Southfields Underground station was a few minutes away. From there, it was a direct twenty-five-minute journey to Paddington via the District line. Emily’s palms were already sweating at the thought of battling the swathes of homeward-bound commuters. Having to do it underground was going to make it a thousand times worse. The only other alternative was to take the taxi all the way, but the rush hour traffic would mean missing the train. Besides, being out in the open felt reckless. Going underground was the only way Emily was going to get the Copelands to the station on time and, hopefully, without being followed.
An excited cry from the back seat interrupted her thoughts. Josh had unbuckled his seatbelt and had his face pressed up against the side window. He banged on the glass, laughing at the woman who stopped to stare at him.
“Josh put your seatbelt on, now.” Anya’s voice was firm but strained. “I mean it, young man. Or we won’t be going to see Nanny and Granddad.”
Emily twisted around in her seat. Ignoring his mother, Josh continued to hit the window.
“Hey, boy. Put your seatbelt on like your mother told you,” the taxi driver called.
From the corner of her eye, Emily saw Anya return the driver’s disapproving stare, then lean across to put a hand on Josh’s shoulder.
“Come on,” she said in a gentler tone. “You’re not being safe and that’s making me worried. Don’t you want to see Nanny and Granddad? I’m sure they’ll have ice cream for you.”
“No!” shouted Josh. But he moved away from the window.
“Good boy, now put your seatbelt on. Here, I’ll help you.”
“No!”
He swivelled around, rested his back against the door, and pulled up his knees.
Anger flashed in Anya’s eyes. “Josh! Put your seatbelt on!”
The boy clamped his arms over his chest and shook his head.
The traffic lights changed from red to amber.
“Lady, I can’t drive with your boy jumping around like that.”
Emily wondered if she should intervene.
Blasts of horns filled the air. The driver turned back to the wheel, muttered something in Turkish, then got the car moving again.
In the back, Josh started banging his head against the window.
Anya unbuckled her seatbelt, grabbed her son by the arm, and pulled him away from the door. He squirmed against her, growling through clenched teeth as she held him down and clicked his seatbelt into place. As soon as Anya had sat back, there was an audible clunk and Josh was up by the window again, smacking his forehead against the glass.
When the taxi pulled up in front of the station two minutes later, Josh was pinned to his mother’s lap, with her arms wrapped around his chest. He bellowed in anger, making his body stiff like cement, then throwing his legs out in wild kicks.
“Fucking bitch!” he screamed.
“Out of the mouths of babes,” the driver grumbled.
Emily paid him, tipped him generously, then hopped out. The station was busy, but not overwhelmed. The moment he was out of the taxi, Josh stopped screaming. He peered up at the station with wide, excited eyes. Anya surfaced behind him, her face red with stress and exhaustion, and scooped up his hand.
“It will be all right,” said Emily, carrying Anya’s hastily packed suitcase.
Anya looked at her as if she’d just announced she could walk on water. But Emily was already staring at the station entrance, watching the people come and go. At least the journey would begin up top, she told herself.
Leading her wards through the ticket barriers, she stepped onto the platform. Josh pulled on Anya’s hand, straining to run up and down, desperate to see the trains. He didn’t have long to wait. The train pulled in and commuters spilled from its doors. They swarmed around Emily, a tidal wave of bodies in sharp suits. Instinctively, she held her breath. Keep it together. If you lose it, they’ll lose it too.
Josh was staring at her, then at the train. He pulled his hand from Anya’s grip and held on to Emily’s. It startled her. She hadn’t felt the grip of such a tiny hand since her school days. The sensation filled her with intense comfort and fear.
The crowds thinned. Josh ran forward, pulling Emily with him, and leapt onto the train. Anya followed, pausing in the doorway to peer along the platform. She joined them moments later, sandwiching Josh between her and Emily.
The good thing about travel etiquette in and around London was that people kept themselves to themselves. Making eye contact was a sin, and trying to make conversation was tantamount to assault. As the doors closed, and the train pulled away, Emily watched the other passengers. She was confident that they had not been followed—no one in the carriage was paying them any attention, even with Josh jumping up and down on the seat.
Taking out her phone, she checked the time. 5.36 p.m. There was a train leaving for Bristol in just over forty minutes. They would arrive at Paddington with just enough time to buy tickets and then board. The train would be filled with commuters returning to Reading—which was a good thing because more people meant less chance of something happening to Anya and Josh.
“What will you do?”
Anya was staring at her, eyes round, lips tight. In between them, Josh balanced on his knees and watched the outside world whip past the windows.
Emily didn’t know what she was going to do. Yesterday night, she had vowed to find out the truth from Anya, then walk away. She’d vowed to finally return to Diane Edwards with the revelation that her husband had been murdered by his employers, even if she had no proof to substantiate that claim. Diane would not be freed. Emily would walk away knowing that she would remain trapped inside that tomb of a house. But it didn’t matter because Emily would be free.
So why then, was she sitting on a train, which was about to dip underground, with a mother and son who were now relying on her protection? Emily’s mouth was dry. She tried to swallow. What was she going to do?
“Let me worry about that,” she said.
The train pulled into East Putney station. More people got on, filling the seats. Emily’s watchful eyes moved from passenger to passenger. No men in blue coats. But that didn’t mean a thing. Knee bouncing, she checked the time again. Then, while Anya watched Josh, she called Helen.
Helen picked up after a few seconds. The line crackled. “There you are. Any luck?”
“You could say that.” Emily paused, listening to the background noise in her ear. “Where are you?”
“I’ve been _ _ _ a job, but _ _ _at the office. Can you make it for seven?” She said something else, but her words were swallowed by pops and crackles.
“What was that? I’m on a train to Paddington, the line’s bad.”
Helen spoke again. “Paddington? Where are you _ _ _?” The line went silent again. Helen’s voice came back. “Emily, did you _ anyone _ Evan Holt being in Max’s _?”
Then she was gone. Emily tried her again, but the call went straight to voicemail.
Anya glanced at her with quizzical eyes. Emily’s head began to prickle.
Then, as the train headed towards Kensington, it entered a tunnel and plunged into darkness.
Invisible hands pierced Emily’s chest and squeezed her heart. Icy blades sank into her spine. Breathe! Just breathe, and you’ll be fine! But it was as if all of the air had been sucked out of the carriage. The clack of wheels on rails became a deafening roar. The train sped up, hurtling through the underground. Emily dug her nails into the palms of her hands. Beside her, Josh covered his ears and began to scream.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Helen pulled her phone from her bag and saw that Emily was calling.
“There you are,” she said, pressing the phone to her ear. “Any luck?”
At the same time, she reached the end of the alley and pushed open the gate to the staff car park.
The line crackled with interference. Emily’s voice sounded far away. “You could say that. Where are you?”
“I’ve been sent out on a job
, but I’ll still meet you at the office. Can you make it for seven?”
“What was _? I’m on a train to Paddington _ line’s bad.”
The car park was a small stretch of concrete surrounded by high walls with an open entrance to the road. Nine of the ten parking bays were full. Helen’s car was parked, as it always was, front and centre.
“Paddington? Where are you going? You’re supposed to be meeting me.” Helen’s irritation grew. Yet again, Emily Swanson was off chasing leads without her. Taking out her car keys, she pushed the unlock button. The car flashed her a hello. As she opened the driver door and got in, she thought about Evan Holt. “Emily, did you tell anyone about Evan Holt being in Max’s diary?”
The line crackled.
“Emily? Hello?”
Cursing under breath, Helen tossed the phone into the cup holder and reached for the door. She looked up to see two shaven-headed men hurrying towards her. They were young, perhaps in their early twenties, but there was nothing youthful about their eyes. They were hardened and dead, as if they’d witnessed a lifetime of cruelty.
Helen froze. Her heart smashed into her breastplate. Then, the men began to run.
With a cry, Helen yanked the door closed and hit the locks. She dropped her keys, scooped them up again, then slid the car key into the ignition. The men were almost upon her. Helen turned the key and the engine roared to life. She pressed down on the clutch and shifted the gearstick into first. A fist slammed into the side window. Helen screamed. Her foot slipped off the clutch. The car lurched forward and stalled.
One of the men leapt onto the bonnet and pressed his hands against the windscreen. His eyes burned into her. Helen was paralyzed. Then, coming to her senses, she started the engine once more. Something glinted at the corner of her eye.
A second later, the driver window exploded.
Helen’s arms shot up to her face. Glass rained down. A hand reached in and snatched up a fistful of hair. The man pulled, setting Helen’s scalp on fire and wrenching her neck. She screamed and clawed. Her nails sank into flesh. The man yelled but he did not let go. He pulled harder, lifting her from the seat and halfway through the window. The second man remained sitting on the bonnet, with his legs crossed and an amused smile on his lips.
Helen screamed again. She thrashed and kicked. She dug her nails down harder, feeling her assailant’s skin come away. Blood seeped from his hand. The man yelled and retracted his arm. Helen was free.
The engine was still running. This time, she got the car moving. The man on the bonnet was no longer smiling. Helen pressed down harder on the accelerator and watched him roll off the side. She was clear. The exit was right in front of her. She glanced to the right, just in time to see the first man running at her. He swung his arm. Helen screamed and hit the accelerator. A crow bar smashed into her shoulder. The man flew forwards, hitting his head on the ground.
The wheel slipped out of Helen’s hand. As the car ploughed into the wall, she covered her face and screamed.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
By the time the train pulled into Paddington Station, Emily was barely holding on. The carriage was filled to capacity, with limbs and suitcases crammed into every available space. Josh’s continual screams and cries had earned Anya several judgemental looks. Meanwhile, Emily had tried very hard not to curl up into a ball and have a full-blown anxiety attack.
But finally, they were here.
Doors opened, people spilled out onto the platform. Emily sucked in a lifesaving breath and signalled to Anya. On the platform, she took in more deep breaths. Her anxiety dropped from near hysteria to moderate panic. But she was still underground, and she needed not to be.
“Are you all right?” Anya had a worried look on her face.
Emily nodded. “Fine.”
“I want to see the train leave!” Josh screamed. He tried to pull away from Anya, but her grip was like iron. Instead, he let his legs go limp beneath him, and he dangled like a doll from his mother’s hand.
“Come on,” Emily said, in between breaths. She bent her knees until she was eye level with him. “There are lots and lots of trains upstairs, much better than this one.”
Josh got to his feet and the three of them made their way up steps and escalators, until they were above ground.
Stepping into Paddington Station, Emily’s lungs opened to their fullest extent. She sucked in air, ignoring the taste of engine oil and grease from fast food stalls, and Anya’s continued stares.
It was almost six p.m. Emily made quick work of buying tickets. Anya tried to pay for them, but Emily refused to take her money. It was the least she could do for bringing trouble to the Copelands’ door. A voice boomed from the loud speakers, startling Josh as it announced the Bristol train was ready for boarding. The three of them made their way to the platform.
“Here.” Emily handed Anya a piece of paper with her phone number written on it. “Call me as soon as you get there.”
Anya folded the paper and slipped it into her bag. She turned slowly and stared at the train.
“It’s going to be fine. You’ll be safer there.” Emily said. Josh glanced up at her with wide eyes.
Anya had a sad, strange smile on her lips. “How can you know that when you have no idea what you’re doing?”
Taking Josh’s hand, she hoisted him up onto the train. She turned to go inside, then stopped.
“I lied earlier,” she said, without looking back. “We kissed. Just once.”
Then, she was gone, pulling Josh behind her.
Emily waited on the platform. She waited as mother and son sat down. She waited as Josh clambered to the window and peered excitedly out at the station. She waited as the train pulled away, taking the Copelands to safety. When the train was no more than a speck in the distance, Emily turned and exited the platform.
Finding a quiet corner in one of the station cafés, she tried calling Helen again. When she didn’t answer, Emily hung up, gave it another minute, then tried again. Where was she?
A man dressed in a suit sat down at the next table and set his briefcase on the floor. He glanced casually in Emily’s direction.
Emily watched him for a moment, then glanced back at her phone. Helen had said something about being sent out on a job—or at least that’s what Emily had interpreted from the bad line. It would explain why she wasn’t picking up.
The man had turned his attention to a newspaper and was reading the front page headline. But Emily could see him from the corner of her eye, glancing in her direction ever twenty seconds.
Getting up slowly, she picked her way between the tables and exited the café. She returned to the station concourse and eyed the surging crowds. It was 6.18 p.m. To meet Helen at the London Truth offices at seven—again, she was guessing here—she had no choice but to travel via the Underground.
The thought made her nauseous, but the longer it took her to get to Helen, the longer she was leaving Anya and Josh Copeland at risk. No matter how much Emily had tried to convince Anya, she couldn’t be certain that they hadn’t been followed. Her eyes found the café. The man was still reading the newspaper, one hand on his coffee cup. But did he just look up? At her?
Pulse racing, Emily delved into the crowd and made her way to the top of the escalators. The Underground stretched out below like a gaping mouth. You can do this. You already did it once. You can do it again. Emily drew in a deep breath, then took one last look back at the café.
The man was gone.
Spinning on her heels, she searched the crowds. It would be impossible to spot the man in a sea of suits. Where was he? Was he watching her right now? Had he seen her put Anya and Josh on the train? Panic took hold of Emily’s brain. She stepped onto the escalator and, taking two steps at a time, descended into the Underground.
She headed straight for the ticket barriers, then turned to looked over her shoulder. A man stood by the ticket machines, newspaper in hand, looking her way. Was it the man from the café? Emily didn’t w
ait to find out. Half-running along the tunnel, she headed towards the Bakerloo line. She was already losing control of her breathing. As she reached another set of descending escalators, she felt the familiar prickling at the top of her head, which signalled the beginnings of an anxiety attack
Emily ploughed forward, scurrying down the moving steps, knocking into shoulders and jutting suitcases. At the bottom, she turned and looked up. Was that the man at the top of the escalator? Or was that him three metres away and walking towards her? Breaking into a cold sweat, she turned and dashed towards the eastbound platform.
Every time she drew in a breath, she felt a terrible weight pressing down on her chest. Every time she exhaled, she felt her lungs constrict a little more. She needed to regain control of her body, and fast.
Racing along the platform, she began the breathing exercise that had saved her from losing her mind on countless occasions. She breathed in for a count of four, held it for a count of seven, then exhaled for a count of eight. She repeated the pattern, over and over, as she ducked and weaved between the bodies, until she reached the end of the platform. Pressing herself up against the wall, she closed her eyes and waited for the train to come. In for four, hold for seven, out for eight. She risked a quick look down the length of the platform. She couldn’t see the man from the café. But there were many people here now. Perhaps he was hidden among them and walking this way.
Or perhaps he was just a man grabbing a coffee while he waited for his train home.
A rush of warm air shot out of the tunnel, followed by a low rumble, which rapidly grew into a deafening roar. Brakes screeched. The train emerged from the tunnel and slowed to a halt. Seconds later, the doors slid open. Emily raced towards them, pushing past disgruntled travellers. She hurried to the far end of the carriage and waited for the doors to close. For the man to come.
But he didn’t.
The doors closed. The train pulled away, gathering speed as it plunged into the darkness of the tunnel. Emily pressed her back up against the door and scanned the packed carriage. You’re being paranoid, she told herself. But she had every right to be.
Cold Hearts Page 17