Chapter 1.

The woman’s frantic movement through the window caught Anna’s eye first. As her Tube pulled in at the underground station she looked up and caught her own reflection – pale and features slack with inattention, her blonde hair draped around her face – then the Tube doors slid open. The young woman’s figure, moving fast in tight black jeans and smart jacket, was distinct for a moment against the tiled walls of the underground, before she barrelled into the carriage, eyes panicked and gleaming white against her brown skin.

“Come on,” the woman rasped. She backed away from the closing doors, squeezing next to Anna, her shoulders hunched and diminishing her otherwise tall stature.

“Are you all right?” Anna said. Her response was instinctive and her stomach tightened. She thought she recognised that fear. She knew that kind of panic.

The woman didn’t respond and stared through the doors, anxious about someone outside, and as the Tube juddered into motion she clung to the partition. The train pulled out of the station, clacked quicker into the dark tunnels and passengers spilled back to the section by the doors. The chatter, the attention, the bodies squashed tight in the tin can of people, sent the woman cowering further towards Anna.

“I need to get out of here,” she breathed, seemingly to herself. “I need to get out.”

Anna modulated her voice in a way she’d perfected, so that it would soothe and imbue confidence. “Would you like me to help?” she said. Then when the woman didn’t respond, “Are you having a panic attack? Was someone following you?”

The woman peeked up. “Yes,” she panted.

The train lurched on the track around a corner and the lights flickered at the same time a flash burst from behind the woman. When the carriage lights relit, a group of teens were giggling and playing with their phones. It seemed to send the young woman’s anxiety rocketing and she clutched her head, her long fingers buried deep into her short black hair.

The woman had caught the attention of a young man across the carriage. He leered and checked her up and down. The woman was undeniably attractive, Anna had taken in that much as she’d careered into the carriage, but she was obviously stricken. What was wrong with people? This wasn’t a time to ogle. A nearby businessman, peering down with disdain from his newspaper, was no help either.

Frustrated at the response of her fellow passengers, Anna said, “It’s about half a minute to the next station,” and she offered a reassuring hand without thinking how the woman would react. She immediately buried herself into Anna’s trench coat and began counting in short breaths, “One, two, three,” swaying as the Tube curved around a bend.

The carriage jolted and lights flickered again. Another flash bleached Anna’s vision.

“Four, five, six,” the young woman counted louder.

“Excuse me,” Anna tutted in the direction of the flash. It must have been the teens again. She shuffled around the young woman’s body to shield her. “Nearly there,” Anna said.

The throng heaved against them from behind, pushing Anna against the woman.

“Ten, eleven, twelve,” the woman gasped, and she buried her face into Anna’s chest as the Tube slowed, and almost on the count of thirty the train stopped.

“Follow me,” Anna said, determined and taking the woman’s arm. Her companion followed, checking over her shoulder every second.

“I don’t usually go this way,” Anna said, hesitating, “but it’s quieter and we can get you out quicker.” The woman gave the slightest nod of approval and Anna tugged her towards the inconspicuous archway and stairwell.

“Count the steps if you find it comforting,” Anna continued. “I tried it once upon a time. There are seventy.”

It was one of Anna’s little reassurances. One of her checks.

The woman nodded and mumbled numbers as they climbed with a quick, fluid pace. A few moments later, the humidity and stuffiness of the Tube, the oil and sweat that lingered in the tunnels, was diluted with the freshness of autumn night air. An archway of orange streetlight opened up ahead and the exit emptied into a quiet side street and freedom from other passengers.

“There,” Anna said. “You’re out.” And she dropped the woman’s arm.

“I don’t know where I am,” the woman blurted, her anxiety climbing again. “I haven’t got a bloody clue.”

“It’s OK,” Anna said. “Do you think you’re still being followed?”

“I don’t know.” The woman peered behind her, but who could tell what was down in the darkness of the tunnels. “I touched in with an Oyster card and ran to the nearest train. I don’t even know what line that was.”

“You were on the Northern Line,” Anna said, using all her training to project calm. “Where did you need to go?”

“Anywhere.” It was like the woman’s body burned with stress.

“It’s all right,” Anna murmured and she moved closer, catching a vague smell of liquor. “Have you been drinking?”

“I’m not drunk,” the woman shot back. “I don’t usually drink. It’s just… Yes, I have.” She deflated. “I wanted to calm my nerves. A quick vodka. Then another. Maybe another after that. But people were looking. And this guy approached. Panicked. I was sure he followed me into the subway.”

“I didn’t mean for it to be judgemental,” Anna said, purposefully slowing her voice. “Nothing like that at all,” she carried on, seeing its calming effect on the woman. The woman’s tension subsided whenever Anna talked. “I thought that perhaps we could find you a coffee, to sober up.”

“Oh. That’s probably a good idea. But…”

“Somewhere quiet?”

“Yes, please show me. Somewhere I can rest for a while. Somewhere to hide.”

The young woman trembled when Anna took her arm and led her from the side street, perhaps coming down from nervous energy. Now that Anna had time to think, she would have guessed the woman was in her twenties. Her voice, although broken with anxiety, had a deep timbre that suggested some maturity, but in moments of calm it had the clarity of youth and her face, though strained with distress, had a flawlessness that only the young enjoy.

Anna led on with a confidence that she didn’t feel but, with her practice, projected. The young woman stood as tall as Anna now. She had a firm grip around Anna’s arm, a presence in fact, no matter how much she’d tried to hide it on the train. It seemed ludicrous somehow when she’d attempted to make herself small in Anna’s chest, her thick black hair buried against Anna’s shirt.

But Anna knew what it was like to feel vulnerable, to have that fear, and she’d despaired that not one person was willing to help.

“Let’s try Costa,” she said.

“Is it quiet?”

It was Friday evening around eight o’clock Anna guessed. “Perhaps,” she replied, not hopeful. “Let’s take a look.”

She winced as they broke into the main street with the glare of streetlights and assault of taxis, buses and bikes buffeting past.

“It’s this way,” she said, drawing breath.

She made a mental note, as she always did, of the shops along her familiar route. First was the nail bar, where best-friend Penny used to work years ago, with a dark alleyway down the side that Anna always checked. The convenience store where she bought her food. Flicks the hairdressers where the trusted and much appreciated Lucca kept her practical bob in perfect trim. A few doorways to offices, shadowy this time of night, but empty Anna registered with relief, then on the corner a Costa, which she sometimes frequented.

She pushed the café door open and the wave of harsh chatter and incessant chink of crockery told them straight away that it was full.

“Jesus, it’s packed,” the young woman said.

“Shall we check at the back?”

“No, I can’t stay here,” she said, and she was already tugging Anna towards the street, more agitated than ever.

“It’s Friday,” Anna said. “Everywhere is probably busy. Let’s check for a table.”

“I can’t. There are hundreds of people in there. They were already staring at me. I need a break.”

The woman’s expression was taut. Was it fuelled by paranoia? Anna wouldn’t blame her, but it was useless trying to ask above the noise of the café and with the woman’s anxiety on the rise. It would likely cause further agitation, so Anna remained calm. Every time she’d offered help, the woman had responded well.

Anna racked her brains. Pubs were a poor place to leave someone who needed sobering, restaurants would be full with Friday night diners, coffee shops on the main street packed, those less frequented on side streets already shut. Apart from Zehra’s. But she’d been avoiding there.

Anna sighed. “There’s a Turkish coffee shop not far away. It closes in an hour so it’ll be quiet. We could go there.”

“Please,” the woman breathed.

They turned and Anna reached out again for the woman’s arm, but was met with the warmth of her naked hand. The sensation was vivid and intimate, the woman’s soft fingers clinging around the edge of Anna’s palm and when Anna met her gaze, the young woman’s eyes were wide and intense. Anna realised the woman had placed her faith in her. She was trusting Anna to take her to safety.