sister would definitely cry when he told her, he thought, smiling. They’d worry about him while he was away, but that was only natural.
Ahead of him was the stone bridge that spanned the train tracks leading in and out of Walston. The station itself was about a mile away, just about visible from the centre of the bridge. Callum walked to the centre of the structure and leaned on the parapet, looking down at the tracks, realising that one of the express trains from London would be passing beneath him in the next minute or so. He smiled to himself. He’d only been to London three times in his life and now he was getting ready to embark on a career that would take him around the world.
He heard the rumble of the approaching train and saw a couple of magpies that had been standing on the metal rail take flight. The rumbling grew louder and Callum could actually see the dark outline of the train approaching now. It would be doing seventy by the time it reached the bridge.
Callum swung himself up onto the parapet of the bridge and stood there, swaying slightly as he looked down at the tracks and the fast approaching train.
He actually saw the driver’s face for a split second, the man’s eyes stretched wide in horror and realisation.
Callum Wade stepped off the parapet and dropped like a stone towards the onrushing engine.
11
Walston, Buckinghamshire
The farm was five miles from the centre of the town. A twenty-minute drive if the narrow roads weren’t too busy. Just over sixty acres that supported a small dairy herd, sheep, pigs and just enough arable crops to survive. And, if Andy Preece was honest with himself, that was all he was doing. He survived. He made just enough money to run the farm. Just enough to support his family. His wife worked too. She had little choice. The money that the farm made was barely adequate for their needs. They needed a more stable, regular wage coming in as well.
Andy sold some of his produce to local restaurants and hotels. Even some of his animals, but the farm wasn’t big enough to attract attention from the supermarket chains. He simply couldn’t produce anything in sufficient quantity to ensure a contract with one of the top retailers. That was where the money was in farming. In mass-produced crops or battery-farmed animals.
He’d thought about battery farming, he’d thought about specialising in one specific crop (asparagus, his wife had suggested) but none of the suggestions had been viable. He wanted to be comfortable. Not rich. Not rolling in it. He just wanted to be able to run the farm and make a profit without working eighteen hours a day and worrying constantly whether or not there was going to be enough money to pay the electricity, gas and water bills and keep the kids in clothes. Andy hated it when they asked him for anything new. He hated it when they asked if they could have a holiday this year. He’d been promising them one for the past four years but he knew deep down that his promise was an empty one. He would never make enough money to give them the holiday they wanted. Not even a week in some grotty caravan on the coast somewhere. That hurt him deeply.
The farm was a millstone around his neck and, in the past few months, the prospect of selling it had become even more enticing. But there was something stopping him. Something stronger than the desire to feel secure. Something more powerful than the need to support his family with more than just a pittance. He knew he could retrain for another trade. At thirty-nine, he had been brought up on the farm and it was all he knew but there were opportunities out there if someone was willing to take them and Andy Preece had never been frightened of hard work or the thought of a new start.
What held him back was his pride.The farm had been run by his father and by his grandfather, handed down through the generations like a jewel that is slowly losing its lustre. Andy felt that, if he sold the farm, he
Ahead of him was the stone bridge that spanned the train tracks leading in and out of Walston. The station itself was about a mile away, just about visible from the centre of the bridge. Callum walked to the centre of the structure and leaned on the parapet, looking down at the tracks, realising that one of the express trains from London would be passing beneath him in the next minute or so. He smiled to himself. He’d only been to London three times in his life and now he was getting ready to embark on a career that would take him around the world.
He heard the rumble of the approaching train and saw a couple of magpies that had been standing on the metal rail take flight. The rumbling grew louder and Callum could actually see the dark outline of the train approaching now. It would be doing seventy by the time it reached the bridge.
Callum swung himself up onto the parapet of the bridge and stood there, swaying slightly as he looked down at the tracks and the fast approaching train.
He actually saw the driver’s face for a split second, the man’s eyes stretched wide in horror and realisation.
Callum Wade stepped off the parapet and dropped like a stone towards the onrushing engine.
11
Walston, Buckinghamshire
The farm was five miles from the centre of the town. A twenty-minute drive if the narrow roads weren’t too busy. Just over sixty acres that supported a small dairy herd, sheep, pigs and just enough arable crops to survive. And, if Andy Preece was honest with himself, that was all he was doing. He survived. He made just enough money to run the farm. Just enough to support his family. His wife worked too. She had little choice. The money that the farm made was barely adequate for their needs. They needed a more stable, regular wage coming in as well.
Andy sold some of his produce to local restaurants and hotels. Even some of his animals, but the farm wasn’t big enough to attract attention from the supermarket chains. He simply couldn’t produce anything in sufficient quantity to ensure a contract with one of the top retailers. That was where the money was in farming. In mass-produced crops or battery-farmed animals.
He’d thought about battery farming, he’d thought about specialising in one specific crop (asparagus, his wife had suggested) but none of the suggestions had been viable. He wanted to be comfortable. Not rich. Not rolling in it. He just wanted to be able to run the farm and make a profit without working eighteen hours a day and worrying constantly whether or not there was going to be enough money to pay the electricity, gas and water bills and keep the kids in clothes. Andy hated it when they asked him for anything new. He hated it when they asked if they could have a holiday this year. He’d been promising them one for the past four years but he knew deep down that his promise was an empty one. He would never make enough money to give them the holiday they wanted. Not even a week in some grotty caravan on the coast somewhere. That hurt him deeply.
The farm was a millstone around his neck and, in the past few months, the prospect of selling it had become even more enticing. But there was something stopping him. Something stronger than the desire to feel secure. Something more powerful than the need to support his family with more than just a pittance. He knew he could retrain for another trade. At thirty-nine, he had been brought up on the farm and it was all he knew but there were opportunities out there if someone was willing to take them and Andy Preece had never been frightened of hard work or the thought of a new start.
What held him back was his pride.The farm had been run by his father and by his grandfather, handed down through the generations like a jewel that is slowly losing its lustre. Andy felt that, if he sold the farm, he
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