Silent Cry (Gabriella Darin #1) - Jenny O'Brien Page 0,1

have taken her. Alys would need a feed and a nappy change. There was nowhere he’d go, not with a newborn.

Izzy heaved a sigh at her foolishness and, for one long moment, relished the feel of wool against skin as she tried to laugh her fears off. She wasn’t his keeper. They’d got held up. Something had happened, something silly that she couldn’t guess at and, in a minute, she’d hear the creak of the gate and the turn of the key.

The moment passed. The minutes continued ticking and her sliver of calm disintegrated.

In a sudden burst of movement, she leapt from the chair and ran up the stairs.

That’s it. They came in earlier, hours earlier and even now they’re both curled up in their beds, not wanting to wake me.

But Alys’s cot was empty, apart from the pale-yellow blanket folded neatly over the end, just the way she’d left it that morning. Their bed was empty too, the duvet flung back any old how, the sheets cold, wrinkled, uninviting.

Outside. Maybe he pulled up and decided to close his eyes. Maybe it’s like the last time when he forgot his keys and, if Alys has fallen asleep in the car, he might have decided not to wake me.

She remembered the last time. His sheepish grin when she shook him back into the land of the living, which developed into their first big row and ended in a swift coupling against the back of the sofa.

There was post on the mat but she just stepped over it. She wasn’t in the mood for bills and flyers. She just needed to know that Alys was safe.

The air was cold, wiping the smile from her face. There was barely a glimmer of light as twilight switched to dusk. They were far enough away from everyone for darkness, when it hit, to mean exactly that. There wasn’t even a visible moon or any stars to light the way. She took a second to drag air into her lungs, the smell from the winter-flowering jasmine around the door filling her senses, but there was no joy to be had from the scent. Her eyes adjusted enough to see the outline of the gate and the telegraph pole next to it. There was no car, no indication that he’d returned. There was nothing apart from the empty track leading up to the house.

Izzy stayed a while. Something was wrong, dreadfully wrong – something that she had no way of putting right.

She finally wandered back into the hall, the post in her hand, the throw trailing in her wake. She was cold down to the bone, but it wasn’t the type of cold that the warmth from wool was going to solve. Her hand stretched towards the phone for a third time, her arm brushing against her breasts, now heavy with milk. She hesitated, her gaze lingering on the mail and the postcard on top. Was she overreacting? Was this the paranoid response of a new mum? Maybe. Possibly. Hopefully.

The card was plain white and, with no name or address scrawled on the front, must have been hand delivered. She flipped it over and all thoughts of a simple explanation died along with any hope in her heart.

I’ve got Alys. Don’t try to find us, Charlie

Chapter 1

Izzy

Monday 23 December, 5.10 p.m. Swansea

It took one look, just one, for Izzy’s world to shatter a second time.

To anyone else it was only a flicker, a face in the crowd but to her it was a face so intrinsically linked to her past that she paused in her fur-lined boots, unable to do more than stare at the woman disappearing across the street. It was all there in the angle of her head, the sway of her hips, the colour of her jet-black hair. It had been five years and yet it still felt just like yesterday.

Grace. Grace Madden.

A wave of ice-cold worked its way across her shoulders and down her spine, pinning her to the spot. She couldn’t move even if her life depended on it. Instead, she watched, transfixed as Grace clambered into a waiting taxi before zooming into the distance. She was too late and yet what could she have done? Shout? Scream? Surely she could have done something instead of just standing there? The tears came in a sudden deluge. Tears for the opportunity she’d just lost.

‘Are you all right, love? All this Christmas cheer getting to you?’ The stranger’s soft Welsh accent was a welcome