Excerpt from The Stranger on the Train by Abbie Taylor, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

"Tissue?" The woman balanced Ritchie with one arm and rummaged in her bag. She did look the sort who would have a clean tissue with her at all times. Sensible, organized, like the headmistress of a school. She looked to be in her early forties, with blond hair cut in layers to just below her ears. Tweedy trousers. A short, fawn-colored jacket, with fur at the cuffs and collar.

"Here we are," the woman said.

"Thank you." Emma took the tissue and wiped her eyes and face. The woman watched her in a sympathetic sort of way. Close up, she had tiny, spidery veins on her cheeks. It was an outdoor face, despite the pearl earrings and coiffed hair. A horse rider's or gardener's face. Emma had seen plenty of women like her during her childhood in Bath. They were everywhere at Christmas, lunching in cozy tea shops with their daughters, surrounded by shopping bags. Emma had waited on them during her school holidays.

"Let me take him." Emma finished drying her eyes and reached for Ritchie. Immediately he shook his head, leaned back into the woman's elbow and stuck his fist in his mouth.

"What's wrong?" Emma was upset. "Why won't you come to me?"

The woman gave a little laugh. "I think he must have got a fright when you squeezed him."

"I probably hurt him," Emma worried. It wasn't like Ritchie to be so manipulative. Normally he wouldn't go to anyone except her.

"It was the shock. And of course he doesn't know he nearly went missing, do you, little manikin?" The woman jiggled Ritchie and leaned sideways to look at him. He gazed up at her, chewing his fist. "You had your mummy all worried, didn't you, you naughty little man?" She looked back at Emma. "He's adorable, isn't he? Such blond hair. And you're so dark. What's his name?"

"Richard. Ritchie."

"Ritchie. How sweet. Is that after his daddy?"

"No." Emma looked away.

The woman didn't push it. "Would you like another tissue?" she asked. She pronounced it tiss-yoo. "No, give that old one back to me. There aren't any bins down here."

She took the sodden tissue from Emma and tucked it into her bag.

"By the way." She held out her hand. "I'm Antonia."

"Emma. Emma Turner." Emma shook Antonia's hand.

"Where do you live, Emma? Are you near home?"

"No," Emma said. "I live in Fulham. Hammersmith, really, I suppose."

"Well, you are a long way from home. Shall I come some of the way with you on the train? You shouldn't travel alone in this state."

"I'll be fine. Honestly." It was almost true. She was still shaky, but she was starting to recover. She just wanted to be alone now, to get her bearings and get herself and Ritchie back to the flat. And then she remembered. "Oh. My bag. I left it at the other station."

"My goodness," Antonia said. "You have got yourself in a mess."

"I'll be all right." Emma stood up. She'd sort something out. What was a lost bag? A few minutes ago, she thought she'd lost her son. "Ritchie and I will go back there and ask. See if anyone's handed it in."

"Well," said Antonia, "I think the chances of you finding that bag at this stage are really very small. Perhaps I should wait to see if you need some money to get home?"

"Oh, no." Emma was horrified. She hadn't meant to sound like she was asking for money.

"I insist. I'm going to make sure you get home safely. You've had a very nasty shock." Antonia put a hand on Emma's arm. "Won't you come for a cup of coffee? My treat."

"I couldn't ask you to do that. You've done enough." Emma felt her barriers going up. She knew she must look awful, streaky with tears, her hair all over the place. The sleeve of her jacket was ripped from where she'd fallen on the platform, and the front of one of her trainers was lifting off its sole. Antonia seemed kind, but Emma just wanted to be left in peace. Just to get back to herself again, have another little cry, even, if she wanted to. She found it hard enough to talk to people these days, never mind someone like Antonia who was being very tactful but must be wondering how anyone could be so stupid as to leave their baby on a train.

Excerpted from The Stranger on the Train by Abbie Taylor. Copyright © 2014 by Abbie Taylor. Excerpted by permission of Atria/Emily Bestler Books. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.