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light. He climbed into bed and lay on his side, gently stroking tufts of Evie’s light brown hair.
    ‘Is she definitely all right? The way he was holding her …’
    ‘I checked. I think there’s a bruise on her stomach—’ She choked up. Harry reached over Evie and rested his hand on her shoulder.
    ‘We’ll be okay,’ he said. But when he heard the tone of his voice he wasn’t completely sure that he believed it.
    Alice said nothing, and Harry had no idea what she was thinking. He lay beside her and fretted, afraid that anything he said would make it worse. Then a tiny snore caught his attention; Evie was sound asleep.
    ‘Shall I put her in the crib?’ he whispered.
    ‘Not yet.’
    Alice’s voice didn’t sound quite right; Harry sat up and saw there were tears streaming down her cheeks. She looked like someone in the grip of an uncontrollable grief, and yet she wasn’t making a sound.
    ‘Alice—’
    ‘Ssh! Please, I’m not ready …’ She sniffed. ‘I’ll be fine. This is how I’m dealing with it.’
    Harry had no choice but to give her that space, if it was what she thought was best. But it worried him all the more. He wanted to be actively supporting her; not lying here like a mannequin.
    Besides, there was one thing they had to talk about – and it had to be now.

Five
    ‘ W e haven’t called the police.’
    It felt safer, somehow, to phrase it as an observation. Harry was aware that he didn’t want to influence Alice’s opinion in any way. He needed to know what she thought, because he had no idea what to think himself.
    She’d stopped crying, and her voice sounded more like normal, though the tone was flat. ‘You heard what they said. We can’t.’
    ‘I don’t see how they’d know.’
    ‘They’re going to be watching.’
    Still debating whether to tell her which way the van went, Harry said, ‘Do you reckon that’s likely?’
    ‘I don’t know.’ Alice sniffed again. ‘I hope not.’
    ‘If they are watching us, that’s more reason to go to the police, because it means they haven’t finished with us. If we believe the threat is real, then we need to report it. Go to a police station and explain it all.’
    Alice considered this carefully. A few strands of dark brown hair had adhered to her cheeks. She pulled them away and turned towards him. Her eyes were red and puffy.
    ‘Yes, but we can’t tell the police anything about them. We didn’t see their faces. And they wore gloves, so there won’t be fingerprints. It’s pointless, isn’t it?’
    ‘We can describe their voices. The one with the gun, didn’t he sound fairly well-spoken? Middle-class?’
    ‘What’s that got to do with anything?’
    ‘Well, it doesn’t really fit the profile for … whatever they are.’ He threw up his hands. ‘Oh, I don’t know. I’m probably not making much sense.’
    Alice raised her head to check the clock. ‘Little wonder, at quarter to four in the morning.’
    ‘So what do you want to do?’
    ‘This.’ Shifting position to face him, her hand appeared beneath the duvet, seeking his. ‘If we did, we’d need to describe all of it. So I’d have to tell the police exactly what that man did to me.’ She shut her eyes tightly for a moment. ‘And then it’ll be all over the news.’
    ‘Not necessarily. We can probably insist they keep our identities secret.’
    ‘In this day and age? Come on, Harry. It’ll be out there eventually, you know that. And the thought of having something so personal plastered across the Argus , or on the local news. I couldn’t bear the idea of walking down the street with people looking at me, knowing all the details …’
    ‘Okay.’ Harry wasn’t sure if he agreed, exactly, but in her place he knew he’d probably have the same reaction.
    ‘And for Evie’s sake. The past doesn’t fade away like it used to. Imagine her going online, ten or fifteen years from now, and being able to read all the news reports.’ She sniffed. ‘I don’t see