16 Red Mug
“How did he die?” I ask as Thom places a mug of tea in front of me. The mug is red and I am instantly intrigued by it. Thom pauses for a second in front of me, unsure what to do with his body, unable to let go of the mug handle. I reach over to lift the mug into my hold, desperate to feel the colour pulse into me but I miss and touch his hand instead. He looks up, almost blushing and then throws himself backwards onto the sofa. I grit my teeth. After all, it isn’t him I intended to touch; it is the colour.
“Hit by a train,” he answers. He doesn’t say Daniel fell, or jumped or was pushed because he doesn’t know. Only I know the truth. In the papers it says the case is still open but there have been no developments. Apparently, they can’t find the footage from the station for t
