Текст книги "Killing Cupid"

Автор книги: Louise Voss

Соавторы: Mark Edwards,Louise Voss
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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 19 страниц) [доступный отрывок для чтения: 7 страниц]

‘What are you doing?’ I remembered trying to say. I remember how my voice was all small and spluttering. I could smell his breath in my ear, sour, heavy, more man than boy.

I felt his other arm move in front of my body, his fingers searching for the opening of my dufflecoat beneath the bottom toggle. His hand shot inside and clamped itself between my legs, under the bulk of my Laura Ashley dress and over my cream woolly tights. I remember exactly what I was wearing: that awful green flower-sprigged Laura Ashley smock thing. The tights were too small and had got dragged down a bit when I walked, and I felt his thumb brush against my bare stomach above the waistband, and it was the sensation of skin on skin which snapped me out of immobility. I’d tried to struggle, but he was holding me too tightly. His hand moved, a steel claw grabbing at me coldly, somehow dispassionately, and I felt pinioned, ready for dissection. It was almost like was scratching an itch for me, but too roughly. Without my permission.

I made more of an effort to shake him off with my shoulders, flailing at him with my arms and hands. I managed to jam an elbow into his rib cage, and he gasped, but didn't let go. He was still clawing at me, mechanically, painfully, as if we were locked in a brief silent dance, a back-to-front waltz of lust and disbelief. I grabbed his wrist and tried to pull him off me, but his hand appeared to be superglued to my crotch.

I tried stamping on his foot, which unbalanced him, and we toppled together towards the alley wall. I was in front of him and so I connected with it first. I felt a horrible scraping, ripping sensation down the right side of my face as the rough bricks grated my skin, and then a stinging heat followed by a trickle of blood down my cheek and into the neck of my duffel coat.

Bloody hell. Where did that come from? I think I must have held my breath the entire time I typed that, it still stresses me out so much. I was fourteen, and twenty years later I still go to pieces if I even think someone’s creeping up on me. And I’d been lucky – I got away. I wasn’t even raped, just ‘sexually assaulted’, as the policewoman said, when I gave a statement. But at least my assailant didn’t know where I lived.

It’s four o’clock. I must go to bed. I’m so tired and drunk now that I know I’ll sleep.

Thursday

Really, really knackered this morning. Two rejection letters from editors – well, at least that’s saved me the bother of chasing them. One said that the Botox thing had been ‘done to death’, and the other just that they aren’t taking any work from freelancers at the moment. I wonder if I should bite the bullet and try and get a proper job somewhere. I could read manuscripts. I could maybe get a job for a literary agent. Although probably all the failed writers in the entire world – and Lord knows there are enough of us – think the same.

Perhaps I could just run away somewhere remote, and hide. Me and Biggles. Safe where nobody can follow us or leave dead flowers.

Friday

Have just realized I forgot to write about class on Wednesday night – I was too freaked out by what happened afterwards.

It went well, I think, I’m really getting a good picture of their strengths and weaknesses. We did another sensory exercise and they were all much more attentive this week, now they know the drill. Not nearly so much fidgeting and scratching.

Speaking of fidgeting and scratching, Brian wasn’t there, for the second week in a row. I feel somehow uneasy about his absence – I mean, I know it’s not school and he’s free to come and go as he pleases without a note from his mum – but what if he’s too embarrassed to come in because it was him who sent that card?

Anyway, Kathy read out another really excellent piece of writing. Last week’s exercise was about the character and their reaction to noise, and she’d done a brilliantly funny thing about roadworks. Her descriptions were so vivid that I knew instantly where she was talking about – they’ve been digging up the road by the park for ages – so when we got chatting afterwards, I asked her if I was right. Turns out that I was, and she only lives a few streets away from me.

We ended up walking home together, and just as we got to the George V, I mentioned what a great pub it was, and she said, ‘I know, it’s my local. I live across the road here. Shall we, then? I’m parched.’

Before I knew it we were inside the pub, looking around for an empty, non-sticky table, and draping our coats over the back of two spare armchairs.

‘It’s funny,’ I said, feeling momentarily flustered, like I’d suddenly been asked out, ‘but I’ve had to turn down two invitations out for drinks with other students, on the grounds that it’s against college regulations.’

She laughed. She’s pretty when she laughs – her eyes crinkle and her chin goes really pointy. I always feel so fascinated by lesbians. I instantly start wondering if they fancy me, and then feel affronted when they don’t. I suppose that’s how most men are, around pretty women. I like the idea of a ‘lesbian experience’, although I’m not sure I’d have the nerve to go through with it.

‘Male students, I take it. Well, not difficult to guess which ones, since we only have the two.’

I tried to bluff it out, pretending that I’d meant the students were from other classes I’d taught, and not this one. It would have been a bit indiscreet. But I’m sure she wasn’t fooled.

We got comfortable in the two big tatty armchairs near the fireplace with our drinks – vodka and tonic for me, Jack and coke for her, and, just for something to talk about, I started telling her about the underwear delivery. I was laughing, saying how batty I’ve been lately, but she looked at me a bit strangely.

‘There’s no way you could have bought that off the Web without noticing,’ she said.

‘Well, I must have done. It’s on my credit card.’

‘You would have to have typed in your address, approved the amount, entered your card details, and then the site would almost certainly have confirmed your purchase with an email afterwards. They do that, to stop fraud.’

‘Then how…?’

She shook her head. ‘I’ve got no idea. Unless you really are losing your marbles.’

Yeah, thanks Kathy.

I sighed, tempted for a moment to pour out my heart about all the other weird things which had happened over the past two weeks, but instead we drifted into a conversation about writing, and then publishing – Kathy used to have an agent, but the agent dropped her after failing to find a publisher for her first novel – so we had a lot in common. I told her about the TLA fiasco, and she sympathised, which made me feel worse. There was a time when people were impressed that you’d been published, not sympathetic. I can’t stand being a has-been.

I was about to say goodbye and go, when Kathy got up. Her legs in jeans were inches away from me, and I suddenly wondered what she’d do if I pressed my face into her. She has nice legs, like a Barbie doll’s. All the men in the pub looked at her when she stood up.

‘Another drink?’

I checked the time on my phone – ten thirty – although my decision wasn’t time-dependent, since I’d already decided I wanted to go home. ‘Better not. I’m a bit wrecked, to tell you the truth.’

‘Want a lift? My car’s just across the road. It wouldn’t be a problem.’

I laughed – how ironic, in retrospect. Why did I not just accept? ‘No, it’s fine, thanks. It’ll only take me five minutes to walk.’

There was a moment’s awkward hovering at the door of the pub. I didn’t know whether to shake her hand, or kiss her cheek, and it seemed that nor did she. In the end we grinned at each other and waved self-consciously.

‘See you next Wednesday, then.’

‘Yeah. Thanks for the drink, neighbour. Bye.’

Kathy vanished round the corner, pulling on her coat and simultaneously fishing around in the pocket for her keys as she walked. She strikes me as a multi-tasking kind of person. I wondered if, once the course was over, we could be friends and decided that it was quite possible. It would be nice to have a mate – I nearly said ‘girlfriend’ – living locally, none of my other friends do.

Then I began to walk home, across the swimming pool carpark, and that’s when I got chased.

Oh God, what if it is the same person who sent the card, and the flowers, and the underwear? That means he’s been in my house. What do I do? Should I tell the police? Have I got a stalker? I don’t know whether to be embarrassed or flattered. I know for sure I’d be terrified, if I really believed I had. No.

It’s just not possible.

Chapter 10

Alex

Wednesday

Seeing them together tonight made me feel sick. The way they were laughing, leaning close together across the table, looking so happy in each other’s company. It was bad enough seeing that she'd accepted Kathy as a friend on Facebook while ignoring my request, but this was a more visceral disappointment. It should have been me in there with Siobhan, having a drink with her, telling her about myself, swapping smiles. It should have been me! She told me a lie: that she wasn’t allowed to socialise with students. That hurts more than anything – maybe even more than the fact that she chose Kathy over me.

Why do the people we love always have to disappoint us so?

I hope Siobhan isn’t going to go off with Kathy and embark on some crazed Sapphic affair. I don’t think Siobhan’s a lesbian. I’ve seen the way she looks at me – it’s a look that says ‘I like men’, even if she hasn’t realised exactly how she feels about this man yet. But I still feel so betrayed. After following them from the college to the pub, I looked in through the window and had a clear view of them. My stomach lurched and I only just stopped myself from vomiting.

After they’d said goodbye I followed Siobhan for a little while, just wanting to be near her. Needing to gain strength from her proximity. But she almost saw me – I had to duck into the shadows – and then she ran off.

Oh, Siobhan, I don’t hate you now. I still love you. I still want us to be together. So no, my sweetheart, my angel, I don’t blame you. Of course not. It’s that bitch Kathy. I blame her. She persuaded you to go to the pub with her; maybe even coerced you, nagged you until you felt you had no other choice.

I wonder if you were wearing your new underwear tonight, Siobhan. Kathy didn’t know about that, did she? About the delicious silk you were wearing beneath your clothes. That was our secret. You and me.

I can picture you taking it off: slipping off the shoulder straps in front of the mirror, your breasts buffed to even greater softness by the smooth touch of the silk; then sitting on the bed and pushing down the rest of it, kicking it aside, a wicked look on your face. And I’m there with you, like a shadow. You can’t see me, Siobhan, but you can feel me. You open your arms and I fall into your embrace. We kiss and you run your hands down my back and you’re moaning, saying my name, oh Alex, please, I want you, and you pull me towards you, and you’re already wet, so wet, and I slide into you and . . .

Kathy could never give you that.

Thursday

I’ve got a terrible headache and feel as if somebody’s removed all the blood from my veins and replaced it with sand that’s been soaked in lager and dipped in an ashtray. I’ve just read what I wrote last night before I passed out. There’s an empty vodka bottle beside the bed which I shouldn’t have bought. I can’t afford it.

I vaguely remember going on the Web last night as well. Did I order more stuff?

Ow… my head. Need water. More sleep. I want to write more but it hurts too much so I’m going back to bed. At least I don’t have a fucking job to go to.

Afternoon. After returning to bed this morning I didn’t wake up again until four. I staggered out to the kitchen looking for water. Simon and Natalie were there. They both raised their eyebrows at me.

‘Have you been asleep?’ Natalie asked.

I grunted in the affirmative.

‘Haven’t been on Monster.com then?’ said Si. He’d promised me that he wouldn’t hassle me about finding another job, although I’d assured him that I would do everything I could to find one quickly. He was actually really good about it when I told him I’d been sacked. He said he could cover the rent for a month until I found something new. So I don’t know why he suddenly started going on about job hunting today. Maybe Natalie had been nagging him about it – worried that he might have less cash to spend on her, no doubt.

‘I looked on there yesterday,’ I said. ‘Total waste of time.’

Simon tutted but didn’t say any more, picking up his iPhone and manipulating the screen with his thumb. Natalie came over and touched my shoulder. ‘It’s difficult to find a job, I think,’ she said kindly. Her hair was messed up – I think she and Simon had thrown a double sickie today to be together. Natalie smelled faintly of sex. It was too much.

I had to get out. I bought a few cans of beer and went and sat down by the Lock. I had some thinking to do. And the fresh alcohol helped make me feel better; oiled the engine of my mind.

Seeing Siobhan with Kathy last night has made me realise that I should be her friend, and that it is possible because, clearly, there isn’t really a rule about socialising with her students. I want to ask her why she lied to me, and I want her to know how I feel. Or do I? Oh… I don’t know. I know from experience that it’s best to be friends with women first, and that you shouldn’t try to go beyond that stage too soon. But what if Siobhan only has room for one new friend right now?

Kathy.

Room for Kathy and none for me.

By the time I’d finished my last can of lager I knew that I was going to have to do something about Siobhan’s new friend.

I walked up past the college to the pub where I saw them having their cosy drink, the George V, and looked in through the window. No sign of Kathy. So I came home again, buying more cans of beer on the way home.

I’ll go back tomorrow, even though I don’t know what I’m going to say to her or what I’m going to do.

Oh fuck. Being in love like this is killing me.

Sunday

Went to George V again. Still no sign of Kathy.

Read TLA. Twice.

Googled Kathy and tried to find out where she lives but no joy.

Kissed Siobhan’s picture. A thousand times.

Monday

Oh.

Oh fuck. What a…

My hands are shaking so much I can hardly type. I don’t even know if I should be writing this down. What if . . ? But I need to get it out. I need to rid myself of it, like being sick when you’ve drunk so much you feel poisoned.

The day started like this:

I was woken by the doorbell. I turned over and it buzzed again. Opening one eye, I looked at the alarm clock. Half-eight – Si would be at work. I half-fell out of bed and went to the door, wearing just my boxer shorts. It was the postman.

He looked me up and down and raised an eyebrow. ‘Parcels for Siobhan McGowan.’

‘Eh?’

‘I’ve got two parcels for a Ms Siobhan McGowan. Have I got the wrong address?’

‘Oh, no… No. She lives here but she’s not in.’

He handed me the parcels, gave me another look and turned around. I shut the door and studied the parcels, both of which were soft and squidgy, with TheBoutique.com written on the packaging. I opened them and found myself holding a black skirt and a low-cut top, both with a Prada label. That’s when I remembered: the other night, when I got home after following Siobhan, I’d been online, and I must have bought these using Siobhan’s credit card. Except this time I’d made a mistake and put my own address down.

But seeing the clothes made me feel really cheerful. I don’t know a huge deal about fashion, but even I could see that this was top-notch clobber, and exactly the kind of clothes that would really suit Siobhan; the type of stuff that for some reason she never buys for herself. She could wear this over her new underwear. Wow, she’d look hot.

This time, I wanted to see the look on her face when she saw them.

I put the skirt and top into a bag and, after getting dressed, made my way towards Victoria Gardens.

As usual, the road was pretty much deserted. There were a pair of magpies sitting on Siobhan’s roof. Two for joy: what a good omen. As I watched, one of the magpies stretched its wings and flew away. Damn. Still, it’s the initial sighting that counts. I think.

I went up Siobhan’s front path, took the clothes out of their bag and lay them carefully on the doorstep. Then I rang the bell and ran back down the path as quickly as I could. I crouched behind a car, ensuring that I had a good view of the door, and waited for Siobhan to emerge and find the clothes. How excited she would be: my card, the flowers, the underwear, and now this. It must feel like Christmas nearly every day!

I waited, but Siobhan didn’t emerge. She must be out again, I thought.

I counted to ten then stood up. I’d had another brilliant idea. I didn’t want to leave the clothes on the step all day in case some dishonest passer-by saw them and nabbed them. My new idea meant that I wouldn’t get to see Siobhan’s face when she found her new glorious garments, but I decided that was a price worth paying.

I walked back up her path, took out my key, scooped up the clothes and went inside. She must have gone out before the post, because it was lying on the floor. I picked it up and put it on the side table.

I really like Siobhan’s place and can’t wait till she invites me to move in, but I didn’t have time to hang around. I didn’t know if she’d just popped out to buy some milk or something. I went straight through to the kitchen and looked out the back window. There was the washing, hanging on the line. I unbolted the back door and went out into the garden. There were high walls surrounding the garden so I was confident nobody would see me, and I quickly did what I’d come to do. It was time to replace some of those scruffy old clothes that Siobhan slobbed around in with these new, flattering items. I pulled down an old pair of jeans and a misshapen T-shirt with I-heart-NY emblazoned on the front and pegged the Prada skirt and top up in their place. I noticed that the underwear I’d sent wasn’t on the line. Maybe she was wearing it that very minute. I would have liked to have gone up and looked through her chest of drawers to check, but I was worried about time. Before I left, though, I noticed a little gate set into the wall in the corner of the garden. I looked over it – it led out to an alley. I made a mental note.

Taking the jeans and T-shirt with me, I went back into the house, bolted the door behind me and hurried out through the front door.

When I got onto the road, I heard a miaow.

I turned. It was Siobhan’s cat, standing on the wall. Had it followed me out of the house? I hadn’t even seen it . It jumped down from the wall and ran across the road, stopping on the kerb and looking back at me.

Then I had another idea: maybe I could get Siobhan’s cat to deliver a message to her. I fished in my pockets and found a piece of paper and a pen. I wrote ‘I love you’ on it and crossed the road towards the cat. I was going to wrap the piece of paper around its collar.

As I neared the feline it tiptoed away, stopping just out of reach. It must be a girl, I thought, amused. It was a little tease.

‘Come on,’ I said, making little cooing noises. ‘Come to your future daddy.’

It blinked at me.

I crept closer, holding out the piece of paper, making little kissy noises now. Thank God there was nobody around to see, although I could hear a car coming down the street. I paused and stretched out my hand towards the cat, which was now washing itself. ‘Come on, you little…‘ I said, and at that point I sprang, throwing myself towards it, aiming to grab its collar.

I missed. I made contact with the fur on its back, but the cat slipped out from under my grasp and ran at top feline speed into the road – straight into the path of a car. Through the fingers I thrust in front of my face I saw a blur of fur, a flash of silver, heard a screech of tyres and then

BANG.

I opened my eyes and removed my hands from my face. The cat was nowhere to be seen. But the car…oh shit. The car had swerved and smashed into Siobhan’s front wall, sending bricks and dust flying. I saw a face through the car window, turning towards me: a woman, looking dazed and scared, but thankfully still alive, and with no sign of blood.

And what did I do? I ran. I got the fuck out of there, still clutching the carrier bag containing Siobhan’s old clothes. It was only when I got home that I realised that I must have dropped the piece of paper that said ‘I love you’.

But that wasn’t the worst thing that happened today.

It was only mid-morning when I got back here, and I hung around the house all day, fretting about what Siobhan would think when she saw the demolition job that car had done on her front wall. It would probably lessen the thrill of seeing her new designer gear. And what about the cat? Had it been hurt?

I had this awful flashback to that time when I was a kid. Annette had a new hamster, called Chips. I loved that hamster, wishing I was allowed one, but I wasn’t allowed to play with him. One day, everyone went out, leaving me alone in the house, and I rushed upstairs to get Chips out of his cage. He ran up and down my arm a few times, then I got bored and went to put him back. But the cage had a spring-door – and as I was putting Chips through the gap, I let go of the door and it snapped shut on his leg. He froze, I froze. I didn’t know what to do. Chips was lying completely still in my palm, this grimace on his little face, his teeth sticking out.

I put him back in the cage and hoped that maybe he would recover. I sat by the cage all day, talking to him, pleading with him to get up and start walking round the cage, maybe run on his wheel. But he didn’t. He just lay there giving me reproachful looks.

Mum’s reaction when she got home and they saw him…

All I can say is, thank God he lived, even if he did limp for a long time. I don’t know what she would have done if he’d actually died. And that’s how I felt this afternoon, worrying about Siobhan’s cat. Because if Siobhan thought I’d hurt her cat, it would be all over between us. And he was a nice cat too. Much nicer than a lot of the people I know.

By teatime I’d worked myself into such a frenzy of anxiety that I had to get out of the house. Si and Nat had come home and they kept asking me to ‘sit still for God’s sake’. And maybe because it was a habit I’d developed over the last couple of days, I made my way towards the George V. I could do with a drink even if Kathy wasn’t there. I wasn’t thinking clearly at all: I didn’t know what I would do if I saw Kathy. But walking to the pub I was reminded of how sickening it had been to see her and Siobhan chatting like bosom buddies. If only she would disappear, leave the class and never come back. Thinking about it made my stomach hurt.

When I got to the pub it was half-empty. Ten seconds later, so was my first glass of beer. I sat and drank and smoked while the pub began to fill up around me, growing steadily noisier, the tables around me becoming occupied as people stopped off for a swift half after work. For many of them, that swift half became a slow whole, the alcohol deadening the disappointments of another day in the office. I almost pitied them. How they would envy my freedom.

I was lighting my dozenth cigarette of the evening when I heard a female voice. ‘Alex?’

I looked up and saw Kathy. She wore a puzzled expression.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘I often drink here,’ I said.

‘I’ve never seen you here before.’

‘I usually come during the day. And I haven’t been for a while.’

She narrowed her eyes and studied me for a moment. She looked around, probably trying to see if there were any other tables free. There weren’t.

‘Do you mind if I join you?’

I told her of course not and she went off to the bar to buy herself a drink. I was feeling much calmer now, the booze washing through me, tranquillizing me. Kathy came back to the table and sat down and said, ‘This is becoming a habit – drinking here with people from my writing class.’ Then a worried look crossed her face, just for a split-second. Maybe Siobhan had told her about the lie she told me about socialising with people from the class. She didn’t say any more about it.

For the first hour or so we talked about the class, about the other students. Kathy did a great impression of Brian. I found myself really enjoying the conversation, mainly because it gave me plenty of opportunities to say Siobhan’s name. I noticed that whenever Siobhan’s name was mentioned, Kathy got this look in her eye. But it didn’t stop me from enjoying myself. I almost forgot that I wasn’t supposed to like this woman: that she was my rival. She was funny and very intelligent. I knew how much Siobhan liked Kathy’s writing, and that irritated me, but then Kathy bought more drinks, and after we’d finished those I bought another round and by then I was feeling pretty warm and fuzzy. I even felt a bit sentimental, as if I was mourning something that hadn’t actually happened yet. It was a strange feeling.

Then, after I’d mentioned Siobhan for the twentieth time, Kathy said, ‘You like her don’t you?’

‘Eh?’

‘You fancy Siobhan , don’t you? Come on, you talk about her non-stop. Siobhan this, Siobhan that.’ She laughed throatily. ‘If I didn’t like her myself I’d be thoroughly bored.’

‘You like her?’ I said.

‘Don’t sound so worried. I don’t mean I like her in that way – just as a mate. I’ve got a feeling Siobhan and I are going to be really good friends.’

That worried me enough, but then she said, ‘Siobhan told me you asked her out for a drink.’

I gulped. ‘Did she say anything else about me?’

‘No, not really. She didn’t slag you off, if that’s what you’re worrying about. Actually, I don’t know if we should be talking about this.’

And then it all came pouring out. I couldn’t stop myself. It’s one thing being able to write down how I feel about Siobhan, but I suddenly had an unstoppable urge to talk about it, to tell someone else. I told Kathy that I thought I had fallen in love with our teacher, that I couldn’t stop thinking about her, and that I wanted to tell her how I felt but that I was scared of rejection. I even told her about sending her the card and ordering the underwear for her. Kathy just sat there and listened to me, her eyebrows raised.

Suddenly, I felt ill. I told Kathy I needed the loo and went off in search of it. In the gents, I locked myself in a cubicle and was immediately sick into the toilet. And as I wiped my mouth with a piece of shiny toilet paper, my mind cleared. Oh fuck, I thought. What have I done? Kathy’s going to tell Siobhan – she’ll probably put her own slant on it as well. She might make me sound like some obsessive nut. And they’ll talk about what I was doing in the George V in the first place. God. I sat on the toilet and put my head in my hands. Why was I such a moron? I had wanted to talk to Kathy, get to know her, find out how I could remove her from the scene in the same way I got rid of that twattish bloke, Phil. And I’d made a hash of it.

Shit.

I came out of the cubicle and splashed my face with cold water at the sink. I looked at myself in the mirror. What a state. I desperately wanted to go home, to crawl into bed and hide from the world. But I couldn’t. I had to undo the damage I’d done.

I went back to the table. Kathy was smoking one of my fags.

‘Hope you don’t mind,’ she said. ‘I always crave ciggies when I’ve had a few. But I was just waiting to say goodbye. I ought to get home. My head’s spinning.’

Home. So she could phone Siobhan, tell her what I’d said, twist it into lies.

‘Whereabouts do you live?’ I asked.

She told me she lived just across the road, in a block of flats.

‘Do you really have to go?’ I said. ‘I was enjoying myself.’

She looked at her watch, then at her empty glass One thing I’d figured out over the last couple of hours: Kathy had a thirst on her. ‘Well… I guess I could be persuaded to stay for one more. But you’ll have to pay. I’ve got no more cash on me.’

I took out my wallet and looked inside it. There was a ten pound note tucked inside, but Kathy couldn’t see it from where she was sitting. ‘Shit,’ I said. ‘Neither have I.’

That was when Kathy gave me a long, appraising look. ‘I’ve got some booze at my place.’

My heart started to beat quickly. ‘That sounds good.’

‘You know I’m not interested in you like that though, don’t you? You know I’m gay.’

‘How could I forget?’

That made her laugh, and she stood up, pulling her jacket on. I followed her out of the pub and across the road to a block of flats. She unlocked the door and we went inside, Kathy pressing the button by the lift. She staggered as the lift began to ascend and almost fell into my arms. ‘God, I’m really drunk,’ she laughed.

‘Me too.’ But really, I felt sober. Stone cold sober.

She lived two floors below the top flat. We entered her apartment and she went straight over to the fridge while I crossed to the window. She had an amazing view, right across north London, the lights of the city shining and pulsing in the night. Kathy came up and handed me a bottle of beer. ‘Great view, isn’t it? A lot of people feel sorry for me when I tell them I live in a block of flats, but they change their opinions when they see the view.’

‘It’s awesome.’

She laughed. I found myself picking at the label on the bottle of beer. I felt incredibly tense, all the muscles in my back cramping, sweat gathering in my armpits. I still didn’t know what I was going to do. I didn’t really even know what I was doing there.

‘The view’s even better from the roof. You can see all the way to Canary Wharf’ Kathy said, swigging from her own beer bottle. She really did like her booze.

‘The roof?’

‘Yes. You can get to it by climbing onto the fire escape. What do you reckon? Do you fancy it?’

‘Is it safe?’ I said.

‘Well, it’s a bit of a clamber, but I’ve done it a few times and I’ve always been alright. You’re not going to wimp out on me, are you?’

I hesitated. There were all sorts of ideas in my head.