Christine slowly stepped into the shafts of sunlight coming from the single window in the shack. I had thought I would never see her again.

She was much thinner, and her hair was braided and longer than I’d ever seen it. But she had the same wise, beautiful brown eyes. Neither of us was able to speak at first. It was the most extraordinary moment of my life.

I had gone cold all over, and everything was moving in slow motion. It seemed supernaturally quiet in the small room.

Christine was holding a light-yellow blanket, and I could see a baby’s head just peeking above the crown of the covers. I walked forward even though my legs were trembling and threatening to buckle. I could hear the baby softly cooing in the nest of blankets.

“Oh, Christine, Christine,” I finally managed.

Tears welled in her eyes, and then in mine. We both stepped forward, and then I was awkwardly holding her. The little baby gazed up peacefully into both our faces.

“This is our baby, and he probably saved my life. He takes after you,” Christine said. Then we kissed gently, and it was so sweet and tender. We held on for dear, dear life. We melted into each other. Neither of us could believe this was actually happening.

“I call him Alex. You were always right here,” Christine told me. “You were always with me.”

Epilogue: LONDON BRIDGES, FALLING

Epilogue
LONDON BRIDGES, FALLING

Chapter 124

HIS NAME WAS FREDERICK NEUMAN, and he liked to think of himself as a citizen of the European community rather than of any single country, but if anyone asked, he claimed to be German. His head was shaved close, and it made him look severe, but also more impressive, he thought — an amazing accomplishment in itself.

He would be remembered as “quite tall, thin and bald,” or as an “interesting artiste type,” and several people did see him that week in Chelsea in London. I want to be remembered. That’s important.

He shopped, or at least window-shopped, on the King’s Road and in Sloane Street.

He went to the cinema in Kensington High Street.

And the Waterstone’s bookshop.

Nights, he would have a pint or two at the King’s Head. He mostly kept to himself at the pub.

He had a master plan. Another game was beginning.

He saw Lucy and the twins at Safeway one afternoon. He watched them from across rows of baked beans, then followed them down the aisles filled with shoppers. No harm, no foul — no problem for anybody.

He couldn’t resist the challenge, though. The dice started to play in his head. They rattled the number he wanted to hear.

He kept walking closer and closer to the family, careful to keep his face slightly averted, just in case, but still watching Lucy out of the corner of his eye, watching the twins, who were perhaps more dangerous.