The end of the first day back in the office after Christmas.
Before the lift, a beep.
A text from Denis.
An instant callback. The tragic details confirmed. Poor Liam.
On the way to the station a phone call to Mum who remembers Liam in the buggy. The rain is torrential and before long I'm soaked through.
On the tube home, lost in thought, I notice the hand of a middle aged black woman gripping the handrail. Her face is concealed by the small post-Christmas commuter crowd. The middle finger is missing from her grip. I see her in a Rwandan village. Being held down by men. Taking much more than her finger.
My dark thoughts continue and always return to Liam. RIP.