The towns flicked by. Winchester, then Farnborough, before eventually Aldershot loomed into view. Another quick check of the mirrors, then into the city centre. Parking her bike at the Parkway NCP, Helen sidestepped a group of drunken squaddies and hurried off, hugging the shadows as she went. Nobody knew her here, but even so she couldn’t take any chances.
She walked past the train station and before long she was in Cole Avenue, in the heart of Aldershot’s suburbia. She wasn’t sure she was doing the right thing, yet she’d felt compelled to return. Settling herself down amidst the undergrowth that flanked one side of the street, she took up her usual vantage point.
Time crawled by. Helen’s stomach growled and she realized that she hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Stupid really, she was getting thinner by the day. What was she trying to prove to herself? There were better ways of atoning than by starving yourself to death.
Suddenly there was movement. A shouted ‘bye’ and then the door of number 14 slammed shut. Helen crouched down. Her eyes remained glued to the young man who was now hurrying down the street, tapping numbers into his mobile phone. He walked within ten feet of Helen, never once detecting her presence, before disappearing round the corner. Helen counted to fifteen, then left her hiding place and set off in pursuit.
The man – a boyish 25-year-old – was handsome with thick dark hair and a full face. Casually dressed with his jeans hanging around his bum he looked like so many young men, desperate to appear cool and uninterested. It made Helen smile a little, such was the studied casualness of it all.
A knot of rowdy lads loomed into view, stationed outside the Railway Tavern. £2 a pint, 50p a shot and free pool, it was a mecca for the young, the skint and the shady. The elderly owner was happy to serve anyone who’d hit puberty, so it was always packed, the crowds spilling out onto the street. Helen was glad of the cover, slipping in among the bodies to observe undetected. The gaggle of lads greeted the young man with a cheer as he waved a twenty-pound note at them. They entered and Helen followed. Waiting patiently in the queue for the bar, she was invisible to them – anyone over the age of thirty didn’t exist in their world.
After a couple of drinks, the gang drifted away from the prying eyes of the pub towards a kids’ playground on the outskirts of town. The tatty urban park was deserted and Helen had to tail the boys cautiously. Any woman wandering alone at night through a park is likely to draw attention to herself, so Helen hung back. She found an aged oak tree, grievously wounded with scores of lovers’ carvings, and stationed herself in its shadow. From here, she could watch unmolested, as the gang smoked dope, happy and carefree in spite of the cold.
