It was peaceful in the near-empty compartment of the 22:30 to Belfast. Carrie felt so secure, with the guard’s regular walk-bys, that she could have stolen an hour’s sleep.
Yet she was fixated on the man with his finger up his nose.
That saved her life when the train derailed.
Irish writer Perry McDaid lives in Derry under the brooding brows of Donegal hills which he occasionally hikes in search of druidic inspiration.