I dropped my basket and ran from the store. As I turned the corner I noticed he was chasing me. I kept running. I got to the corner and there was some...traffic, I stopped and waited. I looked back and he was closing in on me. I darted out into the street almost getting hit by a car. He was right behind me. I ran into the large courtyard of my building, fumbling to find the key. He was about 50 feet behind now. I got to the door and jammed my key in the lock. I opened the door, he was so close. In a month’s time, or just after, I’ll be honouring the debt to my benefactor. It’s a strange job he’s offered me, not that I know too much about it. And I’m so bloody grateful I’m not kicking at the end of the rope, like Woodhouse, that I don’t acknowledge the niggling doubt inside me. Not for years and years at least. *** Present Day: He finds me in the Post and Telegraph pub. ‘Late this year,’ I say, ‘thought you might not be coming.’ He makes no comment, just eases into the booth and slides. More

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