Lynda described, in between bouts of weeping, how she'd been preparing dinner in time for John to get in. While it was cooking, she'd gone for a run and then went upstairs to change. She'd seen the train on the embankment from the bedroom window before she'd gone out, and was surprised to see that it was still there when she got back. She'd been out for over half an hour. Trains occasionally stopped in the same place during busy periods, waiting for clearance to continue into Coventry, but they were never there for more than five or ten minutes at a time. She watched it for a while, wondering what was going on. She assumed it had broken down. She was about to jump in the shower, when she saw a small group stumbling across the field towards the farm. Something in the way they moved wasn't right.
She continued to watch and, as they got closer, could see that they all seemed to be injured. Their clothes were heavily bloodstained, some of them were limping and dragging limbs, and others were holding their heads in unusual positions. She looked back at the train. There didn't appear to have been an accident. They were moving surprisingly fast. For a reason she didn't fully understand, she was suddenly deeply afraid.
Just as they disappeared out of sight behind the building, she heard Matthew barking, signalling John's return. She hurried downstairs.
She described how she'd opened the front door and seen John's back in the doorway of the boot room. He was bent over taking off his boots and completely unaware of the hideously disfigured boy in a green hoodie behind him, dragging his blood-soaked body towards her husband.
"John!"
"I'm coming, just taking my boots off," he called.
"John! Behind you! Look …"
John turned his head. Too late. The boy lurched towards him, knocking him into the room and onto the floor.
"John!" she'd cried again, backing off in shock as the boy fell on her husband, snarling and moaning like an animal.
At that point Lynda couldn't go on, but they knew the rest and didn't push her.
Lisa explained that she was on her way back from a meeting in London, heading to Birmingham to catch another train to her local station. They had established that they were, as Lisa had suspected, between Rugby and Coventry. The farm was close to a village called Wolston, near Coventry, and she lived only twenty or thirty miles away, near Solihull. She lived there with Neil, her husband of fifteen years. She worked as a business analyst for a large engineering company that supplied the motor trade.
"Have you got children?" Anita asked.
"No. No children," she replied.
"Oh, why not?
"No reason really. I don't know. We just never got around to it, I suppose."
It was the truth. She honestly wasn't sure why they hadn't had kids. Initially, she'd been trying to get her career established before she started a family. Then there were other things they wanted to do before they settled down. Places to visit, things to see and experiences to have. The years had just slipped away. At forty-four, she was well aware that her biological clock had probably stopped ticking. Sometimes, little pangs of regret floated to the surface but most of the time she was happy just the way they were, and so was Neil. Or at least that's what he told her. All they really needed was each other.
It had always been like that with them. Other than Neil, the only other people she was close to were her family, consisting of her parents and two sisters, and Sylvia, a woman who lived across the road. She had known Sylvia for a while. They had both joined a local pop choir at the same time and, discovering that they lived close to each other, they had started walking to rehearsals together.
For Lisa, they only became friends a year later when they spent four hours on a coach together, travelling to and from a performance in London. They had talked all the way there and back, and Lisa had really liked the older woman for her openness and generosity of spirit. Since then, she had grown to love her and now, saw her as a true friend. Nothing shocked or surprised Sylvia, she never judged or criticised and she had become one of the few people Lisa could talk to openly and enjoy spending time with.
It had been the same with lovers. First and foremost, they had to be someone she could call a friend, by her own definition, overthinking or not. If she only had a few real friends, the list of lovers was even shorter. She'd met Neil in 2001 when she was working for Jaguar in Coventry, her first job after graduating. He'd come to film a documentary about the decline of the British car industry in the Midlands. For a couple of days, she'd watched him working with the rest of the film crew from behind her computer screen, drawn in first by his unguarded smile, but later by a baser appreciation of his broad, powerful shoulders, his lightly tanned forearms and obvious, even inside his jeans, muscular thighs and buttocks. When, on the third day, he asked if she fancied a drink after work, she was terrified. She tried to say no, but he had already got her sussed and had arranged where and when they were going to meet before she could think of a good excuse.
From that day on, she had adored him. He made her feel loved, safe and secure, and normal. He balanced her out, checked her when her mind was taking her too far in unhelpful directions. She trusted him completely, and he had never let her down.
At some point around 3am, the programmes stopped and
