Not here.
Don’t trust anyone.
Kathryn trusted me. She chose me.
If I have even a shadow of a doubt, even a flicker, I should trust that instinct to protect the baby. I have to make that decision for her.
I feel the weight of it, having to be responsible for others again.
I scan the station one more time for any other police officers, but see none.
Behind me, the shouting kicks up a notch.
Get away from them, all of them. Put distance between them and you, between them and Mia.
There has to be a smarter, safer way of doing this. I should find somewhere quieter and more controlled. I switch Mia to my other arm and she stares at me, on the edge of tears now, her little body rigid with alarm at the shouting and the noise.
‘We’re nearly there, Mia,’ I say. ‘Not long now until you’re back with your mum.’
But first I need to put some space between me and the strange man who’s followed us off the train, whether it’s me or the baby in my arms that he’s following. It’ll only take a minute to break contact, but I need a helping hand. I approach a stocky fortyish man in a yellow high-vis tabard with ‘Station Security’ printed on the back, while he’s encouraging a homeless man to move away from the cash machines.
‘Excuse me?’ I say.
The security guard turns, his broad face impassive. ‘How can I help?’
‘I’m really sorry to bother you but a man’s followed me off the train and he’s been taking pictures of my baby.’ I turn and point at the thin man. ‘He’s making me really uncomfortable and I just want him to leave us alone.’
‘That gentleman?’ He points a thick finger, his face darkening into a frown. ‘In the black jacket?’
‘That’s him.’
‘Are you both OK?’
‘I think so,’ I give Mia’s hand a protective pat. ‘Just a bit freaked out.’
‘Wait here, madam, I’ll have a word with him.’
He turns and approaches him with his palms up in calming gesture, speaking quietly.
I register the look of surprise on the thin man’s face, but I don’t wait to see what happens next. I turn away, smile down at Mia and walk towards the big archways that lead out of the station onto Melcombe Place, where the mid-afternoon sun is fighting its way through thinning clouds. I want to lose myself in the bustle of passengers coming and going, to get away from everyone who could be a threat.
I’ll do the right thing for Mia, but first we have to go somewhere safe; in the meantime I’ll take care of her for just a little while longer.
I walk quickly out of the station and head for the taxi rank without looking back.
5
Melcombe Place is busy with afternoon traffic and there’s a short queue at the taxi rank. I join the line, heart thrumming in my chest, keeping my eyes on the station exit in case the thin man emerges before I can get into a cab. There’s no sign so far but I know there is a side entrance too – he might go that way instead. Mia squirms a little and I jig her gently in my arm, the muscles already starting to ache from carrying her.
The taxi queue moves with painful slowness, a line of black cabs rolling slowly forward, engines rumbling as passengers get in and then pull away towards the junction with Great Central Street.
Come on, come on.
I’m queuing behind a white-haired couple in their seventies who I recognise from the train, the man in a jacket and tie and his wife in a dress and good shoes, dressed for a London day out, maybe a show. The woman turns around and sees me for the first time, her face softening at the sight of Mia.
‘Oh, she is gorgeous.’ She squeezes Mia’s pink-shoed foot. ‘Aren’t you?’
Mia gives her a wide-eyed smile.
‘Come on Mike, let this lady go first.’
‘What?’ her husband says. ‘Oh. Yes, of course.’
He stands aside and gestures for me to go ahead of them.
‘Thank you,’ I say.
A cab pulls up and the white-haired man opens the door for us, allowing me to clamber in. I slam the door shut and check the station exit again: still no sign of the weirdo from the platform.
‘Hi,’ I say to the taxi driver. ‘Where’s the nearest police station?’
‘Which one do you mean?’
‘Whichever’s nearest?’
The driver, a heavy man in his early forties, pushes a button to start the meter running. ‘West End Central, probably.’ He turns slightly in his seat to look at me, his eyes flicking to Mia and then back again. ‘Is everything all right, love?’
‘Fine.’
‘You sure? Is the nipper OK?’
‘We’re both fine,’ I say, shrugging off the rucksack and settling back into the seat. The cab smells of old leather and a sickly vanilla air freshener. ‘Thanks for asking.’
He grunts and puts the cab in gear, the door locks clicking shut as he pulls out into the traffic. I’ve been in a million black cabs before but never with a baby, and can’t work out how to put the seat belt on in a way that would protect both me and her so I just leave it, curling my right hand around Mia’s small head instead. The driver is fast, swooping in and out of gaps in the traffic, and I wish he would slow down.
I turn to look through the rear window twice as the taxi makes its way towards Marylebone Road, looking for any signs that the man is still following me. I don’t see him, or any black cab he might have flagged down. Switching Mia back to my left side to give my right arm a rest, I let myself relax into the worn back seat as the shops and offices pass by on each side. For the first time, it hits me how surreal the situation is: it’s a Tuesday afternoon and I’m in a cab holding a stranger’s child, on my way to a police station. Forty minutes ago I had never met this baby, this little person, and now – for the next few minutes at least – Mia is completely and utterly reliant on me in a way that no one has ever been before. Her life is literally in my hands, and it’s wonderful, a joy – terrifying but somehow the greatest privilege, all at the same time.
It’s a little like I imagined it would be to be pregnant and showing, people holding doors open and even giving up their seat for you on the Tube. None of my own pregnancies made it beyond the first trimester. Unexplained infertility, the specialist calls it. A shorthand term for when they’ve done all their tests, and tried all the treatments, and still can’t give a reason.
Perhaps today will be the closest I ever get.
It’s best not to let my mind linger on that for too long.
After half a mile in stop-start traffic, my heartbeat has slowed to something near normal, the adrenaline wearing off as the taxi winds its way along Edgware Road. I think about Kathryn for a moment, go back over what she had said on the train. Her note asked me not to contact the police. No, that wasn’t it. She’d said don’t trust the police. But that makes no sense. If she’s running from him, from her abusive partner, why avoid police involvement? I take the crumpled note from my handbag again.
Please protect Mia
Don’t trust the police
Don’t trust anyone
Unless her partner’s a police officer himself – could that be what Kathryn meant? The one who kept ringing her, or the guy on the train? Perhaps one’s the ex-husband and the other a new partner. Or maybe they’re both exes. Kathryn’s an attractive woman. But even if one of them is a policeman, I don’t see what other options I have. It’s not as if I can just take Mia home. Not even for a single night, not even for the afternoon, just to make sure she’s safe, just to—