To Dwell in Darkness Read Free Page A

breathed a sigh of relief.
    The accident wasn’t on her line. There was nothing she could do, and she couldn’t help feeling relieved that the mess wasn’t on her watch. She’d dealt with a jumper once, when she was still in uniform, and there weren’t many things worse.
    She shivered at the memory, in spite of the bodies packed against her in the back of the train car. But she was determined not to let work interfere with her enjoyment of Andy’s moment in the limelight—the first of many, she felt sure. And she couldn’t wait to see if he had actually worn the blue cardigan.
    Seeing her smile, the middle-aged woman squashed beside her smiled back. Nodding, Melody took the small contact as a good omen. Most Londoners weren’t too bad, given half a chance. And bless London Transport—they did their best to keep things running.
    But when the train idled far longer than normal at Warren Street, then again at Euston, Melody’s anxiety rose. Andy would be crushed if she didn’t make it. She’d almost decided to get out at Euston and walk the rest of the way when the train doors closed and the train moved out of the station.
    When the train pulled into King’s Cross, Melody was first out the doors. She sprinted for the Underground ticket barrier, then started for the St. Pancras concourse at a jog. Good thing she’d worn boots that day because of the cold, she thought, rather than her work heels and one of the suits Andy loved to tease her about. Warm and red-cheeked by the time she entered the south end of the station, she stopped a moment to catch her breath.
    The music came to her faintly, in intermittent bursts, but she recognized it instantly. Before she met Andy, she’d have been hard-pressed to tell a guitar from a banjo, but now she would know the distinctive sound of Andy’s guitar anywhere. And there, on another wave of sound, was Poppy’s unique, rich vocal, with Andy singing harmony.
    If she stood at the back, perhaps Andy wouldn’t notice how late she’d been.
    As she came into the concourse proper, she glimpsed, beyond the glass elevator, the crowd gathered round the small temporary stage. Moving closer, she saw the duo clearly—Poppy, in a floaty white top over a short flowered skirt and her usual tights and boots; Andy, resplendent in the sky-blue cardigan, the light glinting from his tousled fair hair and his brilliant red guitar.
    Andy hadn’t seen her. He and Poppy were into a new song now, both of them playing and singing, their focus intense. Melody felt the same thrill of excitement she’d had the very first time she’d heard them perform. They had something electric together, Andy and Poppy, the whole bigger than the parts, and Melody could feel the energy move through the gathered crowd.
    Under the edge of the café arcade to her left, she saw Tam and Caleb, Andy and Poppy’s respective managers. They were standing, holding their coffees and watching the stage intently, grinning from ear to ear.
    Then something else caught her eye. On her right, near the Marks & Spencer food shop, half a dozen protesters raised placards in unison. As they were facing away from her, she couldn’t read the signs, but the group looked harmless enough. Still, she didn’t want anything spoiling Andy and Poppy’s moment. Looking round, she saw a female uniformed British Transport Police officer walking towards them, radio in hand.
    Good. The last thing she wanted was to have to act in an official capacity here. She turned back to the stage as Andy and Poppy’s voices rose to a crescendo in the last verse of the song.
    She’d raised her hands, ready to applaud, when she heard a whoosh, then a high, keening wail. Voices rose in frantic screams as Melody whirled round.
    She jerked back instinctively, gasping. There, in the open space where the arcade led out to the western taxi rank, burned a ball of fire as