‘Just drive.’
‘She’s just going to make a fuss, make noise,’ I continue, my mind bouncing from one idea to the next. A dialogue was better than silence – anything to get a sense of my assailant and his intentions. And more importantly, a chance to get Mia out of harm’s way. ‘You don’t want that, her screaming the place down and drawing attention to us. I’ll do whatever you want, but let me leave her somewhere safe. Please.’
‘Stop talking.’ The gun jabs me harder in the back.
I let another minute pass, trying to push the facts into some kind of logical order, my mind flashing on stories of estranged fathers exacting revenge on their own children. I need to establish a rapport: it’ll be harder for him to pull the trigger if he knows my name, if he starts to think of me as a human being rather than a nameless victim. If he remembers that Mia is an innocent. But how did he find us? I should have gone straight to the police station. Delaying was stupid. Stupid.
I can smell him behind me, a thin trace of deodorant failing to mask the underlying scents of sweat and unwashed clothes. The interior of the car is a mess, the passenger footwell a rubbish dump of screwed-up fast-food wrappers, polystyrene boxes and drinks cartons. The white rucksack lies on a pile of balled up clothes, and in the rearview mirror I can make out the edge of a sleeping bag on the backseat. The whole car smells fetid and stale.
‘What do you want with her?’ I say.
I flinch as he jabs the barrel of the pistol hard into my back again.
There’s silence for a moment before he speaks.
‘Who are you, exactly?’
‘My name’s Ellen Devlin, I’m forty-one, I live in South Greenford, I’m a project manager for an aerospace company.’
‘What the hell were you doing in that bloody café anyway? I was about to come in there and drag you out.’
‘She was hungry, I had to feed her.’
He points over my shoulder, at a road up ahead.
‘Take the next right. The filter lane, there.’
I do as I’m told, guiding the big car into a gap in the traffic.
‘Are you going to shoot me?’
‘I’m thinking about it.’
I drive on, snatching a glance at Mia in the sling against my chest. She’s fretting, whimpering quietly, tiny fists rubbing at her eyes. The warmth of her body radiates through the cotton of my blouse.
‘Shhh,’ I whisper. ‘It’s OK, Mia. You can sleep.’
Mia’s eyes are heavy but she’s still fighting sleep, little grunts and sobs escaping her as she shifts in the carrier.
‘You were the one calling Kathryn when she was on the train,’ I say slowly. I feel a pang of sadness for Kathryn, at what this man might do when he catches up with her. Is he a jealous ex, out to punish her for leaving him, humiliating him by taking their baby away? ‘You’re her other half, aren’t you?’
‘Where the hell were you even going with the baby strapped to you?’
‘To a police station. West End Central.’
‘Christ,’ he says. ‘Good thing I found you then.’
‘Where are we going now?’
He leans closer, his breath hot against my ear.
‘Enough talking. Just drive.’
The right filter light turns green and I accelerate smoothly across the dual carriageway. He’s moved the gun away now, I can’t feel it jabbing through the back of my seat. I run through the possibilities. We’re heading north-west, away from central London. At some point soon we’ll have to stop, to get out again. If there are more people around then, all I have to do is get him to draw the pistol, to show it. One witness calling 999 will bring an immediate armed response from the Met.
Unless he is taking us somewhere remote. Somewhere without witnesses.
I shiver, wondering again if he’s less likely to shoot while we’re moving in traffic, or if he’s deranged enough to do it anyway. It’s better to act sooner, before he can completely control the situation. As if in answer to my prayers, a police car pulls up at the lights opposite us across a box junction. Two officers in front, a man and a woman in high-vis gear. My pulse ticks upwards. I could flash the headlights at them, get their attention. Maybe they would follow us, pull us over. Or I could turn across the junction, right across their path. I could hit the gas and just aim the BMW at them—
‘I know what you’re thinking.’ His deep voice is inches from my ear. ‘And if you so much as give those cops a funny look, the first bullet will blow your spine clean through your chest. Are we clear?’
From behind me comes the unmistakeable click of the pistol being cocked, the blunt steel barrel pushing again into the small of my back. I tear my eyes away from the police car and look down. Rocked gently by the motion of the car, Mia is dozing again, oblivious, her head resting against my chest.
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘We’re clear.’
The light turns green and I pull smoothly away.
8
We drive in silence for about fifteen minutes before he directs me off the main road and onto a leafy suburban street. He gets out and opens my door and for a moment I consider running, shouting, trying to get away, but even if I could push past him there’s no way I can outrun him with Mia strapped to my chest. Instead we switch places quickly, as he watches for passers-by with one hand on the butt of the pistol, before pushing me into the back.
‘Now lie down,’ he says. ‘Flat, along the seat. And keep your eyes shut.’
I lie down slowly across the back seat using both hands to cushion Mia’s body against mine. The baby snuffles but doesn’t wake.
‘Where are you taking us?’
‘And stop bloody talking.’
Lying here is uncomfortable, and I have to fold my legs behind the passenger seat, supporting Mia’s head to make sure she isn’t bumped or startled by the sharp turns and hard acceleration of the BMW now that the man is behind the wheel. The baby sleeps on, oblivious. We’re almost face to face, so close I can feel her little warm breaths on my skin. I feel my heart filling again, overflowing with a fierce love, an all-consuming desire to shield her from harm.
This is what Kathryn was trying to protect her baby from. This man. This danger. Dominic.
But he’s found us anyway. And it seems clear to me that his interest is the baby: if he can’t punish his ex, he will take out his anger on what she loves the most. The only reason he’s taken us both is because he couldn’t quickly separate us on St George Street. And now I’m a witness, a loose end, someone who could identify him, his car, his movements.
But the realisation brings no fear with it, only a grim certainty that I have no one else to rely on. I have to get myself – and Mia – out of this situation. Think. I can smell worn black plastic seats. Oil and dirt and fried food. Something else, dark and earthy. I open my eyes a fraction and can make out street lights and trees upright against the grey London sky. The upper floors of office buildings. Moving more quickly than before, but still stopping and starting with traffic and red lights. I can see Dominic’s profile, the angle of his jaw, a trace of dried blood behind his ear. I can’t shake the feeling that there is something else familiar about him, but not from today, not from the train. Something about his face, like someone I had seen or known a long time ago. From an old job? Or had I seen him on the TV or a news story online?