Of course the keys weren't there. I knew exactly where they were – in my jeans, next to my bedside table. On the other side of two double-locked doors. In a last-ditch display of utter fantasy, I gave myself one last full-body pat-down before the panic started to set in. A prickle at the back of my neck; a tinge of whiteness in my vision. I contained it and willed myself to think. My first instinct was to walk away, pretend the baby didn't exist, and live the rest of my life under a bridge.

     Elaine's mother had a spare key. She lived just a few bus stops away. I could call her and be there in ten minutes. But – no. I couldn't call her: my mobile was also in the pocket of my jeans.

     Back to the shop.

     "Hello again, Mister Franks. You forgot something?"

     "Mo, have you got a phone I could use?"

     "Not for customers, sorry."

     "Please, it's an emergency."

     "Ji? Problem with your little one?"