And I would rather die – that we both died – than be alone again.

When I get back to the van, having read news stories on my phone all the way home, I let her out of the cupboard and give her a Fruit Shoot, which she gulps down. I think the sugar in these drinks is the only thing keeping her going. Without saying a word, she plods over to the table and sits down in front of her drawing pad. A crayon rolls onto the floor and she quickly snatches it up before I can shout.

I sit and watch her. I’m concerned. If they find us they’ll try to take her away from me. They won’t believe that I love her, that she belongs with me.

I know what I should do. Get far, far away from here. I keep driving out into the country, into Surrey and Kent, trying to escape the city, but something always draws me back, a compulsion I can’t fight, despite the danger.

I know exactly what it is that pulls me back here . . .

Or exactly who.

I notice that she has finished her drawing, is staring into space. I get up, take the single step over to where she sits, and look at the picture. It’s a woman with long black hair, exaggerated eyelashes and a big smile on her face.

‘Who’s that, sweetie?’ I ask.

‘Mummy,’ she whispers. ‘My mummy. I miss her.’

I take the picture and screw it into a ball. ‘Shut up,’ I say, when she starts to wail. ‘Shut up! I need to think.’

I have to decide what to do. Because things simply can’t continue like this.

Chapter 27

Chapter 27
Helen – Day 5

Helen tried to tell herself that this was just like going to any coffee shop to meet any friend for a latte, like she might have done on any normal day off work. When Frankie was back, she would make an effort to meet up with her friends more often – well, at least the ones who’d bothered to contact her with offers of sympathy and assistance. It rankled that she had only had calls from a few, even after the fiasco of the siege yesterday. But she didn’t want to think about that. The weight of disappointment that landed on her head when she realized that Frankie wasn’t there had been like a cartoon anvil, squashing her into a pancake. She felt exhausted, and foolish too, yelling at everyone in front of TV cameras and all. All those people on Facebook would think she was a maniac who deserved to lose her child.