I woke with a start, my heart thumping, and it was a minute before I remembered where I was. I’d had the nightmare again – the same one that had plagued me since I left London. In my dream, the book had been uncovered and passed around. Everyone knew everything that had happened. Everything I’d done.
‘How could you?’ they said to me, their faces twisted in hatred, fingers pointing in accusation. ‘How could you do such a terrible thing?’
Knowing I’d not be able to go back to sleep after such a sudden wake-up, I wiped my clammy brow and swung my legs out of bed. Uncomfortable now that the baby was getting so big, I smoothed my nightdress over my rounded midriff and went to the window, looking out over the quiet city. It was peaceful. Everyone was still sleeping, though the sun was beginning to rise over the horizon.
Feeling my heart rate begin to slow, I took a deep breath, thanking my lucky stars that I was here, safe and sound, away from the bombs and the sirens, and …
It was over, I told myself firmly. The book was gone. It was buried beneath the rubble, never to be found. No one would ever know what I’d done.