Torchwood: Exodus Code by Carole E. Barrowman, John Barrowman

calling attention to the two of them from the queue at the meat counter. In the middle of the afternoon, Swansea’s shoppers were not sympathetic to the squalls of a spoiled toddler. They snarled and tutted. Gwen swore under her breath.
    ‘Bugger off,’ parroted Anwen.
    Gwen gawked at her daughter. ‘No. Bad word, Anwen.’
    Great, now she’s learning to swear, thought Gwen. One more thing to add to her list of bad mummy traits. When did she start such a list? Gwen couldn’t remember and because she couldn’t remember she was annoyed with herself for even holding such a sentiment. She was a good mum. She was home all day with Anwen. She was getting more quality time with her daughter than any of her working-outside-the-home friends with their suits and their shiny, styled flat-ironed hair. Gwen couldn’t recall if she’d even showered today.
    Get a grip, girl.
    Gwen guided the trolley towards the cereal aisle. ‘How about some puffs?’
    ‘Puffs!’ squealed Anwen, the tantrum stopped in its tracks.
    Gwen laughed. Bribery as a child-rearing strategy. It worked every time.
    ‘Maybe you’ll only need a couple of extra hours of therapy,’ said Gwen, kissing the top of her daughter’s head. She took out her phone and touched the photo icon, passing it to Anwen, who tapped the screen knowingly, flipping through the family photos.
    Turning into the cereal aisle, Gwen wondered if the fact that Anwen could already use a touch pad successfully was another sign of her flawed parenting. What next? She’d be on the internet, sexting. Seriously, Gwen, get a grip. And then she spotted the madwoman again. This time pacing directly in front of her.
    The woman was halfway down the breakfast aisle, tearing open boxes of cereal, holding them up to her ears, shaking them aggressively, and then dumping them onto the ground at her feet. Surrounded by piles of cereal, she looked like she was building a nest.
    Definitely need a clean-up in aisle six, thought Gwen, pushing Anwen towards the mess. Surprised, Gwen noted that the woman did not look homeless or destitute in any way. She was dressed in dark jeans, a white blouse and a navy suit jacket. Her purse hooked over her shoulder, a designer brand, was covered in crumbs of Weetabix. The woman was muttering to herself and every few seconds she’d stomp her feet and yell ‘Stop it!’ to some imaginary person behind her. Somewhere along the way, the woman had lost her shoes.
    Gwen wheeled her trolley closer and noted that the woman was not much older than she was, in her early forties perhaps, and she felt a pang of guilt for earlier dismissing the woman as some elderly nutter.
    The woman spotted Gwen. ‘Can you hear it?’ she asked. Her lips were pale and her mascara was smudged. She’d been rubbing her eyes – a lot. Her neck was covered in red blotches and she’d lost one of her hoop earrings.
    ‘You all right, luv?’ asked Gwen.
    ‘Do I look like I’m all right? I can’t get a minute’s peace today!’ the woman yelled, tearing the top off another box, shoving her hand inside and pulling out a sleeve of cereal. ‘I can hear something moving inside these boxes. The manager needs to know about it. Someone should tell him.’ The woman’s voice cracked and she began to sob hysterically.
    Gwen picked up a box and held it to her ear, feigning interest and hoping it might calm the woman. The woman stared expectantly at Gwen, who smiled reassuringly. White specs of saliva were gathering at the corner of the woman’s lips. Gwen held the cereal box up to her other ear to reinforce her concern in the woman’s plight, while gently sliding her phone from Anwen’s hands.
    Anwen immediately began to howl in protest.
    Startled, the woman dropped the cereal box she’d been examining and began bouncing on the souls of her bare feet. ‘Make her stop! Make her stop! It’s hurting my toes.’
    Gwen tried to reach for the woman, to calm her, but she leapt away. Now Anwen was