The Stranger on the Train by Abbie Taylor Read Free Book Online

holding him a little away from her in case she hurt him. She took the bottle from the nightstand and looked from it to the child. What now? Did she just put the bottle to his lips? How would he know what to do?
    While she was wondering, the teat happened to touch the baby’s mouth. Instantly, he lifted his face and hoovered it in. He sucked so hard that Emma grabbed the bottle in alarm, afraid the thing would disappear down his throat. After a few seconds, however, she relaxed. The bottle wasn’t going anywhere; the baby seemed to know what he was doing. She just had to balance the bottle with her hand and let him get on with it.
    She watched him cautiously as he drank, surprised by how alert he was. She’d thought they couldn’t see anything for the first few days, but here he was, pear-drop eyes wide open, gazing steadily up at her. He had a strange little face, wide and squashy, like a toy football. His wrinkly neck stuck out of the top of his Babygro. The room was quiet, the only sounds the steady suck-suck on the bottle and a murmured conversation from a radio turned low. The baby’s expression was one of grave understanding.
    â€œI do apologize,” he seemed to say. “I need to drink this, but I’ll do it as fast as I can and let you get back to yourself.” A slow blink: “I’m on your side, you know.”
    Very slightly, the anxiety clawing at Emma’s insides began to ease.
    On the radio, the DJ announced: “And now we have a classic from Keane.”
    The opening bars of “Somewhere Only We Know” filled the room. Emma’s throat hardened. She let her head drop back against the pillow. She was in Hampshire with Oliver, and the song had played in the car on the way down. They were walking along the river. “Wait till you see this place,” he had said. “It’s like an enchanted forest. Not many people know about it.”
    They passed under old stone bridges, one after another, into green, misty light. Heavy branches dappled the water. They walked for a couple of miles and saw no one but the midges. Oliver pushed his dirty-blond hair back from his forehead. In the silence, his mouth came down on hers.
    Emma’s arms were tired. She relaxed them, and the baby settled in against her body. She lowered her head, still feeling the ache in her throat, and the baby’s wispy hair brushed against her lips.
    She couldn’t call him Oliver. Not after what had happened. But she could call him . . . what were the names of the band members in Keane? Was one of them called Richard? She had always liked that name.
    â€œWould you like to be called Richard?” she asked the child.
    He didn’t answer. His eyelids had begun to droop; his mouth was slack around the teat of the bottle.“All right, then. That’s what we’ll do.”
    One less thing to worry about. The sun slanted from the window across the bed. Emma felt tired, peaceful, as if she might sleep too.
    Monday, September 18th
    Day Two
    â€œThe first twenty-four hours are crucial,” Lindsay, the family liaison officer, said. “We need to gather information as quickly as possible. Some of the questions we ask might seem intrusive or personal, but it’s all part of the procedure, so please try not to take offense.”
    It was five hours since Ritchie had been taken. Lindsay was so tall and shiny and efficient. Beside her, Emma felt very small and cold and thin. Mostly she was numb, but every so often a sheet of panic would open in her head, whiting out her mind. Where was Ritchie? What was happening to him? She got bouts of shivering every hour or so, where all her muscles, especially those in her neck, were so shuddery and tense that they were painful.
    â€œDo you think he’s alive?” she whispered.
    â€œI’m sure he is,” Lindsay said. She put her arm around Emma’s shoulders. “A lovely little boy like him? No one