LITMIR.BIZ

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homeless, out of a job and now stranded in a train station. All on the same day. And not just any day – oh no – it had to be Christmas Eve! As if she could forget. Christmas songs were belting out from every vendor, garish lights twinkled, and the smell of hot chestnuts squeezed her famished stomach. When had she last eaten? She’d been too distressed to contemplate food after……

      Tilly groaned and bit back the urge to scream like a wild banshee. Envious of all the happy travellers making their way home for Christmas, she scowled at anybody who happened to look her way. They gave her a wide berth, maybe sensing that she was about to lose her very last shred of control and rip somebody’s head off. Not literally, of course, that would just be gruesome – but the man in a rail uniform foolish enough to walk into her line of vision didn’t know that.

      The instant he noticed her heading towards him, his eyes widened. He flicked a glance left and right in the obvious hope that she was charging towards somebody else. Or at least she would have been charging, had she not snapped the heel off one of her shoes in her mad dash to the station. Instead she lurched clumsily, her face burning from both exertion and embarrassment, dragging her battered wheeled suitcase behind her.

      One suitcase: all she had to show of her life.

      It wasn’t even a very big suitcase.

      His gaze swept over her, no doubt noticing her dishevelled appearance, then he bravely took a step in her direction. ‘Can I help you, miss?’ he called across to her.

       Miss?

      Did she have a sign above her head flashing the words, ‘I am single again’ to the world? Okay, so she was being unreasonable; the man was only trying to be polite, but so what? Not even a saint could cope with the day she’d had to endure. ‘Bad’ didn’t even come close. Neither did ‘hellish’. With her jaw tensed and her teeth gritted, she stalked right up to him.

      Older than he’d looked from a distance, he had kind eyes with those little lines creasing the corners suggesting he smiled a lot. He wasn’t smiling now though; his face was a picture of concern. How could she possibly scream and rant at this man? Just like that, the fire inside her fizzled out. ‘The train to Southampton, is it really cancelled?’

      ‘Yes, miss. Unfortunately, you are quite correct.’

      ‘What time is the next one, please?’ Tilly knew from poring over the timetables all afternoon that there wasn’t another train leaving today but it didn’t stop her hoping for a miracle. Wasn’t that what Christmas was all about? ‘I need to get to my brother’s house. For Christmas…’

      ‘Ah.’ He said it in such a way, her stomach plunged to the floor. ‘Not in time for you to get to your brother’s, I’m afraid. A goods train came derailed and damaged the track along with a signal box. All of the main lines headed south have had to be closed. The engineers are working as fast as they can, but it’s going to take a few days to repair – what with it being the holidays.’

      ‘A few days?’ Trapped in a vicious nightmare, Tilly considered pinching herself in a bid to wake up. ‘Isn’t there a replacement bus? Anything –’

      Her throat closed up, unable to say another word at the sight of him shaking his head before she’d even finished asking.

      ‘No, nothing. It’s local journeys only,’ he said, dashing her final glimmer of hope.

      ‘Great. Just great.’ Tears welled in her eyes and clouded her vision. ‘I can’t even hire a car since the place is all closed up for the night.’

      The kindly old man reached across to pat her arm gently. ‘I’m sorry, dear. I hope something comes up for you.’

       Not bloody likely.

      Unable to force a sound past her throat, she nodded and turned away. She’d barely taken a step before the first disloyal tear forged a track down her cheek for the rest to follow. With her suitcase tucked in behind her, she wandered blindly towards the exit.

      Crowds swarmed around her, threatening to swallow her whole as they rushed en masse in the opposite direction. Men and women of varying ages jostled past, using their briefcases and suitcases as battering rams. Clusters of students and family members presumably heading home for the holidays added to the usual rush-hour melee of commuters and forced her to take refuge behind an advertising board.

      Tilly sucked in a lungful of air. Then another. Neither one helped. Suddenly claustrophobic, the noise and chaos left her dizzy. Painfully aware that she’d made a spectacle of herself once already, she really didn’t want to be the cause of yet another scene but she had no choice. She had to get out of the station before the bloodcurdling scream building in her lungs could claw its way free.

      Broken heel or not, she launched into a run and forced her way past startled passengers. The exit blessedly in sight, she raced through the glass doors and out into the biting December chill. Glad to be out of there, her waterlogged eyes struggled to adjust to the dark, dreary sky after the bright station lights. She didn’t dare slow down, desperate to escape the throng of festivities and merriment.

      Right on cue, the carol singers assembled outside burst into a jovial rendition of “We Wish You a Merry Christmas,” full of joy and happiness.

       Fools.

      Didn’t they know Christmas had just been cancelled?

      ‘Ooof!’ Tilly smacked her shin against the edge of a low bench, too dark to see in her attempts to dodge the growing audience. She ended up sprawled across the seat and dropped the handle of her suitcase with a loud clatter. At least the pain shooting down her leg gave her an excuse to be crying. Unfortunately, it meant she had to stop running too.

       Not good.

      Whenever things got too tough, too intimate, or too confrontational, you could rely on Tilly to make a run for it. Running away was what she did best. Call it her M.O. In truth, she’d been a fugitive for almost ten years: on the run ever since her world had come tumbling down on the night of her eighteenth birthday. The night that Dean, her brother’s best friend, had told her he didn’t want her – that she didn’t even register on his radar – although he hadn’t put it as brutally, but she’d got the message.

      Tilly sighed and shook her head to clear the memory. With no place to go, she sat and stared blankly at the world going about its business until a tall figure loomed in the edge of her vision; something vaguely familiar about the man’s loping gait.

      In an effort to see him more clearly, she wiped her eyes with the back of her hands then cringed inwardly at the black streaks now etched all over them. Super, she could add impersonating a panda to her day from hell as well then. Instead of helping, the mascara stung her eyes and rendered her unable to focus properly. She blinked furiously and studied the man striding towards her, trying to work out if she knew him.

      Unaware that he was being watched, he talked into a mobile phone. He drew alongside her and then spoke again in a deep voice that resonated throughout her entire body. The fine hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. A surge of adrenaline rushed to her legs, numbing the pain, and her subconscious screamed at her to run.

       Now!

      The cloaked figure stopped mid-stride as if he’d heard her gasp. ‘Mike, I’ve gotta go,’ he said gruffly. He hung up the call instantly then backtracked until he stood directly in front of her. ‘Basmati?’ His tone had changed from a growl to one of surprise. ‘Is it really you?’

       Bugger.

      Tilly hadn’t heard the stupid nickname for years: nine years, four months and… sixteen days, to be exact – her disastrous birthday party – and even then, only one person had ever actually used it. That very same person she’d been hiding from all these years. She screwed her eyes tightly shut and shook her head from side to side.

      No. No way.

      Absolutely no way could this be happening

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