Hi there everyone, welcome to the beginning of my latest story and in advance, thank you for clicking to read it, I hope you like like this opening enough to carry on reading it. This opens years before the incident described in the summary and so will begin soon the search for the mysterious girl who gives birth to the baby. Some clues will appear as the story goes on, but can you good readers work them out? This shouldn't be a very long story, but thanks again for reading it and I hope you enjoy it.

Hollie. xx

Darkness had fallen upon the streets of Sun Hill. It was a bitterly cold: the winter air rendered many people to stay inside the warm comforts of their homes, wrapped up in thick jumpers or blankets, or else cuddled together on the sofa in front of a crackling, roaring fire. Outside, on the cold and icy streets was a sight that was peculiar to see. A figure, a young girl, no older than seventeen years old was tripping and stumbling down the pavement, lumbering from wall to lamp post in an attempt to keep herself upright.

Beads of perspiration dripped down her sweaty forehead: even in the freezing wind, she still felt boiling. After a moment of leaning on a low wall, she straightened up and continued on her way, braving against the pain eating away inside her. Oh, there must be a Hospital around here, somewhere, anywhere! Please, even someone, anyone pass! Someone look out of the window to help her! Another contraction of pain tore through her stomach and she pushed her arm into her mouth and bit down hard to stop herself from screaming: at the same time, she threw her head back and stars exploded before her eyes as the back of her head collided with a wall. Tears ran down her face as blood seeped from the wound and into her open mouth. She dug her teeth tighter into her arm, willing herself not to scream out in agony. It hurt; it hurt so, so badly.

She let forth a slight whimper and stumbled on. She saw, across the road, the gates to the park were open. Maybe somebody – anybody – was still in there and she rushed across the road without even bothering to check for cars. She gripped onto the metal of the gates and squinted into the darkness, feeling disappointed. There didn't seem to be any signs of life in there and she went to turn away, ending up collapsing to her knees. The breaking of water had run down her thighs. She crawled into the park, the snow dampening her thin clothes, hands and knees. She took shelter in a cluster of bushes and with a tremendous effort she rolled onto her back, looking up at the stars in the sky and the falling snow.

Particles of dirt were embedded in her wet knees and hands: she was lying in the snow. Surely, she thought, this wasn't the best place to give birth, but the little one inside her didn't seem to be giving her that much of a choice. It was dark, it was cold, and she was all on her own with no means of calling for an ambulance. A sharp, searing pain made her feel as if she was being torn into two and she tried to curl herself into a ball, wrapping her arms around her stomach. Please, please, wouldn't somebody help her? Wouldn't somebody pass? It could be Jack-the-Ripper for all she cared! God, somebody help!

For nine months, she'd been ignoring the warning signs: ignoring the sickness, her expanding stomach and the kicks, hoping it would all go away but, of course, it never did. It remained there, inside her, never leaving her. It was amazing really she thought that nobody had noticed anything. Maybe she hadn't put on the weight that was typical to most pregnant women, but she was definitely bigger than was usual to her slim frame. She'd been sick though, throwing up quite violently, but she'd been so tired to the point where her father had teased her about being lazy. If only he were here now.

She screamed so loudly, so piercingly, she was sure the whole of London could hear and stuffed her chubby arm in her mouth again, biting down hard. Scalding tears flooded her eyes and she whimpered. The snow became heavier and her tears fell faster, both slicking her short cropped bob to her head. Using all the strength she had left, she raised her head and looked at the bump of her pregnant stomach. She felt a sudden urge to push. If only she'd just told someone about her baby! She could be warm and comfortable in a Hospital giving birth, but here she was alone, homeless and delivering her baby alone.

A burning sensation tore through her and she gasped. She could feel it; she could feel the child coming out. The snow fell heavier, doing nothing to cool her down as she pushed and pushed, nails scratching the dirt and stones. Her hair was wet, becoming dirty. She had given up crying long ago, it seemed to her to become fruitless. Her lips were clamped together, teeth grinding against the pain. She whined and gasped as she felt a strange sensation between her thighs... She hoped that it would be over soon.

She wasn't sure if the sky was really getting light or if it was just her imagination sat up squinting into the darkness. She could make the child out, lying on the floor, completely still. Her breathing shallow, she sat forwards and tenderly placed a hand on its tiny ribcage and a fresh tear ran down her face. The child wasn't breathing and it hadn't even cried. She knew that it was hopeless and slumped over her baby, the mini of her, her tears falling onto the naked little body. She was crying loudly, the sound echoing around the park. She hadn't felt anything like this pain ever before. For the past nine months, she'd been trying not to, but couldn't help feeling a bond with the baby growing inside her. Now her child was dead and the hopes of having someone to look after, of having someone to look after her and love her were slipping away before her eyes. She scooped her child up as gently as she would if it were still alive and cuddled it to her breast before looking around for something, anything to help her.

The tears of pain, of misery, were still falling down her face, as she walked away from the park, her heart feeling like a boulder in her chest. She didn't dare to step back. Her feet scraped across the harsh, stone ground, leaving large footprints and she wondered where on earth what she could do now and where she could possibly go. She couldn't face going home: she was sure that after one look into her face and her father would guess everything straight away. As nice as he might be, he was still very strict.

She stopped when she reached the church, and stared. From inside, she could hear the singing and longed to be a part of that crowd who were full of joy, not a worry in the world. What she wouldn't give to be happy right now, to be surrounded by love and joy. Silently, she sat in the shadows of the graveyard, listening, and mouthing the words of O Holy Night along with them. Inside the pocket of her raggy dress, she searched for her rosary beads – they weren't there. Frantic, she desperately turned each pocket inside out before being forced to accept that they weren't there. They had been her grandmother's – her father really was going to kill her now, that was if he found out she had lost them before he killed her for running away from home.

"Hello," said a kind voice.

She jumped to her feet in alarm, stumbling slightly. The woman standing before her was wearing a long and expensive looking coat. She smiled at her, but the younger girl could see her trying to hide her shocked and somewhat disgusted expression at her own attire.

"What were you doing sitting down there, my love?"

"I lost something," she said meekly.

"Well you're going to have a job finding it in the dark. What did you lose?"

"My beads. My rosary beads."

"Well at least they're replaceable."

"They were my Grandmother's, real silver. My Dad is going to kill me."

"I'm sure he won't stay very angry for long, he'll know that you won't have meant to lose them."

"I hope so," she said, privately thinking that she would be lucky if she ever did see her father or her boyfriend again. "I think I should go now."

"Well, why don't you come in, my love? Warm yourself up, have a cup of tea."

"I don't think I'll be welcome in church."

"Everyone is welcome at church. Why don't you think you're welcome?"

"I'm not a very good person, Ma'am. I don't think God will be taking me under his wing this Christmas."

"I'm sure that isn't true. I'm Anna," she said, slipping an arm around her shoulders. "Now, why don't you come with me, hmm? You look like you could do with some nice, hot tea and some warmth. I'm sure we can find you a blanket somewhere. Come on."

Anna was surprisingly strong and she couldn't resist. She let her steer her into the church and into the kitchen, at the back of the building. Anna found a blanket and wrapped it tightly around her shoulders, which she was grateful for. She pulled it around her stomach, hoping it was looked like she was trying to stay warm. A large mug and a packet of biscuits were put down in front of her, and Anna sat down opposite, removing her coat. She was wearing an expensive looking dress underneath.

"I'm head of the choir," Anna said in response to her look.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled, listening to the singing still coming from the church.

"That's OK, it's only a rehearsal. How old are you, my love?"

"Seventeen."

"What are you doing, wandering around on your own? Christmas spirit doesn't spread to everyone, it's dangerous out there. Anything could happen. Where are your parents?"

"They're out visiting family. They won't even know that I'm gone."

"I'm sure they'd notice you were missing though, if anything were to happen to you. Do you want me to call you a cab? See that you get home safely?"

"No, that's OK. I only live two minutes down the road."

"If you're sure. You just drink that and warm up now, darling, hmm? I'll be right back."

She left, shutting the door behind her. Quickly, she drunk all of her tea, and, still wearing the blanket around her shoulders, ran to the back entrance. When Anna returned, accompanied by the Reverend, the only sign that she had ever been there at all was the mug, which was still hot.