The Girl with the Baby

Prologue

I had thought I had more time. That when it came to my escape, I’d be ready, prepared.

Not like this. Waterloo station was packed as usual, tourists gathered in crowds, blocking my path, making me want to scream at them to move out of my way, to ask if they were blind to my urgency as I tried to battle my way past, my free arm forming a protective cage around the tiny baby sleeping soundly against my chest.

I looked down at my newborn daughter, blind panic fizzing through my veins at the thought of what would happen to her if I didn’t make it on time. The liquid evaporated from my mouth, my milk-swollen breasts tingling as her tiny lips sucked at air from the depths of her slumber.

There was a shout from behind me, male, angry, and I felt my body tense as I dipped deeper into the crowd, unable to stop myself from peering back over my shoulder.

An argument had broken out between two strangers, seemingly over a dropped takeaway coffee.

I cringed away as the security guard went to intervene, my heart racing as I stopped briefly to look up at the huge screens, scanning the reams of information to see which platform my train was waiting at.

There were just three minutes left until it would leave.

And I could not miss it. Everything would be over if I did.

My heart thumped hard against my ribs, my eyesight blurring, unable to focus through the fear threatening to overwhelm me. It was never supposed to be like this. I’d had a plan. I’d thought it would be so much smoother, safer. I couldn’t believe I had been so stupid. Left myself open, vulnerable…

Ahead of me, I heard the hiss of a train pulling in, the doors bursting open, the hordes of passengers disembarking onto the platform.

Was he amongst them? Would he see me, find me here?

I blinked, dragging my gaze back to the board, finally seeing the words clearly. Platform 10. I needed platform 10. I turned, tripping over the foot of the man next to me, grabbing his lapel to right myself.

‘My apologies,’ he said through a thick Italian accent. I only shook my head, already breaking into a jog, my palm cradling my daughter’s tiny skull to keep her from bouncing into my chest.

The train was there, the guard striding alongside it, passengers sprinting for the doors. On the platform opposite, another train pulled in, and I didn’t dare turn to it.

I pulled the hood on my raincoat up over my ears, sweat prickling down my spine, and launched myself through the nearest door, into the blissful quiet of the carriage.

My hands were shaking hard, my head spinning, and I felt a trickle of warm liquid seep down my leg.

For a moment, as I gripped the back of a seat, I just swayed, black spots exploding in my vision.

‘Here, sweetheart. Sit down.’

I opened my eyes to find a middle-aged woman gesturing to the seat she’d vacated, and gave a grateful nod, lowering myself into it with a breathless thanks and stripping off my coat, my skin steaming beneath the plasticky fabric.

I stared at the window, watching every person who passed, waiting for the inevitable moment he would appear at the glass and find me.

Catch me. I willed the train to move, and when at last it did, I sent out a silent thanks, slumping back against the headrest.

I had bought myself some time, but it wasn’t over. He would come for me. And when he found me, he would be more furious than I’d ever seen him. Of that I was certain.