After drinks Pavel insisted they went to London. Eva’s bright red Alfa Romeo was parked in the short stay car park. Eva drove, hoping the day wasn’t going to get any more uncomfortable. Pavel’s odd behaviour was killing much of his old charm, and Eva wanted their meet-up to end as soon as possible. She had expected Pavel would want to see Buckingham Palace, The Tower of London, or Big Ben, but of all the places could have chosen, he picked Whitechapel. Maybe the new Pavel had become a Jack the Ripper fan. That would certainly explain a little of his weirdness. Remembering the awkward tension in Pavel’s blue eyes, Eva hoped not. They parked in a side street near Whitechapel’s big hospital, and then walked out onto the main road opposite the market stalls and the tube station. It was spring, and the sky was blue and the air mild. All through the drive Pavel had kept his cards close to his chest. Eva had a finite reserve of politeness and Pavel was now quickly using it up. Standing across the street from Whitechapel tube station, they waited for the traffic lights to change and Eva looked up at the man she had once kissed.
“So... why are we here? I could think of better places to visit,” said Eva.
“Today, I really can’t think of any,” said Pavel with a grin. She watched his eyes pass over the sea of people crossing the road. Chinese. Africans. Muslim women in colourful headdresses. Muslim women in black burqas. Europeans of every shade. Eva followed his eyes as they landed on the Muslim males wearing beards. Everyone was suspicious of Muslims these days – though 99.9% of them had done nothing wrong. Eva felt pity for them, along with instinct telling her to be wary. The government warnings were making everyone twitchy about the terrorists and some innocent young men were getting tarred with the same brush. But fear didn’t care about discrimination. Fear was about survival above every other value.
“It’s a cosmopolitan area, I’ll give you that,” said Eva.
“Come on, Eva. You think it’s a cesspit,” said Pavel, laughing.
“No I don’t Pavel. I used to live in London, remember.”
“But look, this place is both a melting pot and a cesspit.”
Eva looked at Pavel, her green eyes revealing uncertainty for the first time. When they had crossed the street, Pavel stopped and laid his hands on her shoulders. “Don’t look so worried, Eva. I only wanted to show you a secret place. This is my surprise.”
“A place in Whitechapel that you know and I don’t?”
Pavel saw her thinking and laughed while the street teemed with people all around them.
“Come, let me show you.”
Eva didn’t complain. Not yet. She let Pavel take her arm and they walked along past the market traders until the tall bearded Czech turned towards a brown wooden door which nestled between a shop selling multi-coloured saris and a fried chicken joint. The door was unmarked but for a number - 367. Pavel looked at Eva with wide eyed enthusiasm.
“I’ve wanted to come here for so long...”
“What is this?” said Eva.
“Shhh...” said Pavel. “Wait.”
He pressed a buzzer by the door. Behind Pavel’s shoulder, Eva shook her head. Her patience was about to run out.
“Yes?” came a tinny voice over the speaker. The voice had to compete with the city noise all around them.
“I am a member,” said Pavel, then the door buzzed, and Pavel pushed the door open into a dim space in front of a set of wooden stairs.