Girl on a Train

by A.J. Waines

down the phone, my heart racing. *** In spite of living in London most of my life, I’d never been to Colliers Wood. It shared a postcode with Wimbledon, but didn’t appear to share anything else: no tennis racquet or strawberries in sight, no central chic village or excuse for a Womble song. Mr and Mrs

the wall above them. A bicycle missing both its wheels, saddle and handlebars was lying buckled on the pavement, like a giant crushed stick-insect. I pulled my coat close, trying to remember whether I had much cash in my purse. The curtains to number seventeen were closed, upstairs and down. I pushed open the feeble gate and walked along the path, trying