Five(65)

A mischievous breeze lifts the end of the tape off the pavement, then lowers it again just out of reach of the officer, then lifts it again, as he hobbles about trying to catch it. He is starting to sweat. He finally does catch the end with a bit of a skip and a hop and a lunge, his belly wobbling over his belt. As he finally, triumphantly grasps at the end of the caution tape, his police hat, new and stiff with its glittering shield, falls off and hits the ground.

“Excuse me, constable,” trills the leader of the older women.

“Mum, can you pick me up and drive me to school,” says a teenager on the phone to his mother.

“Damn it, Sarah, it’s not my fault,” says a man on the phone to his wife, whom he will soon divorce.

But there is a sudden hush in the small crowd when the first of the five gurneys emerges from the station.

“Hey! Can you cut this tape? We can’t get by,” one of the paramedics says. The young officer had not realized that in his determination to cordon off the area he has in fact blocked the paramedics’ pathway to their ambulance. Oh God, he says to himself, internally slapping his forehead. “Of course, sorry, lads,” even though the paramedic speaking is a woman. He rushes to break the tape and let them through.

Pause here, for a moment.

Consider what you know and what you don’t about the child, the mother, the businessman, the old woman, and the gambler.

You know now that Gideon and Emma survive. Perhaps that is a relief. Perhaps not.

Parts of the child and the mother die, of course, metaphorically speaking, if you like those kinds of metaphors. Metaphors about life and death, or the death of the spirit versus the death of the body, or the death of the past to enable the birth of the future, these are always good topics to raise in book club when the conversation lags.

Especially because it is too uncomfortable to talk about how, privately, you may think that Gideon should have been the one to die because he is a psychopath who ruins three lives. Four if you count his mother. Or five if you count the dog. And that’s before he’s even old enough to drive.

It’s hard to admit that you feel that way because, after all, he is only a child. And he is still a child when he commits his crimes and still a child once he has served his sentence. Surely, he can’t be entirely lost at such a young age, surely, we must believe in his redemption.

And yet.

You can’t get away from the feeling, because his recollection of today, which is ten years old by the time you have read it, is so disturbing. So, to avoid an awkward conversation over the charcuterie board and chardonnay, raise the point about the metaphors instead. You can steer things away from the fact you think Gideon should have been condemned to death even though he is only a child and even though you know that after ten years, memory, especially a childhood memory, is a flaky, fleeting thing. And the point is, you don’t believe in the condemnation and execution of children. Not really.

When everyone gives the transport police their statements, they refer to Emma as “that mother,” “that pale woman,” and “that one who couldn’t handle her kid.” They recount her jumping on the tracks this morning and her struggles with her rambunctious son. She is the first one taken off the platform on a gurney. She has a concussion. She is not sure if that is what is making her cry so hard, or if it is the death, or if it is the future with Gideon stretching out in front of her.

The crowd outside the station parts and gives the paramedics a wide berth when they see her and hear her hysterical crying, followed by a solemn Gideon wearing a silver emergency blanket because his coat was lost in the melee that surrounded the saving of his life. When the crowd see the screaming woman and the silent boy, they understand that something terrible has happened this morning.

A video of Emma is posted on TikTok: POV Monday morning.

Another video is posted to a private group on WhatsApp: My first day back after mat leave and this is how it starts. I know how she feels but FML.

At every station down the line toward London, announcements are made over loudspeakers: Due to a person hit by a train, all trains to London Victoria are cancelled. We apologise for the disruption to your journey. A few station staff cannot bring themselves to say the words “person hit by a train” and refer instead to “a customer incident.” A few others do say them, because they know the truth usually makes the public less volatile on a morning like this. A few others think about the train driver, and feel awful for him, and listen in on walkie-talkies to hear if it is one of their friends who will now be changed forever.

To Do List was watching as Emma was handled by the paramedics on the platform and then taken away. When it is her turn to be checked, she asks whether she too could be taken out on a stretcher because of her ankle and bloody nose and her mental distress. After all she did and witnessed, she really feels that she deserves hospital admission. She thinks how wonderful it would be to lie in a bed and have everything done for her, and how her husband and sons would rush to see her and be so worried.

But her nose has stopped bleeding and she can walk, so the paramedics tell her that she is fine and let her go. She gives the transport officers her contact details and a brief statement, skipping over the part about triggering the alarm. With her purse and laptop bag in hand, she leaves the station to find a cab. All of the taxis in the local area have now lined up outside the entrance because news of the station closure has been on local morning TV and radio, and there is a mad dash for them. But when the waiting commuters see the bedraggled To Do List emerge, they grant her the respect of taking the first taxi.