MONDAY 4AM – SYLVAIN RENOIt's freezing out here and the smoke from my recently discarded cigarette lingers for a while before slithering off like a well-camouflaged snake. I rub my gloved hands together and pull another from the packet, inhaling deeply to keep warm, but not taking my eyes from Mama's house for one moment. The ground is crisp with frost, glistening on the cobblestones, reminding me that it's slippery underfoot. I must tell Mama to take care and wear sensible footwear and several layers when she goes out.
It's stupid of me to be so close, but force of habit took me in this direction. I wanted to see if Uzma had gone home yet, back to London, but it's impossible to tell as the lights are off and each window shrouded by tightly closed shutters. What if she's still there, anyw
