, I hope, I’ll learn to be less emotional.

To think things through. To say, ‘Could I please have a few hours to weigh all that up?’ Which is what I should have said to Anya.

Because here I am, hurrying home along a dark street like I’ve done a million times before, and I’ve never felt so anxious.

Two thousand zloty.

That’s what a ruthless killer will spend to get his hands on me and Pavlo. My only way to stop him is to maybe ruin the life of my dearest friend, who I owe my life to.

That’s why I’m so anxious.

Because the more I think about it, the more I think I have to do it.

‘What do you think?’ says Gabriek.

I stare.

I think it’s amazing.

It’s a baby cot, beautifully built by Gabriek from bits of wood. But it’s not like any baby cot I’ve ever seen. For a start it’s on cleverly designed wooden rockers. And it’s got a roof that slides shut with little wooden animals dangling from it.

‘Sound-proofing,’ says Gabriek. ‘For when Pavlo’s having a bad night.’

The cot walls and roof have lots of tiny holes drilled in them. Scientifically designed, I’m guessing, so they’re small enough for air to get in but not for much sound to get out.

‘Brilliant,’ I say, trying not to let Gabriek see how emotional it’s making me feel. And how lucky to be in a family with somebody as kind and loving as Gabriek.

I think Pavlo agrees. He’s lying on his blanket in the cot, gurgling happily. Specially when Gabriek rocks him.

Suddenly I’m starting to hope it could be OK.

We’re safe, the three of us, here in our hideout. We’ve got food and security and each other.

I’m sure a baby can survive on bread soup as long as it’s got plenty of cabbage juice and mashed sardines in it.

‘We need to get Pavlo a few things,’ says Gabriek. ‘Rubber teats for his bottle. More blankets. Little clothes for when he starts to grow. I’ll have a word with some of my customers tomorrow. Get them to keep an eye out.’

I stare at Gabriek, horrified.

If he starts putting the word around that we’ve got a baby, sooner or later a careless customer is bound to shoot their mouth off.

And sooner or later, but probably sooner, Gogol will hear.

‘What’s the matter?’ says Gabriek.

‘We need to have a talk,’ I say miserably.

‘Good,’ says Gabriek. ‘I want to hear how you went with the doctor.’

I tell Gabriek about Gogol.

And Anya. And Doctor Lipzyk.

The paintings. Everything.

Gabriek listens silently. Grimly. Drinking a lot of vodka.

‘I’m sorry,’ I say miserably. ‘I should have told you before.’

Gabriek doesn’t reply at first. Just has another big swallow from his mug. He rubs his head, as if this is too much for one human brain to take in.

And one human heart.

‘I’m sorry,’ I say again.

‘You did your best,’ says Gabriek. ‘Perhaps it might have been better if you’d found a baby somewhere else, but you didn’t. And Pavlo’s ours now, and that’s that.’

I want to hug Gabriek.

I don’t.

‘Here’s what we do,’ says Gabriek. ‘You lie low here with Pavlo. We don’t need baby milk from an individual who gets kids to do his stealing for him. There’s other powdered milk in this city we can get our hands on through honest black-market trading. And if this Gogol causes trouble, I’ll have a word with him.’

Gabriek gets to his feet.

Unsteadily.

He goes over to his bed and reaches behind it.

I give Pavlo’s cot a rock and try not to look. I know what Gabriek is doing. I wish he wasn’t.

Gabriek opens his battered old suitcase.

And takes out his gun.

‘When the war ended,’ he says, screwing the barrel of the rifle into the wooden stock, ‘I said I wouldn’t kill again.’

He’s having trouble getting the barrel properly fitted in. And he’s slurring his words a bit.

‘Well,’ he says, ‘looks like the war’s not quite over.’

It’s very late.

I can’t get to sleep.

Gabriek and Pavlo are snoring peacefully in Gabriek’s bed. Turns out Pavlo likes the cot to play in, but not to sleep in.

I wish I could fit into the cot myself. And pull the sound-proof lid shut and stay in there for ever.

Every time I close my eyes, I see poor Gabriek shouting a challenge to Gogol. Waving his gun. Slurring his words a bit.

I see the awful expression that dawns on poor Gabriek’s face as he realises what he’s up against. A ruthless, powerful, sober, cold-hearted killer. And as he realises he doesn’t stand a chance.

What’s that noise?

Was that from next door’s roof?

Is somebody up there?

I slip out of bed and grab my glasses and go over to the curtains and peer through a crack.

Dark shapes and shadows in the moonlight.

I stare for a long time.

I don’t think it’s anybody.

But will I ever be sure? Is this what it’ll be like, night after night, waiting for Gogol to come and kill us?

I don’t have any choice.

I have to do something.