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Diana doing demure. Mercifully, the lights of the approaching bus glowed round the corner, and it pulled up, the doors opening with a heartfelt sigh. Nerys leaned forward and breathed into my ear, 'Well, there's my ride,' then hopped on.
    The bus chugged defiantly away up the hillside and I leaned back against the pram, exhaling for the longest time. 'Well, Anwen, love...' I was pleased.
    'Daddy's still got it. Just saying.'
    Of course, then it all stopped being fun and games.

    G w e n
    The bad day happened when I was out shopping. I went past the park, pushing the pram and listening to the glorious lack of noise from my lovely daughter.
    Other people's children were playing in the park, and I thought how nice it all looked - odd, but nice.
    All those lovely, black-haired kids running around.
    They were just so neat and quiet. Not like you'd expect 15-year-olds to be. No hoodies covered in fag ash and cider stains, no swearing, no music on their mobiles - just well-behaved, ordered play. Strangely blissful, if a little unusual. I couldn't wait till Anwen grew up to be like that. Patiently waiting her turn on the swings.
    I spotted the policeman approaching and fought down the urge to panic. Odd that. I remembered when I was a copper and I'd walk up to a group -
    maybe just a gang hanging around when they should have been in school. Nothing spectacular. Just a nice, smiley young WPC all non-threatening body language and one of them would bolt, running like a scared hare. I'd think to myself (as I tried running after them in a body warmer) just what a stupid thing that was to do - guilt written all over their face. Dead giveaway. Never scarper. Always stand your ground.
    Now I was on the other side of the tracks and the urge to flee was almost overwhelming. Of course, you can't really run with a pram. I mean, I'm sure they do it in LA as exercise, but what do I know?
    Instead I planted my feet firmly where they were, smile on, eyes wide, baby toy ready. The innocent, innocent Earth Mother. I looked at him - typical friendly middle-aged Welsh bloke. Slightly gone-toseed. Puffy skin, tired hair, massive bags under his eyes, but a confident strut to his stride. Oh yes, he was very pleased with himself. He raised an arm and waved. All hail-fare-and-well-met, god love him.
    He approached.     'Yes?' I said. Just at the moment I was going about under Rhys's name. We'd figured the whole hiding-in-plain-sight thing would be easier that way. After all, you couldn't have an alarm go off every time a couple called Williams moved into a Welsh village, could you now?
    He stood there, rocking back on his feet and peering down into the pram. His face lit up like he'd seen an eclipse and for a moment he seemed utterly distracted.
    'Can I help you, officer?' I asked and immediately fought the urge to bite my lip. No one says that, not unless you want to get on the list of the world's shiftiest people.
    'Constable Brown,' he said, and looked very pleased about the fact. 'Call me Tony. Everyone does. What a beautiful child. Aw, we don't get many babies around here.' He smiled, making a little sausage-fingered baby wave down into the pram.
    Anwen ignored it, and I liked her all the more for it.
    'Remarkable!' He straightened up. 'I was wondering if we could have the tiniest of chats?' His cordiality increased, one arm gesturing to a scabby park bench like it was a royal throne.
    'Of course,' I said, feeling a bit sick. This could all be perfectly fine, after all. Just a routine enquiry.
    Actually, let's just pray he doesn't say that...
    'Just a routine enquiry,' he said. Oh god. I perched uneasily on the mouldy, damp bench and he sat down next to me. A bit close, mind.
    He pasted his hands across his knees, and then turned to me. Warm, friendly, patronising. 'What it is, see, well, it's a bit delicate...'
    Oh, spit it out, love.
    'We've had a report of an assault.'
    What?'
    'Against Davydd Hope,