Page 10 of The Black Trilogy

I spent the evening dying my hair, and also my eyebrows, careful not to use so much dye I ended up looking like Bert from Sesame Street. Once I was nice and mousey, I chopped the front bit into a fringe and looked at myself in the mirror. I looked flipping awful. Perfect.

Before I drifted off to sleep, I thought about my options. Staying in London long term wasn’t one of them—I knew too many people, plus there was CCTV everywhere. It would only be a matter of time before I ran into someone who recognised me.

I’d spent my life cultivating a long list of contacts. There was a standing joke among my friends that I could be out walking in the middle of the Amazon rainforest and a local tribesman would appear from behind a tree saying, “Hey, how are you? Long time no see!” Usually my number of acquaintances was useful, but now I found it a hindrance.

So, if not London, where should I go?

Europe brought the risk of another border crossing, and there would be too many people looking for me—my own team and I didn’t want to think who else. That left the rest of the UK.

After I’d slept on it, I decided heading to the countryside would be my best plan. I’d find somewhere to hole up for a few weeks until my mind consented to shake hands with logic again.

Old me had a plan for everything. And a spare plan. And an alternate plan for the spare plan. And a backup plan for that. New me couldn’t decide between cereal and toast for breakfast. Someone had sucked my brain out through my nose and replaced it with termites.

Without a driver’s licence in my new name, the best plan I could come up with was “get on a train.” Sure, I could have stolen a car, but in my current frame of mind, I’d probably screw it up, and I was too tired for a police chase today.

Guilt nibbled away at me as I shoved my belongings into my bag. How were the people I’d left behind feeling? Angry? Exasperated? Disappointed in me?

Probably all of the above.

I was a coward for running, so I deserved their contempt. I didn’t know how else to cope, though. At work, I was used to confrontation, but in my personal life, I shied away from uncomfortable situations.

I only hoped my friends would forgive me when I went back home.

In the meantime, there I was. Ashlyn Emily Hale. Thirty-two years old on my passport, twenty-nine in reality. I had no home, no job, no qualifications, no friends, and not much money. I’d been in worse positions, but for the last decade and a half, I’d had my husband to support me through them. Now I was on my own, and it brought back stark reminders of a childhood I’d spent my life trying to block out.

An hour later, I sat on a train chugging out of Paddington station. I couldn’t decide whether to head north or west, so I’d flipped a grubby penny. West it was. My husband had been the one who carefully evaluated every decision, weighing up the pros and cons. Without him, I was reduced to heads or tails.

As it was a Saturday, I’d hoped the trains would be less crowded, but the one I ended up on was almost as bad as the plane. It was a stopping service, and drunken revellers returning from what appeared to have been an all-night office Christmas party filled the carriage. It was only the end of November, for crying out loud, but they’d started the festive season early. I guess they didn’t want to waste any precious drinking time.

By the time we reached Slough station, I’d been serenaded by a group of elves, had a drink spilled on me by a reindeer, and gotten my backside groped by Father Christmas. Normally, I could remain calm through anything, but my legendarily rock-solid nerves were becoming well and truly frayed around the edges.

Then, just after two Christmas trees, an angel, and the three wise men had started a conga line along the middle aisle, the driver announced that the train had broken down and we all had to get off. I didn’t know whether to be pleased or cross.

On the plus side, I’d get away from the Christmas calamity, but the downside was I’d have to move, and it all felt like too much effort at the moment.

Life had been pretty good for the last decade. Maybe I’d used up my quota of happiness and karma was going to send things downhill from now on.

How much lower could I go?

Because right now, I was at the bottom of the Mariana Trench. Did she expect me to grab a spade and dig down to the devil’s domain underneath?

With no other choice, I lifted my bag down from the luggage rack and made my way onto the platform, where a rail employee in a hi-vis jacket was herding passengers onto a hastily procured bus. I spotted two snowmen and a red-faced Christmas pudding heading towards it, weaving from side to side.

A sigh escaped my lips. I needed to find an alternative.

“Excuse me, is there a bus stop around here?” I asked hi-vis guy. “I’m not sure I want to take that one.”

He eyed up the Christmas pudding, who’d got stuck in the bus door and was being tugged free by a shepherd and the Virgin Mary, and gave me a look of sympathy.

“Sure, love, there’s a bus station just across the street.”

I traipsed over to the building he indicated, a space-age monstrosity that appeared to have been modelled on a giant slug, and hopped on the first bus leaving. Looked like I’d be heading north after all.

The bus wound its way through towns and villages for a couple of hours, and I lost track of where I was. I rested my head on the window, staring without seeing, my mind blank. The glass misted up, and I was on the verge of nodding off again when the driver tapped me on the shoulder.

“You’ll have to get off now, I’m afraid. This is the last stop, and I have to take the bus back to the depot for shift change.”

Where on earth was I?

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