direction.
The train bumped forward a few yards, stopped again then continued on its way.
As it slid into Oxford Circus station, Doyle was already pushing his way towards the door, pulling Lisa along with him.
The doors opened and Doyle barged out, through the passengers waiting to board.
Lisa felt his hand gripping hers tightly. A little too tightly.
It hurt.
She tried to twist her hand inside his but the sweat on his palm made his skin slippery.
As he pulled at her in an attempt to rush her through the heaving throng on the platform, her hand slipped free of his.
Someone bumped into her, buffeted her away from him.
Doyle felt her hand slide from his.
He spun round.
The passengers both embarking and alighting seemed to swell into one huge amorphous mass. Faces passed before him as he scanned the crowd frantically for Lisa.
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.
6.15 P.M.
Doyle stepped in front of the woman who shot him an angry glance.
'Excuse me,' she said, reproachfully, standing and watching as he snatched up the receiver.
'Doyle,' he said.
Silence at the other end.
'Neville, can you hear me?'
'I can hear you.' Neville's voice came down the line. 'Well done. I want to speak to Lisa.'
'I was here first, you know,' the woman continued from behind Doyle.
Still he ignored her, instead pulling Lisa to him, handing her the receiver.
'Hello, sweetheart,' Neville said to her, his tone lightening.
'Dad, I just saw this man and he had no money,' Lisa babbled. 'So I gave him some of my pocket money.'
'You're a good girl.'
'I said, 'I was here first',' the woman persisted, tapping Doyle on the shoulder.
He turned and looked her squarely in the eye, the ferocity of his stare causing her to take a step back.
'I think he was hungry, Dad,' Lisa continued. 'Perhaps he can get something to eat now.'
'Good girl. Let me speak to the man with you again,' Neville instructed, waiting while Lisa handed the receiver back to Doyle.
'You make sure you keep her safe, Doyle,' the expara warned.
'She's fine. Now get on with it.'
'Bedford Square, just off Tottenham Court Road.'
Neville instructed. 'There're public phones on the eastern side. Five minutes.'
