Lucy had decided to tell me how Dad died. The train was full, so full that although we were travelling first class, we were sharing the compartment with a horde of others - students, squaddies and oilmen, all of them drunk, half drunk or intending to get that way.

“Nobody knows how it happened,” she said. She leaned over the table towards me. “There was a board meeting - dad was submitting proposals for a wholesale modernisation of the farm.”

I was surprised to see tears in my sister’s eyes.

Published in
Something Wicked Issue 10