this morning’s events. But please don’t hang about. We don’t have much time.

In the middle of the platform stand two middle-class, middle-aged, middle-management commuters who are slightly hungover from last night’s midweek, midpriced, midrange red wine.

The first, whom we’ll refer to as Bad Back for reasons that will soon reveal themselves, is tired from training for the charity 10k he was pressured into signing up for and for which he has collected no donations, planning to just give ?500 himself at the end and be done with it.

The second, To Do List, is trying to finish her online grocery order on her phone before the train gets here, but she forgot her reading glasses and cannot see the screen clearly and consequently orders Royal Gala apples instead of Pink Ladies.

When her order arrives tomorrow, To Do List will argue with the delivery person and say, “I didn’t order these.” He will show her his handheld device, where it will demonstrate clearly that she ordered Royal Galas, but she will insist that this is impossible, even in the face of hard evidence. To Do List often misdirects her difficult emotions, and the delivery person will bear the brunt of her reaction to witnessing a death at the train station the day before, not knowing that the Royal Galas represent her new certitude about the futility of her own existence.