She was one such watcher. She sat in the chair farthest from the cafe door, next to the fence. This was her favourite chair, partly because the scent of the six-foot-high privet reminded her of summer, but mainly because this position offered the best view of the square and everyone in it. Watching the normal people was one of her favourite pastimes. Wasn’t it strange that people with the gift of empathy rarely looked at one another? She looked at them all the time. Watching them was how you learned to fit in.

But today she wasn’t simply watching; she was searching. She perched on the edge of her seat, her hands locked above her knees. Black coats, blue coats, red, purple and yellow coats passed by, a rainbow of normal people doing normal things. She craned her neck from side to side, worried she might miss her target. But then she found what she was looking for. A vision in bland, from her mousy hair to her sensible shoes. It was the woman who had taught her to hide.

17

Bloom crossed Russell Square with her head down and her pace steady. At the gate she slowed to check for traffic and then, halfway across the road, she caught sight of a young woman standing outside her office in a fitted blue-leather jacket, skinny jeans and Converse trainers.

‘Dr Bloom,’ shouted the woman. ‘Do you have a comment to make about the Jamie Bolton case?’ The young woman held out her iPhone, the Record function clearly activated.

‘No.’ Bloom tried to pass but the journalist blocked her. The verdict on the Bolton case had been announced that morning. The defence barrister had rung Bloom personally to thank her for her input as an expert witness.

‘The family say you’re to blame for letting a child abuser walk free. What do you have to say about that?’

‘Jamie Bolton was found not guilty,’ Bloom said.

The journalist straightened, and continued with renewed purpose. ‘Because of your testimony.’

Bloom sighed inside. ‘I have no comment.’ She side-stepped the woman to get to her office door.

‘Is that what you’ll say when the next child is attacked?’

Bloom turned to face the woman, looking her square in the eyes. She was no older than twenty-five. ‘Did you attend court?’ asked Bloom. The woman’s blank expression revealed that she had not. ‘Did you bother to do your research and read the judge’s summary before coming here to hassle me? Is the truth at all important or are you simply chasing cheap scandal?’

‘Why did you defend a child abuser, Dr Bloom?’