Bron-29

Continued from Chapter 28: Bron-28 | ABCtales

Bron cycled slowly along New Birch Moor Lane, towards the depot. She’ managed to get through on the phone at Holyhead, just before catching the morning train to Euston, booked herself onto the night shift. Still loads of time before booking on.

“See you this evening then!” the deputy foreman had said, the coughed. “Sorry to hear about your Dad. All the lads here, they’re, they’re all like … well, we heard the news. We’re all very sorry.”

A Police helicopter clattered overhead. A common enough sight and sound in this part of London. A stolen car, trespassers on the railway, a stabbing…

She approached the Great Western main line, diving into the underpass, then out the other side. No trains, up or down. Slightly odd. Perhaps trespassers had caused an all-line block, not unknown. It happened now and again.

She locked the bike up outside the messroom and pushed open the double doors. The place was deserted. She tapped on the foreman’s door, then slowly pushed it open. Deserted, papers scattered on the desk, the waste basket on its side.

Then the night-shift manager’s office. No one. She tried door after door. The black and white cat that the shed foreman had adopted paused in its patrol of the canteen floor, then sidled off into the shadows under the bench. She pushed open the entrance door and went outside.

Just then, a yellow railway van swung into the yard. Bron hurried up to the driver’s window. A black guy she recognised by sight. He wound down the window and nodded. “Where is everyone? Place is deserted. Night shift starts in half an hour …”

“”Not heard the news, love?”

“What news? Been travelling all day.”

“Big crash. Local train, he did a spad. Head on crash wi’ an up express, couple mile up the line. All traffic stopped.”

“Shit! Anyone hurt?”

“Hurt? People killed, man, loads …”

Just then, Phil Willis, the shed foreman drove into the car park in his white Ford saloon. He leaped out and gestured silently towards the messroom door. “Bron, we need to have a word.”

He motioned her towards the black chair opposite his desk, then sat down the other side of the desk. “You heard the news?”

“Only what the guy in the van told me. A crash? Been travelling all day, not had a chance …”

“There was a crash. About eight this morning. Local diesel unit out of Paddington – went head-on into a High Speed Train. Nothing confirmed of course, but between you and me looks very much like the local did a spad.”

“Oh God! GOD!”

“But there’s worse. It’s not definite, but we’re pretty certain Fred was in the first car of the diesel unit, going home to Slough, on the cushions. It splintered, totally, buried under the power car of the high speed. Looks like hardly anyone got out alive. I’m sorry … shit! I’m so sorry. I know, you two were close… “

“What? He was going … we were going to meet up tomorrow, take me through the traction apprentice application...”

Bron glanced backwards through the open door at the messroom TV. The news channel. A haze of thin blue smoke rising in the sunshine over a wrecked HST. Numbers in white painted sprayed by the emergency services on the disordered cars of the wrecked trains. Firemen clambering on top of the wreckage, peering through shattered windows. Bron shuddered.

The camera zoomed in on the power car, perched on top of something … something crushed underneath it.

“Class 165; haven’t got the crash protection of a paper bag. Nobody in that front car stood a chance. Close the door, Bron. Can’t stand looking at it.”

“Are you sure? Absolutely sure that it was Fred?”

“Yeah … He’d normally get that train … if he’d been on nights. He’d usually get in the front, in case one of the driver’s he knew was on. And his missus said he never came home …”

“No…NO… Fred! FRED!”

“Oh god, Bron. And what with your Dad and all…Bron. You’d best head home. Sure you’ll be OK riding back? Can call you a taxi if you want.”

“No! I’ll stay. No point going home now …Keep the job going.”

“Well, if you’re sure. But there’s nothing to do here at New Birch. They’re turning a few round at Slough … and Reading. Could use some help there. Can get you a taxi … but only if you’re sure.”

“Yes. I’m sure. Keep the job going…”

To be continued in Chapter 30