Jake had his hands knotted at Carl’s stomach. He sucked in his breath in a gasp and stepped back, letting go of what he’d been holding. Carl’s fingers slipped back over the handle of the knife that was embedded in his stomach. Jake put his bloodstained fingers up to his face, his eyes stretched open, red smears on his stubbled cheeks.

Carl’s face was going grey. His hands slowly fell away from the handle of the knife, protruding obscenely from just above the buckle of his belt.

“You stupid fuck,” he said in a whisper, and dropped to the floor.

Bella screamed. The sound seemed to galvanise Jake. From looking down at his prone brother, he leant back over him and tugged at the knife handle. Bella screamed again as the dripping blade came up, thinking he was going to stab Carl again. Instead he turned and looked at her. His eyes were bloodshot, just as they’d been the first time she’d seen him, stepping out of the tunnels into daylight. His mouth moved, saying something she couldn’t hear. Then he drove the knife blade into his own chest, once, twice.

Both Veronica and Bella screamed. Bella jolted forwards, catapulted from her chair, her hands reaching out in a futile attempt to stop him. The first blow of the knife glanced off the bottom of his ribcage but the second went in deep. Jake cried out, the sound barely heard over the girls’ screams.

Bella got to him just as he fell down, crumpling onto the floor by his brother. Jake’s hands fluttered over the shaft of the knife still buried, quivering, in his chest. His eyes were squeezed closed with pain. Bella knelt, sobbing, wanting to touch him, afraid to touch him. She was dimly aware of Veronica behind her, crouched and wailing.

“Oh Jake,” she said.

He opened his eyes and looked at her. One of his hands fell limply across his stomach and she picked it up, feeling his palm damp and clammy, the ebbing warmth of his fingers. She thought that it was the first part of him that she’d known, his hand, his palm, his fingers holding hers, leading her through the tunnels and up into the light.

“Bella,” he said. His voice was so quiet, she could hardly hear him above the sound of Veronica’s cries. She leant forward, her tears falling onto his upturned face.

“It was so dark down there,” he said, and closed his eyes.

Epilogue

The wind threw a handful of rain against the pub windows as she ducked inside the doorway. Bella paused, head down, shaking her wet hair towards the floor. The pub was warm, dark, smoke hanging in writhing grey ribbons as she made her way towards the seats at the back.

“Hi Bella.”

Mark held a hand out towards her, directing her towards the empty bench. Bella smiled weakly and sat down.

They faced each other for a moment. Then Mark leant forward. She felt the momentary press of his mouth against her cheek and closed her eyes. His lips were warm and soft.

“Are you okay?”

She nodded. “I’m okay.”

“I got you a drink. I thought – wine?”

“Thanks -“

“God - you’re soaked-“

“It doesn’t matter -“

Their eyes met, properly. Mark put his hand out. She felt the warmth of his fingers, the shock of it.

“I can’t believe it,” he said.

“It’s alright,” said Bella, automatically. The same phrase, always.

Mark picked up his pint. Bella looked at his fingers, curled around the glass, and was reminded piercingly of Jake, sat across from her in the Black Horse. She felt her jaw clench. She picked up her cool wine glass, feeling the condensation slip beneath her fingers.

Mark put his glass down.

“I can’t believe it,” he said again. He was looking down at the table but then he raised his gaze to her face. Bella tried to smile. She couldn’t, at that moment, speak.

“I’m sorry I missed you at the funeral. It was a bit of a – well – a bit – “

Bella swallowed painfully.

“It was a bit,” she managed. Then she thought, why am I so worried about crying? Mark will understand. She felt the threatening tears well up and spill over. Mark’s face contracted.

“Bella – “

He moved to sit beside her, perhaps to take her in his arms. She put a hand up to stop him.

“It’s alright,” she said. A tear fell onto her hand, a tiny splash of warmth. “I’m okay. It’s just – I’m still very sad.”

Her voice broke on the last word. She coughed, wiping her face.

Mark was nodding.

“I know you are. I am too. I still can’t believe it.” For a moment, he frowned. “How that bastard Carl is still alive, and Jake’s – “

“Not.” Bella finished the sentence for him. Both of them were silent for a moment. Mark brushed at his eyes.

Bella clasped her hands together in her lap.

“Well, anyway,” said Mark, after a moment’s silence. “He’ll be going to prison for a nice long time, at least.”

“Will he?”

Mark looked appalled. “You don’t he’ll get off?”

Bella sighed.

“He’s got the money to afford a good lawyer.”

“He can’t.” Mark looked close to tears again for a moment. “He can’t. Life wouldn’t be that unfair.”

Bella laughed mirthlessly.

“Wouldn’t it?”

The two of them sat in a bubble of silence. Bella looked down at her glass.

“What about Veronica?”

Bella shrugged. She took another sip of wine, trying to swallow past the knot in her throat. After a moment, she felt calm enough to speak.

"It's funny," she said, looking at the depths of her glass. It felt easier to speak without looking Mark in the face. "The way we met - Jake and I - it threw us together, literally. I mean, he found me in the darkness and he led me out of the tunnels, up into the light. He saved me. And he said I saved him. I didn't understand then that what he meant was I saved him from what he'd done before."

"The murder," said Mark.

"Yes. I didn't understand - how could I? And he was wrong, too. I couldn't save him. How can someone else be the - the solution to that kind of trauma? The only person that could have done anything to make him feel better about himself was Jake himself, but he couldn't see that."

Bella forced herself to look up at Mark, to see how he was taking this. He reached for her hand across the table and for a moment, she allowed him to hold it. Then she pulled her hand away, gently.

"What hurts the most," she said carefully, "Is that it wasn't really me he wanted. Anyone would have done. If he'd latched onto anyone in that train carriage, they would have been the one to save him - that's how he would have seen it. It just happened to be me."

Mark looked troubled.

"That's not true," he said. "He did love you."

Bella stretched her mouth sideways in an attempt at a smile.

"It's nice of you to say that," she said. "But I don't think it's true."

Mark said nothing. He was rolling a beer mat between the fingers of his free hand and Bella watched the cardboard oblong go round and round, half hypnotised by the movement. It helped to distract her.

"Perhaps I didn't love him either," she said, almost to herself. "But I thought I did. I thought I did."

They said goodbye on the pavement outside. The rain had stopped and a watery gleam of sunlight was struggling through the clouds overhead. Mark pulled Bella towards him in a brief, crushing hug. Then he released her.

“Give me a ring sometime. Please?”

Bella smiled crookedly. “I will. I promise.”

“How are you getting back? You’re at your Mum’s at the moment, aren’t you?”

“At the moment. I’ll walk back to the station, it’s alright.”

“It’s a bit of a trek –“

“I’ll be fine.” She stretched up to kiss his cheek. He squeezed her hand.

“Take care of yourself.”