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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 fuck knew 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 well-thought 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 situations, 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. Gone was the girl who carefully evaluated every decision, weighing up the pros and cons. 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 had my arse 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 down 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 ten years. Maybe I’d used up my quota of happiness, and that little bitch, Karma, was going to send things downhill from now on.
    How much lower could I go?
    At the moment, I was at the bottom of the Mariana Trench, so maybe she expected me to grab a spade and dig down to the fires of hell 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