The woman shakes her head. ‘They reckon he ran away from his parents in St Pancras station yesterday.’
I recall the emotional couple with the police officers yesterday.
‘Although the press is saying he might have been snatched.’
Felix is avoiding my glare. He’s busy bringing up the BBC News online page on my iPad. Leaning closer to him I whisper, ‘I know another boy who ran away yesterday in London St Pancras – don’t I?’
He carries on staring at the iPad screen. ‘I felt bad, so I phoned you.’
‘It could have been you, Felix. Those poor parents must be beside themselves.’
Felix points to the photo of the missing boy. ‘He’s called Jack and is the same age as me.’
My eyes take in the photo of the little lad, wearing a yellow bobble hat and grinning mischievously at the camera. That could have been Felix. My heart thumps away inside my rib cage. Even though he ran away at St Pancras station, got on a train to Leeds using my credit card and made me feel sick with worry, I love him so much.
CHAPTER41
RORY
The taxi driver dropped me at Brighton station five minutes ago. He spent the entire journey moaning about the lack of gritters, the amount of snow on the roads and the treacherous conditions for taxi drivers. I spent the entire time gripping onto the seat in the back and firing off several silent prayers about Felix being found safe and well.
I’m sprinting through Brighton station, clutching my throbbing forehead and a ticket to London. Emily must be so distraught. She’ll be blaming herself. Bloody hell, Felix, why did you run away? I let Emily down once before, I am not going to do it again. She needs me by her side.
There’s a train ready to depart on platform four. Dashing onto the platform I smile at the female guard in the hope she’ll take pity on me and let me onto the train. To my relief she does, and I leap on board.
The train is packed, which is a surprise given that the snow is getting worse and it’s Christmas Eve. As I make my way through the carriages the only seating option is a window seat opposite a young woman and her son.
After sliding into my seat, I take out my phone and silently curse it for running out of battery on me. I need to speak to Emily. I want to tell her I am on my way and reassure her that Felix will be found. He’s probably tried to recreateHome Alone 2where the kid gets the wrong plane and ends up in New York by himself at Christmas. Felix is probably seeing the sights of London and having a whale of a time. We both sat and watched it last Christmas while Vivi and Emily were giggling over a bottle of wine in the kitchen. Felix thought it was a cool film and afterwards we talked about what we’d both do if we found ourselves stuck in New York at Christmas.
I remind myself he’s been missing for over twenty-four hours and an uneasy feeling passes over me. Where the hell would he have slept last night? My bowels loosen with fear. Please God, can Felix be found safe and well?
The train has left Brighton station. It’s crawling and not going as fast as I would like it to. For some reason, the woman opposite me is making an odd facial expression at me. She’s yanked her dark eyebrows all the way up her forehead and keeps tilting her head in the direction of her son. I think she’s mouthing something at me. What the hell is she trying to communicate to me? Maybe it’s my bruised forehead? It did look ghastly when I peered into the bathroom mirror in the Travelodge early this morning.
Ignoring her I gaze out of the train window.
The woman coughs and catches my attention. Once again, the woman’s eyebrows travel up her forehead, she does the same tilting gesture and she’s mouthing the word HIM. I let out a heavy sigh and catch sight of her son who has one eye shut and the other eye is sneakily looking at his mother. He reminds me of Lawrence who used to pretend to be asleep to avoid being asked to do household chores. Maybe I should pretend to be asleep too?
Seeing me return my attention to the window makes the woman let out what can only be described as a little squeak of frustration. I cast her a puzzled look followed by a shrug.
Her jade-green eyes perform a dramatic roll, she exhales loudly and folds her arms across her chest. I’m clearly missing something.
To my horror she starts to squeak at me and as I lower my eyes, I see that her right hand is pointing at her son.
I don’t want to give the boy’s game away. ‘He’s asleep,’ I whisper back to her which causes her to squeak even louder and shuffle about on her seat.
‘Are you in pain?’ I whisper, which causes her face to go from beige to an angry raspberry in a few seconds. More squeaking follows.
Again, she starts pointing at her sleeping son.
‘Is he sick?’
She shakes her head in bewilderment. ‘THE BOY,’ she mouths to me.
The boy? Is she referring to her son? ‘Is he your boy?’
Her squeak is getting louder, and her eyes are narrowing. ‘MISSING BOY,’ she mouths.
‘Where?’ I say, looking up and down the train aisle.
