Knife Edge

6.08 P.M.

'Shit,' he snarled, pushing past a woman with a baby who was climbing on.

He scanned the faces around him, then lowered his gaze.

Where the hell was she?

Doyle pushed a youth in an rem sweatshirt aside and heard the boy mutter something under his breath.

The walkway which led across to the Bakerloo line platform was a few feet ahead of him.

What if Lisa had wandered up there?

He shoved uncaringly through the passengers, finally catching sight of her.

She had backed up against the wall and was standing still, looking up with wide-eyed bewilderment at the sea of people surrounding her.

But she didn't move.

Sensible kid.

Doyle reached her and swept her up in his arms, unsure how he should hold her. He heard her grunt in discomfort as he squeezed her a little too hard.

'A man bumped into me,' she said almost apologetically. 'I couldn't hold on to your hand.'

Doyle lifted her on to his shoulders and began striding through the crowd.

Lisa smiled now, perched on those powerful shoulders, happy with her vantage point. She could see over the heads of the other people on the platform.

'Hold on to my jacket,' he told her and she gripped the leather collar, smiling as Doyle hurried through the crowd.

When they reached the escalators he lifted her down again and she stood beside him as the moving stairs rose upwards.

Doyle looked at his watch.

No time to stand still.

He grabbed Lisa's hand and they began climbing, watched by a number of people, one or two of whom were a little concerned at how difficult the child in the jeans was finding it to keep up with the longhaired man in the leather jacket and the cowboy boots.

Doyle reached the top of the escalator and headed for the exit, pausing only briefly to ensure that Lisa was still with him. He ushered her through the automatic gates and squeezed through behind her.

'There,' he said, pointing to the flight of steps which led up towards Oxford Street and, with the little girl still struggling to stay with him, he began to climb.

Lisa paused halfway up, stopping to look at a man who was sitting cross-legged and shoeless on the steps.

His hair was long, so dirty it looked as if it was matted into dreadlocks. He wore a filthy grey overcoat which was open, revealing a body just weeks away from almost complete emaciation.

A dirty jumper was lying in front of him, folded to form a kind of hollow at its centre. In that hole lay a few coins.

'Come on,' Doyle said, seeing Lisa staring at the tramp as if hypnotised.

He smiled at her, his teeth whiter than they should have been for one so dirty.

She remained gazing at the man.

'Lisa, for Christ's sake, come on,' Doyle snapped, ignoring the disapproving glance of a woman who passed him on the stairs.

Finally Lisa dug one tiny hand into the pocket of her jeans and produced two coins.

Doyle watched as she dropped them on to the reeking jumper.

Lisa bounded up the steps and joined him, slipping her hand into his. Together they emerged into Oxford Street.

Top Shop was directly opposite.

Doyle could see the phone box.

He urged Lisa to the roadside, waited for a gap in the traffic, then swept her up into his arms once more and darted across.

She giggled as he put her down, trying to grip his hand again but Doyle pulled away, moving towards the phone box.

There was a woman standing close to it, pulling a phone card from her purse.

The phone began to ring.