Five(64)

“No. I was trying to save you,” she says. “You were so close to the edge of the platform.”

“Yeah,” he says, through glimpses of memory. He is a little boy. Paw Patrol on his tablet. People yelling. An alarm. The big man holding his head. An old lady on the ground, sleeping. Emma grabbing him, kicking her until she lets him go. The train is coming. He kicks the big man. Another man on his knees on the tracks. That’s his chance. When the adults all look at the train and the kneeling man. A blast of sound. He pushes, but he’s not strong enough. He’s pushed back. The rush of air from the train passing. A big hand on his chest. Falling backward, landing hard.

That is what he remembers. But that is not the story his mother tells.

“It was all so fast,” she says. “And so loud. The alarm, the train, the screaming. So much was happening. I’ve told you this, an old lady had a heart attack, a man was on the tracks, two guys tried to help him, another lady was bleeding. I was trying to hold you but you struggled against me, you were close to the edge and I was afraid you would fall.” She does not mention how he kicked her. She has always been too afraid of what she saw her son do, whether she did actually see it, to speak it out loud. In case Gideon remembers. In case he tells her that it’s true. In case he remembers what she did. And didn’t do.

“We fell. I remember. Why? How?” he asks.

“I grabbed you and someone grabbed me,” she says. “A man, and he pushed us away from the train.” She does not say which man.

“Did you want to die?” Gideon asks as he has asked before.

She avoids that question. She says, “We don’t feel things, Gideon. Love is different for us—”

“Love?” he says, with slight derision, slight disdain in his voice.

“Yes, love. I would jump in front of a train to save you. That’s love,” she says.

“That’s crazy. I wouldn’t do that for you,” he says, shaking his head.

“That’s because you’re not my mother,” she says.

Gideon laughs. It is unexpected, the sound of it. It surprises him, and her. He has not laughed for a long time.

“That would be fucked-up if I was, Emma,” he says, a chuckle in his voice.

“I know,” Emma says, looking at her son, “We’re fucked-up, Gideon, aren’t we?”





07:28





@OfficialBritishRailways It is with great sadness that we report a person hit by a train on the South London line. All trains between West Woodard and East Croydon are blocked while emergency services attend the scene. Expect delays. We apologise for the disruption to your journey.


@Sophiesoph79 So sad for the family. Poor train driver. How awful.


@alice57895 I’m eight months pregnant on the train that hit the person. Theres no toilets. sorry for the family but how long will we be here?


@BritishRailways to @alice5789 We apologise for the inconvenience. Delays of 60 minutes or more are expected. We will endeavour to keep you updated.


@johnnyrightwings72 I’d get to London faster in a migrant boat.


@Debbuchan7879 Awful for the family and staff involved. So sad How do I apply for a ticket refund?


@crustykingrichard Bloody British railways, it’s always something. Sorry, bloody is a poor choice of words, considering. LOL


@everyanon5 Poor train conductor. Poor bloke. RIP whoever you are.



* * *





The young officer ties the yellow caution tape to a parking sign and pulls it taut between all of the available signposts to cordon off the entrance to the station. The local police and paramedics arrived about ten minutes after Medical Student placed the call. The railway’s mobile operations manager and the British Transport Police soon followed. Of course, by the time they all arrived, everything had already happened. But they are here now, and their presence in the aftermath is a relief.

The officer is posted at the station entrance to close it off and redirect the public while the situation is stabilized. As he is new to policing, he has not learned to leave enough slack in the tape as he weaves it between the signposts, so as soon as he ties the end to the final post, the tape snaps at the first post, and the end flutters to the ground in the breeze.

He feels a flush rising up his neck as he tries to pick the tape up off the ground to begin again, with more and more commuters and students arriving, unsure from his movements as to whether he is putting the caution tape up or taking it down. A teenager on his way to school, headphones on, only half-paying attention, proceeds to the entrance.

“Back up, back up, please, station closed,” the officer says with as much authority as he can muster, shooing the teen away with one hand while he tries to reattach the tape to the first post. However, somehow the tape is now not long enough to reach the final post. So he must find another place to anchor it.

Impatient office workers and sleepy students gather in front of the station. People begin pulling out their phones and saying things into them like “Some sort of delay,” and “Of course, useless, bloody police aren’t saying anything,” and “So sorry, I’m going to be late.”

A group of older women arrive dressed in floral blouses and sensible shoes, with rarely used expensive handbags, ready for their day out in the city. They’re supposed to have a champagne brunch at a five-star hotel and then catch a matinee in the West End today. Their leader says, “This simply won’t do,” and emerges from the steadily building crowd and says to the officer, “Constable, excuse me, excuse me,” waving a manicured hand at him, but he doesn’t look up. He has now tied the caution tape to a post and woven it through a few others, and he thinks he might be able to make this work if he just doesn’t stretch it to the last one, when the tape slips through his fingers and flutters to the ground. Again.