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coat was just a few yards in front of him as they approached the station entrance. It would be easy to lose sight of someone here, but he was careful to stay close and allowed himself a little smile of satisfaction when he saw her turn abruptly off the main road and hurry down the tarmac slope. It seemed they had a train to catch.
    A covered footbridge was the only access to the far platform and Naysmith paused, waiting until she was all the way across, before walking onto it and looking out on the station below. There she was, making her way down the long ramp that led to the curved platform, already lined with a number of early-evening commuters.
    He checked his wallet for cash – he knew better than to risk using a credit card on a journey like this – when the rattle of an arriving train made him look up.
    Mustn’t lose her now.
    He hurried across the bridge and down the ramp towards the platform as the other passengers were boarding. It was a short train – only two small coaches – and he just had time to read the destination
Severn Beach
before leaping aboard through the last open doors. She was sitting with her back to him, at the opposite end of the carriage, so he slid quietly into a seat near the door and calmed his breathing as the train began to move. He gazed out of the window as Clifton Down station slipped away and they crept into the darkness of a long tunnel.
    The guard appeared through the connecting door from the other carriage and began to make his way along the narrow aisle, checking tickets. In the fluorescent gloom, Naysmith frowned. He didn’t know which station she was going to. Taking out his wallet, he fished out a ten-pound note and held it ready for the approaching guard. He remembered the destination he’d read as he ran along the platform.
    ‘Return to Severn Beach, please.’
    He could always get off sooner if she was going to an earlier stop.
    The guard took his money, tapped a few buttons on a shoulder-slung machine, and printed out two tickets. After counting out the correct change, he walked back towards the other carriage, swaying slightly as the train emerged from the tunnel, daylight bursting in through the windows.
    Naysmith blinked and looked out at the bright green foliage whipping by as they joined the river winding its way along the tree-lined Avon Gorge. When they slowed for the first station, he positioned himself so that he could see the back of her head between the seats but she made no move to get up. He settled back into his corner and stared out at the expressionless faces of the people on the platform, then closed his eyes. It had been a long day.
    He found himself thinking of all those other faces, still so clear in his memory, each one a challenge, each one a reward. He understood the game now, knew why he played it, what it had given him. Casting his mind back, it was difficult to remember how he’d felt before it all began. He was different now. The game had changed him, altering something deep inside so that he couldn’t empathise with his former self. But there was no regret in that.
    He felt the train begin to move. There was a change in tone as they rumbled over a bridge and he opened his eyes again. To the left, the Avon was broader, its sloping banks silted with grey mud. He wondered how far they had to go.
    Nobody got off at the next station, but as the train pulled into Avonmouth most of the passengers began to get to their feet and collect their bags. From his vantage point, Naysmith watched intently, but she stayed in her seat, gazing out at the sheltered platform, its back wall decorated by a huge children’s mural.
    The doors closed and they began to move once more, clattering slowly over a level crossing and following the single track as it curved steeply round to the right. The train passed in the shadow of an imposing old flour mill that towered like a derelict monument above the other industrial buildings lining the side of the track. There