I am delighted to be taking part in this blog tour to celebrate the e book publication of this book . I read her previous book and loved it so I’m looking forward to reading this one.
Read on for a exclusive extract and do check out the other blogs taking part !
She began to move along the ward, her head switching from side to side, searching for Mischa, a maternity support worker, a midwife, anybody who might know where her baby was. She felt a scream bubbling in her throat, a primal scream of fear and panic, but she quelled it, telling herself not to be so stupid, that her baby was fine and he’d be back any second.
At the other end of the ward she saw a man walking towards her with a baby in his arms. Despite the central heating belting out through the ward, he wore a double-breasted camel coat and leather gloves. Clean shaven, his shoes highly polished, he looked like a city businessman. He was looking right at her.
She stared. She didn’t dare move. Was he holding Mischa?
As though he’d heard her thoughts, he nodded.
Her mouth turned as dry as sand.
She began to walk towards him. Her brain seemed to have frozen. She didn’t recognise the man. Who was he? What was he doing with her son?
As she approached the man dropped his arms to show Mischa, wide awake and gazing at her with his huge blue eyes. She gave a little whimper. She held out her arms to take him but the man moved aside, saying, ‘A little privacy, I think.’
He walked to her bed and, holding Mischa against his chest with one hand, he pulled the curtains around them with the other.
‘Give him to me,’ she demanded.
She opened her mouth to scream for help but in one swift movement he brought Mischa high into the air, holding him upside down by his ankles. The baby blanket drifted to the floor.
‘Don’t, or I will drop him.’
Mischa gurgled, began to make a choking sound.
‘No, please don’t . . .’
‘Listen to me,’ he said. He didn’t relax his grip on Mischa, whose face started to turn a dark pink.
‘Please, the blood’s going to his . . .’
He may as well have slapped her. Her whole body flinched at his voice, laden with menace.
‘Or this little boy will find himself with a crushed skull.’
A wave of cold nausea crashed over her. This couldn’t be happening. Who was this man? What did he want?
‘OK, OK.’ She put her hands up. She was trembling violently. ‘I’ll listen.’
The man immediately brought Mischa upright to hold him against his chest, but his eyes never left Jenny’s: twin shiny, glassy black marbles.
‘I want you to tell your husband my name. Sirius. Then tell him to stop what he’s doing in Germany.’ His voice was quiet but even through the sound of crying babies and women’s chatter she could hear every word. ‘I want you to tell him to come home and stay at home, or one day he won’t have a baby boy to come home to.’