Anyway, this geezer was well old, about 40. He didn’t fit in anywhere with today’s fashions, not that I’m a slave to it myself. Give me my old jeans, bomber jacket and trainers and I’m happy as Larry. But I always do go to ‘work’ in a suit, a matter of pride and principle I suppose. And I find people don’t get the jitters about you. Anyway, like I was saying, this bloke was dressed really weird – I mean, who wears chalk-stripe suits and paisley ties these days? But there was something strange too about the train as it squealed to a halt at the platform. It looked kind of ancient, old carriages from a long ago. I knew that the rolling stock on the Piccadilly Line had been replaced with new because I’d worked it only last month, so it was kind of spooky to see this old relic with its sets of sliding doors now yawning open, hissing air, sucking us all into its sweat-stenched, worm-like innards. Perhaps it had been brought out of retirement as a stand-in while one of the new trains was. I linked with Izzy and began broadcasting love.Izzy shuddered and began to cry softly, as feelings of guilt, remorse, anticipation, lust, desire, panic and fear flooded down the link in my direction. The bright ring that held the sparks of love I'd given her over the years had become so reduced in size that I could barely recognize it, and it's blazing golden glimmer was shrouded by a dull, greasy white crystalline patina.The dull stabbing morphed as each emotion my sister was feeling turned into a rusty, jagged blade and the lot of them proceeded to shred my heart."Izzy, what have you done?" I whispered to myself and clamped down hard on my broadcasting, cutting it off before the powerful feelings that were forming in me could make their way out.I stood up and left the bedroom, closing the door quietly behind me. I peeked into my daughter's room and saw them sleeping soundly; each one a beautiful miniature version of her mother. It was all I could do, as I watched Belle curled up on.
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