“Let's just give her twenty-four hours,” he'd insisted, and at first he'd genuinely hoped to calm her down.

  “London!” she'd shrieked. “She's never been to London before! She's barely left the village! She'll be all alone!”

  Checking his phone now, he saw that there were no messages. In his mind's eye he imagined his wife kneeling on the cubicle's filthy floor in front of an equally filthy toilet bowl, vomiting over and over. He hated the fact that her weakness was causing him to stand around like a fool, but he was at least relieved that most of the witnesses to her initial accident had probably long since made their way out of the station. That was one good thing about such a wretched place, he supposed: people tended not to hang around for too long. The crowd was constant but it was made up of an endlessly changing multitude.

  And then, as he glanced around again and began to wonder about finding something to eat, he saw her.

  At first he got only a glimpse of something red moving through the crowd, but some deep part of his soul immediately recognized it as the exact same shade as his daughter's jacket. In half a second he went from curiosity to concern, and perhaps three quarters of a second later she appeared again, threading her way between passengers as she headed in the general direction of the ticket barriers. For maybe a tenth of a second he tried to convince himself that he was wrong, but then she stopped and looked straight ahead, almost as if somehow she'd sensed that she was being watched.

  Like Little Red Riding Hood.

  She began to turn in his direction but he pulled back just in time, hiding behind an arch at the cafe's entrance. He waited, before looking down at the suitcase and wondering whether she might recognize it; he began to pull it a little closer before stopping as he worried that he might attract attention. Finally, after a few more seconds, he dared to peer around the corner again – and he saw his daughter shuffling away, this time changing course slightly and making for the exit.

  He watched as she disappeared into the crowd, and it was only once she was gone that he realized just how fast and hard his heart was beating. What were the odds that -

  “Patrick?”

  Turning, he saw Judy making her way over. He was immediately struck by how sick she looked, but he quickly glanced over his shoulder to make doubly sure that there was absolutely no sign of Grace.

  “We need to start looking for her,” Judy said, sounding exhausted. “I think I'll be okay for now. I feel so bad for that woman having to clean up my mess.”

  “It's her job,” he replied, turning to her.

  “Do you think I should -”

  “It's literally what she gets paid for,” he added. “Let her work.”

  “Have you thought more about where Grace might be?” she asked, once again tucking some strands of hair behind her ear. “I'm sorry I was sick, I just feel like my nerves got the better of me once we were here. Seeing how busy it is... I can't bear to imagine Grace turning up in this place all alone. She must have been so terrified.”

  “Most likely,” he replied, forcing a smile that he hoped might seem vaguely optimistic. “Listen, I really do think that we need to drop this case off at the hotel first. It's only ten minutes away by taxi. Are you going to come with me, or do you want to start searching and I'll catch up to you later?”

  Chapter Three

  The plastic card caused the door to beep, a green light flashed – and Patrick pushed the door open as the lights in the hotel room flickered on to reveal a double bed and a desk. He paused for a moment, noticing a vague hint of damp in the air, and then he pulled the suitcase through and set it down while letting the door swing shut.

  In that moment his phone buzzed again. He didn't need to look; he already knew it'd be another message from Judy, asking him how the traffic was going and how much longer he was going to be. During his short taxi ride to the hotel, he'd texted her to say that the traffic was a nightmare and that he might take a little longer than planned, and now – as he wandered across the room and pulled the net curtain aside so that he could see out – he told himself that there was no need to rush to tell her that he'd arrived.

  Rain was hitting the window. The train to London had outrun the bad weather at first, but evidently now the clouds were catching up.

  Looking down, he saw that the room offered a spectacular view of a gloomy alley. With the sun continuing to set, the alley was sinking into darkness, although a solitary electric light was running near a metal door, allowing him to see the filthy leaf-covered ground. In fact, the scene was so dark that at first he thought there was nobody down there; it was only as his phone buzzed again, and as he turned to go through to the bathroom, that he spotted what appeared to be a figure loitering in a doorway down in the alley below.

  Squinting, he tried to make the figure out a little better, but all he could really discern so far was that it was a man and that he was just standing there in the darkness as if he had nowhere else to go. Which, to be fair, he supposed might well be true; London seemed particularly prone to the creation of wastrels with no obvious purpose.

  As his phone buzzed yet again, Patrick turned and pulled it from his pocket. This time, when he looked at the screen, he saw a couple of missed calls from Judy as well as some text messages.

  “Text me when you're at the hotel,” he whispered as he read one of the messages out loud. “I'm heading toward Edgeware Road on foot. No sign of her.”

  “Of course there's no sign of her,” he muttered under his breath, wondering how his wife could possibly think that she might simply bump into Grace, although he then reminded himself that he'd spotted the girl at the station.

  Against all the odds, he'd arrived in vast, uncompassable London and had almost walked straight into her. Then again, he figured that wasn't so unlikely; evidently she'd stuck close to the station after all. At first he'd panicked, terrified that his wife might also spot her, that then there would be the confrontation he'd worked so hard to avoid. His priority had been to get Judy away from the station at all costs so that he could buy himself some time and come up with a proper plan.

  Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the crumpled note that Grace had left on the kitchen table at home, and he took a few seconds to read the brief lines again.

  “Mum, I'm sorry,” he read out loud. “I can't stay. I love you.”

  Mum.

  That was another thing Judy had missed: the note had been addressed only to her, with no mention of him at all. Anyone else would have picked up on that, would have heard alarm bells ringing, but Judy had always been...

  He didn't want to acknowledge that his wife was a little on the dim side, but he'd long since come to the conclusion that she wasn't the smartest person in the world. That had been useful during their marriage, since he'd always managed to slip so much past her. Even when he'd worried once or twice that he was about to be exposed, Judy had somehow and rather inexplicably sailed on as normal, trusting in everyone and assuming the best. There was something so naïve and optimistic about her personality, whereas almost any other woman would have long since begun to notice what was actually going on in the family home.

  His phone buzzed again. Another message from Judy, no doubt, but he figured there was no point reading it yet. Instead he was determined to play for time, and he knew he needed to get back to Paddington and double-check whether there was any sign of Grace. For as much as he'd dismissed the risk of actually bumping into the girl in the midst of London, a tiny part of him worried that something like that might happen again. More than anything, he felt the need to take control.

  In which case he had to make sure that he got to Grace first, and that Judy remained completely oblivious forever.

  ***

  Stepping out from the front of the hotel, he looked along the busy but darkening road and saw a bus roaring closer. Once the bus had passed he watched for any sign of a taxi, but all he saw were a few private cars as well as some vans and a number of bikes. Moments later a taxi rounded the corner and approached, but this one was already taken.

  Figuring that an available taxi would appear soon enough, he checked his phone as he took a few steps away from the hotel's main door, and he saw that already he'd received five more messages from his wife as well as another missed call.

  “Sorry,” he muttered under his breath as he slipped the phone away and looked around. “Bad signal.”

  Spotting a dark alley, he saw that the metal gate had been left slightly ajar. He was about to turn away and look for a taxi again, but at the last second he realized that this was the same alley he'd spotted from the room, and that he could just about see the closed doorway at the far end. He thought back to the sight of the strange man, and for some reason that he didn't quite understand he wandered over and took a slightly closer look along the narrow, confined and clearly filthy passageway that appeared to lead to some sort of small courtyard.

  A few old trolleys had been left to one side, along with some half-broken crates, but otherwise the alley appeared to be entirely empty. After a moment, however, the shadows at the far end shifted and he realized that he could just about see the man again. He watched as the shadows seemed almost to dance in the air, as if they couldn't quite decide whether or not they were going to form an actual person, and then slowly the man stepped more clearly into view and began to make his way along the alley, heading toward the spot where Patrick was standing.

  Although his first instinct was to turn away, Patrick saw the man's eyes now and watched as he approached. Everything about the fellow – from his scrappy old clothes to his weather-beaten features and general air of exhaustion – made Patrick immediately feel infinitely superior. This was clearly one of the many losers in London.

  “Evening,” the man said, and his voice already sounded so harsh and rough. “Some spots of rain in the air.”

  “A few,” Patrick replied cautiously, wondering why he was bothering to converse with some kind of tramp at all.

  He turned and looked along the road. A taxi drove past, but its light was off and he quickly spotted what appeared to be a family huddled in the back, no doubt heading somewhere after a long day in the city.

  Peasants.

  “I saw you,” the man continued.

  Patrick turned to him.

  “Up there, at that window,” the man said, turning and looking back along the alley. “Right up there on the third floor. I notice things, you see.”

  Following his gaze, Patrick saw some windows higher up, and he figured that one of those – he wasn't quite sure which – must be the window in his hotel room.

  “I saw you,” the man said again, sounding more earnest this time, as if this was a matter of the utmost importance. “You don't know where you are, do you?”

  Patrick turned to him.

  “You don't know where you are,” the man repeated, shaking his head solemnly.

  “I think I do, actually,” Patrick replied, before making a point of checking his watch. He wasn't sure whether to hide his smile, but he was feeling rather amused by the guy's slow, slightly northern drawl. “I'm sorry but you'll have to excuse me. I'm late for a meeting.”

  With that lie still hanging in the air, he turned to resume his search for a taxi, only for the man to grab his arm. Stopping, he looked down and saw the filthy hand gripping him, and he winced slightly as he wondered just how gross this man's skin might be; he could see dirt smeared on the hand, and perhaps traces of blood as well. Was it possible that he had fleas?

  “Let go of me,” he said firmly. “Now.”

  “You think you can find someone in this place when they don't want to be found?” the man asked, fixing him with a wild and very determined stare. “Really? Do you really think that?”

  “I'm sorry,” Patrick replied, trying to play things cool even though he desperately wanted to get away from the stranger, “but I need you to let go of me right now. I've got somewhere to be.”

  “You can't find someone here,” the man said, gripping his arm tighter than ever, “not if they really don't want to be found. I can tell you're looking for someone. I can see it seeping out of you. You've got a secret and you're worried that your secret's gonna come out. You're a man living in constant fear.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Patrick asked, pulling to get free but finding that the man was holding him too tightly. “Let go of me right now or you're going to regret that you ever started this conversation. Do you understand? I'm not giving you any money.”

  “You're the one who doesn't understand,” the man spluttered, leaning even closer. “Listen to me very carefully. You'll never, ever find someone in this city who doesn't want to be found. It's the perfect place for hiding away. You might think you can do it but you can't. You might think you're smarter than everyone else, but you're not. You won't find her unless -”

  “Okay, get off me!” Patrick snapped, yanking his arm away so fast that he stumbled back and almost fell. “If you touch me again, I'll call the police and have you arrested for assault! Do you understand?”

  “Sir, are you alright?”

  Startled, he turned to see that the hotel's doorman was making his way over with an expression of concern on his face.

  “This asshole's bothering me,” Patrick replied, turning to the strange man again. “Why do you let -”

  In that moment he saw that the entrance to the alley was entirely bare, save for the trolleys and crates, and he knew that there was no way the man could possibly have run away so quickly. He opened his mouth to call out, but at the last second he held back as he realized that there was a danger that he might start to look crazy. Turning to the doorman again, he saw the concern on his face and he quickly told himself that he needed to pull himself together.

  “Don't just stand there staring at me like that,” he stammered, unable to hide a hint of anger. “I was looking for you a few minutes ago. I need you to call me a taxi for Paddington. Now!”

  Chapter Four

  Half an hour – and twelve missed calls – later, Patrick rubbed his arm as he climbed out of the taxi and saw the huge, hulking shape of Paddington station rising up above him in the gloom. The late evening sky was a darker shade of blue now but the city's lights were blazing all around him, and for a few seconds the cacophony of traffic seemed to fill the air. A moment later, still rubbing his arm, he pushed the taxi's door shut and stepped aside, and then he watched as the vehicle sailed away into the night.

  “Listen to me very carefully,” he heard the strange man's voice hissing, echoing in his thoughts. “You'll never, ever find someone in this city who doesn't want to be found. It's the perfect place for hiding away. You might think you can do it but you can't. You might think you're smarter than everyone else, but you're not. You won't find her unless -”

  “Freak,” he muttered under his breath, glancing around one more time before turning to start heading back into the station. “This whole city's full of them.”

  Pulling his phone out as he walked, he saw more and more messages from his wife, each a little more frantic than the one before. He'd ignored her for a while now, and while he wanted to ignore her for a little longer, he knew that eventually he had to bite the bullet. He crossed the street and found a spot away from the throng of pedestrians, and then he tapped to call her back. While he waited for the call to connect, he rubbed his arm yet again and wondered why it felt so tender. There was no pain and no discomfort, just a sense that he'd been touched by something that had somehow unsettled his flesh and bones. He was starting to worry that the man in the alley might have been diseased after all.

  “Patrick, where are you?” Judy blurted out as soon as she answered.

  “I -”

  “I don't even know where I am right now,” she continued, sounding as if she was closer than ever to some kind of breakdown. “I thought I was walking toward Edgeware Road, but now I'm not so sure. I keep losing signal and this map is no use, it keeps not updating. You know I'm not sure of myself in London. Damn it, Patrick, I think I'm lost.”

  “Good,” he wanted to say, but instead he went for a more conciliatory approach: “Do you see any landmarks?”

  “It's just a street,” she told him. “Like all the others.”

  “Well -”

  “There's a pub,” she added. “The Sir Thomas Hunt. Do you know it?”

  “Surprisingly, no I don't,” he replied, wondering if she seriously expected him to know every single pub in the centre of the city. Then again, after a moment he realized that her perhaps did know that particular establishment after all. “Listen -”

  “Do you think I should get a taxi back to the station and start again?” she asked.

  “No, don't do that.”

  “At least I'd know where I was then,” she continued, interrupting him yet again. “Patrick, where are you? You're not still at the hotel, are you?”

  “No, I... made it back to the station,” he confessed, glancing to his left and seeing the bright entrance with people hurrying to and from the platforms. He watched for any hint of Grace's red jacket, but there was no sign of her. “I've already left again, though. To be honest, I'm a little lost too. My map app isn't working properly either. There must be something wrong with the servers.”

  “What the hell are we supposed to do now?” she sobbed.

  “Actually, I think being lost might be a good thing,” he continued. “It might help us to cover ground that we ordinarily wouldn't think of. If you look at it that way, we should probably just keep walking the streets at random for a while. Trusting our instincts, that sort of thing. That way, we might inadvertently mimic the way Grace acted when she first arrived a few hours ago.”

  “Do you really think that could work?”

  “It's worth a try,” he suggested, making up his spurious argument on the spot – but surprising himself with how well it was going and how pseudo-logical it sounded. “Let's give it another hour or two and then we can rethink. Just remember that Grace probably didn't have a specific destination in mind either, not once she left the station. So if you feel yourself drawn in any one particular direction, go with it. Your gut might be sending you along in her footsteps.”