Robert hurried out of the shop and down the street. As usual Helen counted to fifteen then left her hiding place, casually and quietly keeping pace with him. A couple of times Robert shot glances to his left and right, as if expecting or fearing to meet someone, but he never looked directly behind him so Helen continued her progress undetected.
They had reached the city centre now. Without warning, Robert dived into the Red Lion, a cavernous drinking hole that he had visited on previous excursions. Helen waited a moment and then entered, her smartphone clamped to her ear as if she were in conversation. There was no immediate sign of him, so Helen gave up the pretence. She searched the whole of the ground floor, then headed up to the mezzanine level. Still nothing. Had he noticed her and used the pub to shake her off? She hurried down to the basement snug and predictably he was in the very last place she looked, a booth hidden away in the bowels of the pub. He was packed into it with his mates and the mood was sombre. Helen was intrigued but couldn’t get close enough to hear what they were talking about, so bought a drink and settled down to wait. It was well past eleven o’clock, but the boys showed no signs of moving. The pub had a late licence and could serve until two, but the group were oddly restrained in their drinking tonight. They looked tense. Helen wondered what had spooked them.
‘Been stood up?’
Helen’s daydreaming was abruptly ended by the intrusion of an overweight businessman who had obviously been quenching his thirst since leaving work.
‘I’m just waiting for my husband,’ Helen lied.
‘He always this late, is he? I wouldn’t be if you were my wife.’
‘He was competing tonight. The traffic coming out of London is always terrible.’
‘Competing?’
‘Cagefighting. There’s a big show on at the Docklands. Stick around and have a chat with him if you like. He always likes to talk to punters and he should be here any second.’
‘That’s very kind…’
But he was already retreating. Helen suppressed a smile and returned her attention to Robert. Only to find him staring right at her. Immediately she dropped her gaze, busying herself with her phone. Had he caught her? Better to be safe than sorry, so after a decent pause Helen feigned a phone call and went on her way, decamping to a discreet vantage point on the ground floor.
Twenty minutes later, Robert and his friends brushed past and left the pub, seemingly unaware of her existence. It was pushing midnight now and the streets were empty. As she followed them, Helen was suddenly aware of the stupidity and vulnerability of her position, alone in the darkened streets so late at night. She could handle herself in most situations, but not against a gang of men. What if they spotted her following them and took issue with it?
