Mo glanced at the baby's ticking intercom, which I'd left on the countertop, and then looked sideways at me, grinning. "You're in a bit of a pickle, aren't you?"

     I could feel the panic spreading in my veins like a poison. I wanted to shout, lash out. Instead, I closed my eyes, took a deep breath. My hands shook with the effort of containment.

     "Mo, have you got the number of an emergency locksmith?"

     Mo shrugged.

     "I'll call directory enquiries." I held up the phone. "If you don't mind?"

     Mo made a concessionary gesture. His lips clenched as if suppressing a smirk.

     I got numbers for two locksmiths, and called the nearer one. "Hello," I said when a man with meticulous received pronunciation answered. "I've locked my keys in my flat and I need someone to come and let me in. It's urgent."