‘It’s such a worry when they’re that age and they run off.’ The old lady’s voice fades to nothing as I see what Archie is carrying in his arms and I know he didn’t run off at all. He was lured.

‘Where did you get that?’ I snatch the bear from his arms. The teddy’s arms are outstretched. A red knitted jumper rides up over his rounded belly.

It’s the same.

The trees around me sway.

It’s exactly the same teddy.

‘I found it behind the bush over there. Can I keep him?’ Archie pleads.

‘I think another little boy or girl has dropped him and they’ll probably be missing him,’ the old lady says. Why can’t she just shut up? Go away. Give me space to think. I know another child hasn’t dropped this bear. I know that from the gold cross that is looped around his neck.

My bear.

My cross.

My nightmare all over again.

I throw the bear as hard as I can and we watch as it somersaults through the air before sprawling onto the soft earth.

‘Mummy?’ Archie is scared. Scared of me. I want to tell him that I’m not the one he should be afraid of but instead I scoop him onto my hip. Automatically he winds his arms around my neck.

I have to get him home. Just because he wasn’t taken this time, doesn’t mean he won’t be.

That I won’t be.

That Marie hasn’t been.

Run.

My feet crunch against leaves. I weave in and out of trees, seeing shadows everywhere. Sensing eyes on me. There are too many places to hide. Panic builds and builds, my heart bursting out of my rib cage, legs pumping of their own volition. If I stop I’ll fall. But I’m not stopping.

Run.

The playground is almost deserted now, the mums have taken hungry toddlers home for their lunch. In my peripheral vision I see something dart towards me. I spin around, pressing Archie’s face into my shoulder, shielding the back of his head with my palm but it’s only a Labrador bounding towards me, tail wagging, tongue lolling. In my mind he morphs into Bruno.

Run.

The gates loom. I sprint through them. I should feel safer on the pavement with the traffic and the pedestrians and the row of houses with their neat front gardens, bottle-green lawns and white picket fences, but I don’t.

A black car approaches. I try to shrink Archie and keep him hidden. It doesn’t slow as it reaches us, the driver doesn’t glance our way.

I’m tiring.

My arms burn in their sockets from the weight of Archie. My hip throbs where he balances on the bone. My legs are growing weaker.

Another black car.

Another.

Run.

Eventually my street. My house. I am thundering down my driveway, keys already in my hand.

Safe.

For now.

Archie is sleeping. His eyelids keep fluttering closed as I tucked him in bed for his afternoon nap, before snapping open.