The Stranger on the Train (31 page)

She looked down at him, at his heart-shaped face, his broad, intelligent forehead, and thought again, for the thousandth time, how incredibly privileged she was to have him.

The owls swooped again. Their reflections flitted past the glass front of a photo on the windowsill. The photo was the one of Emma with her mum and gran, taken on the day of her gran's birthday. Her mum and her gran sat on the couch together, smiling at the camera. Across their faces, the two pale owls floated and soared.

Ritchie pointed at the ghostly shapes in the glass.

“Woo,” he said. “Woo-ooo.”

• • •

At work on Friday, Susan said to Emma: “What's this? You're all dressed up.”

“I am not.”

“Yes, you are.” Susan came around the bar and put her hands on her hips. “Definitely.” She looked Emma up and down. “New top?”

“Haven't I worn this before?”

“No.”

“Oh, well.” Emma wiped a smudge of peanut dust off the bar top. Over the past few weeks, she and Susan had become good mates. Susan had a little girl a year older than Ritchie who was in the Dolphins as well. Emma didn't know why she felt so suddenly shy with her.

“A friend of mine is coming to visit,” she said. “Today, after work.”

“A friend, eh?” Susan gave a knowing smile. “Well, you look great.”

After work, Emma collected Ritchie from the Dolphins. He came in from the garden at a funereal pace, his tongue stuck out, concentrating on a squashed yellow flower in his fist. He went to Emma and presented the flower to her. She took it from him, with difficulty, as the petals were stuck to his fingers.

“Ah.” Jess tilted her head. “Isn't that sweet?”

“It's beautiful. Thank you.” Emma tried to kiss him, but he was busy wiping his hands on the front of his T-shirt.

“Mess,” he said.

Emma put the mashed flower into her bag. She said to Ritchie: “We'll go home along the cliff path.”

• • •

My last week in South America. My flight leaves from Lima on Tuesday. Right now, I'm in the Andes, and we've been trekking since dawn. We just got into this village an hour ago. The views are spectacular, but I can't appreciate them at the moment, because I'm hot, and my feet are killing me, and the altitude is melting my brain.

And now here, in this tiny market square, miles from anywhere, I find this message from you.

It's great to hear from you, Emma. I'm really looking forward to seeing you both.

• • •

The way home from the Dolphins took them up the hill. At the top of the hill, all that was left was the sea, sparkly in the distance, deep blue near the shore.
Shhwooo,
it said as it came in, and there was a crackle as it slid back out again. They were on a cliff path with a wooden fence. Beyond the fence, twisty stone steps led down to the long, sandy beach. Further along the cliff, an old copper-mine tower, overgrown with creeper, stuck straight into the sky.

Ritchie ran ahead, holding a long, spiral shell. Then he stopped, pointing down the cliff path.

“Man,” he said.

There
was
a man, halfway down the path. Leaning on the part of the fence that ran outside their house. A black rucksack lay at his feet, and his bright blue T-shirt matched the sea. The man had seen them too. He straightened, shading his eyes with his hand. Then he lifted his arm, fingers spread, a high, full-on salute. Emma waved back. The smile was in her eyes, then her mouth, then all over her, every part of her involved. She waved again, standing on tiptoe to make sure he saw. The man came out to the middle of the path to wait. Emma's heart was beating faster. But of course, that would be the steepness of the path from the village. It was a very warm evening.

“Come on, Rich,” she said.

Ritchie had to sort his shell out first. He hunched down, carefully, to rest it in the grass. The shell tipped a little; he steadied it in the gray curve of a rock. Then he stood up again and took Emma's hand. Together, they walked on down the path.

Acknowledgments

Thanks are due to the following:

To Pat Lynch, the first person to read this story. To Vicki Satlow for all her hard work in Europe and to Marianne Gunn O'Connor for being such a dedicated and determined super-agent.

To Francesca Liversidge in London for her input on the original manuscript.

To the Bristol Writers Group and the Richmond Writers Group for all their encouragement and help with the early chapters.

To Tom O'Connor, for Ritchie.

To Peter Whitty, who provides such security and stability.

And finally, last but not least, to Jemima and Charlotte, who were already in my heart while I was writing this book and who are present on every page.

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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2009 by Carla Glynn

Originally published as
Emma's Baby
in 2009 in Great Britain by Transworld Publishers.

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First Atria Paperback edition May 2014

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Cover design by Janet Perr

Photograph of train station: Sean Caffrey/Getty Images

Photograph of girl: Jan Mammey/Getty Images

The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Taylor, Abbie.

[Emma's baby]

The stranger on the train : a novel / Abbie Taylor.—First Atria Books trade paperback edition.

pages cm

1. Kidnapping—Fiction. 2. Single mothers—England—Fiction. 3. Mothers of kidnapped children—Fiction. 4. Infants—Crimes against—Fiction. 5. London (England)—Fiction. 6. Psychological fiction. 7. Suspense fiction. I. Title.

PR6120.A52E46 2014

823'.92—dc23

2014009092

ISBN: 978-1-4767-5497-0

ISBN: 978-1-4767-5499-4 (ebook)