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Smile. Don’t look so frightened.

But I am frightened. The ferry hasn’t left yet – passengers are still getting on.

I didn’t take the Aberdeen ferry in the end. The port is too well-known. Someone might have guessed where we were going. Instead, Tom and I have boarded the Scrabster ferry. It’s more of a round-about route, but less traceable.

‘Mrs Kinnock?’ One of the police officers steps forward.

My grip on Tom’s hand tightens.

The police officers have the ring of Laurel and Hardy about them – one tall and skinny, the other short and fat. The short, fat one is female, her bright jacket pulled tight over a large bust.

‘MrsKinnock.’ A bright yellow high-visibility jacket blocks my path.

I’m a rat caught in a trap. ‘I’m not Mrs Kinnock.’ I look between the officers. One of them – the woman – has her fists clenched.

‘We’ve come to talk to you, Mrs Kinnock,’ the male police officer announces. ‘You have to get off the boat. Would you come with us, please?’

‘I’mnotMrs Kinnock.’

‘We know it’s you,’ says the policeman. ‘Tessa Warwick from Child Services traced your ticket purchase through the ferry company. If you could just come with us.’

I grasp Tom’s shoulder. ‘The police need to talk to us for a minute, okay? Nothing to worry about. And then we’ll be on our way to the Shetlands. Fresh air. Beautiful scenery. Sheep. All of that.’

‘You won’t be going anywhere, Mrs Kinnock,’ says the policeman. ‘We’re here to arrest you and take Tom into protective custody.’

I grab Tom, holding him to my body. ‘You won’t take him. This is myson. He’s part of me. I love him more thanlife.’

It’s a good show, and I feel the onlookers responding with pity, wondering what the police are doing to this poor, kind mother.

The short, fat policewoman steps forward, angry tears in her eyes. ‘I’ve given birth to three kids, Mrs Kinnock. Three of them. I love all of them more than life. But I’ve never given any of them medicine to make them sick.’

The man puts a hand on Tom’s shoulder. ‘It’s okay, Tom. It’s all okay. You’ll see your dad soon.’

I look between the officers, wondering if I can outrun them.

No. Not with Tom. And what am I without Tom? Nobody. Invisible.

‘I’ve done nothing wrong,’ I insist.

‘Come with us, please,’ the male officer says. ‘Alison, you take Tom.’

The policewoman kneels down to Tom. ‘We’re taking you somewhere safe. All right, Tom? And then we’ll get you reunited with your dad.’

Tom’s face lights up, and I want to claw the smile back.

My feet become unsteady and I feel the hard metal gangway against my hip. ‘You can’t take him away from me,’ I say. ‘He’s my son.Myson. He belongs to me!’

‘Mrs Kinnock, we have an emergency protection order,’ says the policeman.

Now I’m shouting: ‘You won’t take him away from me.You won’t take him away from me!’

The short police officer’s hand goes to the handcuffs on her belt. ‘If you could just come with us.’

There are high-pitched, animalistic screams.

Mine.

Somewhere, amid the noise, there’s a struggle. My head is pushed down, more forcibly than necessary, and I watch brown water churn under the criss-crossed metal gangway.