I haven’t even tried to sleep for the remainder of the night and the awakening of the early morning. I’ve been resting with my back against the ice-drenched wall, my penknife at the ready in my hand. It’s nearing eight. Time for me to go into the courtyard in the back and wait for Keats’s call. That’s if the reception is being kind to me. If that fails I’ll have no alternative but to make my way out, using the sliding trap door where I’m assured the phone will connect.
The damn car is still on top of the grill. It can’t be legal the way it’s parked. Why hasn’t a traffic warden alerted the authorities to tow it away? The wardens are usually red-hot in pursuit of their job in this area because it’s the gateway to the City and the trendy shopping areas of Spitalfields, Petticoat Lane Market and Brick Lane.
The phone rings. I breathe a long sigh of blessed relief.
I get straight into it. ‘Tell me what you’ve found out.’
Silence. Then, ‘You’re still there.’ Not a question. I picture Keats’s chin shoving down as she grinds her teeth.
I fob her off. ‘Look, I don’t have time to explain. Just take my word for it.’
Silence again. Then the clap-clap-clap of her stomping feet. ‘I’ve reached Surrey. I know exactly what’s going on.’ She sounds breathless, like she’s running or has been running.
The beat of my pulse joins in her short-winded rhythm. I don’t like what I can’t see on the other end of this call. ‘Keats, what’s going on?’
‘I can’t…’ She seems very nervous. ‘I think someone’s following me.’
I gasp and choke in one fluid motion. I have to lean my back against the wall for support. ‘Who? Why?’ The volume of my voice twists higher. ‘You have to tell me what’s going on.’
‘I’m hiding in the car park. Or maybe I’m being paranoid.’ I sense her shake her head. ‘Which wouldn’t surprise me because I slept in the car last night here.’
‘Where’s here?’ Just bloody well tell me, I want to scream.
It’s as if she hasn’t heard my question. ‘I’m on the move again because I think I shook the guy off?’
‘Do you mean Michael?’ I can’t think of another ‘he’ it could be. Did he figure out that Keats was helping me? What’s he planning to do if he catches up to her?
‘Dunno,’ is the terse response that flies back. ‘Just wait for me to get outside then I’ll fill you in.’ Her breath catches. ‘It’s an ugly story, Rachel. Real ugly.’
The sudden rush of the noise of a car in the background obscures what she’s saying. ‘Speak up, I can’t hear you.’
‘I can–’
The sound of that bloody car keeps cutting up her words. ‘Speak louder—’
‘Rachel, you need–’
The car’s closer now, I hear its engine breathing heavily in the background. There’s the screech of rolling tyres on the road.
The tone of Keats’s voice changes becoming high and panicked with dread. ‘What the–?’
A roaring engine rips through the air. Tyres scream. Then there’s a crashing thud. A mini-second of silence. Another thud, duller this time, as if it’s in the distance.
‘Keats? Keats?’
My face scrunches up from the impact of the clack-clack-clack noise coming down the line as if Keats’s phone is rolling on the ground. Rubber against road squeals and a car’s engine fades into the background. That’s when I know, dawning horror of what’s happened. I don’t feel my heartbeat anymore.
‘Keats? Keats? Keats?’ I’m bellowing by the end.
No response. My back slides down the icy wall.
Whoever was following Keats has just run her down like an animal in the street.
I wipe the back of my hand across my eyes. There’s no time for tears. My spine straightens with fortitude. Although I think of the car parked over the grill, I know who hurt Keats – Michael and Joanie. I get practical. My gear’s already packed, I’m going to have to leave my bucket behind. The rope’s coming with me though, it’s my talisman, my good luck charm that has been my lifeline to safety.
I make it out of the sliding trap door in no time at all. Look at the entrance door and face another possible boulder in my way – what if it’s locked with a key I don’t have. Then, by God, I’m going to kick it in. I undo the bolt at the top and bottom. Press down the handle. The air swarms out of me as it opens. I don’t have time to nod to The 22 today, not with Keats lying bleeding, maybe dying, on the ground without a friend to hold her hand. The tears threaten; I won’t let them.
Think. Think. Think. My head’s a jumble. I need to clear it, to figure out what to do.
First, I pray and hope that someone saw what happened to Keats and called an ambulance, which means I can try to find out if she’s in a hospital. I pull out my mobile as I walk away from the building and… I jerk to a halt.
The zombie who watched the distressing film and threatened me stands at the corner looking up at the building. My heart does a funny skipping beat. I keep my skittish gaze away from him as I pass him by and walk down the street. My pulse goes into free fall as I hear footsteps join the beat of my own. Quick peak over my shoulder. Hell, he’s following me. The death knoll ringing in my head is his promise of retribution:
‘Say anything to anyone and you better be ready to have eyes in the back of your head on the way home. No telling what type of accidents may be waiting to befall you in the dark.’
He’s obviously not waiting for the dark. I sense his stride lengthening. Other people are about but there’s no telling if anyone will help me, even if I scream blue murder. The only person I can rely on is me. I pick up the pace. So does he. Clinging greasy sweat making its presence felt, oozing down my back. The base of my throat becomes cuttingly dry as the noise of his shoes becomes the only sound I hear.
I’m almost running. So is he. I speed around a corner. When he does, I’m waiting for him. He squeals as I grab his jacket, spin him and slam him into a wall. Then I let loose with a one-two series of power punches to the bastard’s solar plexus. He doubles over, groaning through clenched teeth. Dad taught me well.
‘If you don’t stop following me, I’m going to call the cops.’
He raises his head, gasping and gulping oxygen. I notice his hair’s different, it’s slicked back with gel and he sports a pair of attractive glasses that are askew on his face.
‘What…?’ His palm rubs his belly as he straightens. ‘What did you do that for? I was only waiting until Michael arrived to collect my fee.’
Is this guy for real? ‘You said you were going to do serious damage to me if you caught me outside, just like the woman being terrorised in the video. You scum.’ I’m so mad I raise my fist to deliver another blow to that despicable mouth of his as a lesson in what happens to men who only have bad words to say to innocent women.
His hand comes up in defence as he shrinks back. ‘But it was part of the script.’
I angle my head and give him a very hard stare. ‘What script?’
Grimacing, he shifts up the wall slightly in an attempt to pull himself together. ‘Come on, you’re an actress, I mean an actor. I know you ladies no longer like any gender distinctions.’ He winks at me, which riles me up again. Seeing my bewildered expression, he says, ‘Maybe Michael forgot to show you that part of the script—’
I cut over him. ‘Who exactly are you?’
‘I’m an actor. Name’s Teddy. At your service.’ He performs a little bow that ends with a wince.
The baby hairs tingle on the back of my neck. I’m not sure what this is, so I decide to kill two birds, one stone.
I give him my widest and most dazzling smile. ‘Do you have a car?’