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Authors: Simon Kernick
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case my face ever appeared on TV and he remembered me, and paid him using three twenties. I then stood by his window waiting for the one pound twenty change, thinking there was no way I was going to tip him for a service that had cost so much, even though the bastard was giving me a look that said one pound twenty was the least he expected for so kindly transporting me from A to B. He continued to give me the look until I told him that I'd start charging for my own wasted time unless he hurried up. Reluctantly, he fished the coins out of his pocket and slapped them into my open hand. 'Tight ass,' I heard the cheeky bastard mutter.
I felt like saying something in return - after all, too many people get away with too much in this life - but decided that not drawing any attention to myself was probably the best option. I turned away, heading in the direction of Lancaster Gate.
I'd had a girlfriend round here once, back in thelate Eighties, not long after I'd come out of uniform. Liz, her name had been, and she'd been a part-time model; a real beauty who ordinarily would have been way out of my league, but a sweet person with it. We'd met after she got mugged and sexually assaulted while going to visit a friend on my home patch of Islington, and I was assigned the case. The relationship then hadn't exactly started in the best of circumstances, but something between us had evidently clicked, and after I'd been to her flat on a couple of occasions to update her on the case's progress, we'd begun an affair. Or sort of affair, anyway, since one side-effect of the assault was that she felt unable to have sex with a man. Instead, she just wanted to be held and kissed, and for a while that suited me fine. I could think of a lot worse ways of spending my time than cuddling up to a beautiful woman in a nice apartment with a good bottle of wine, but eventually - inevitably, I suppose - I got frustrated. She was seeing a psychiatrist and told me that she was on the mend - we even tried it one night, but at the crucial moment she broke down in tears and pushed me away - and a few days after that, I said that maybe it would be best if we went our separate ways. She begged me to give it a little more time, but I was young and I was selfish and in the end that's a fatal combination. I met up with her once after that, to tell her that we were winding down on the case in the absence of any leads. She took the newsstoically enough and told me that she was leaving London. I never saw her again, and it was only now, for the first time in years, that I thought about her. I wondered briefly as I crossed Praed Street what had happened to her, and whether she'd put the past behind her and got the kids she'd always said she wanted, or whether her life was still crippled by the after-effects of that one night. My heart hoped it was the former, but my head was convinced otherwise. She'd been that sort of girl, and I've always been that sort of pessimist.
I found accommodation in Norfolk Square, a quiet area of fading Georgian townhouses, the majority of which had been transformed into hotels of varying quality, situated a short walk from the station. I chose one of the cheaper-looking ones and went inside.
The man behind the desk, who was either Turkish or Arabic and who showed a comforting lack of interest in me, wanted twenty-five pounds per night up front. I said I wanted a room for a week and asked what discount that entitled me to. Eventually, after carrying out some silent calculations on a slip of paper in front of him, he grunted that it would cost me a hundred and twenty if I paid him straight away. I didn't bother going to take a look at the room first. I had no doubt that it would be none too pretty, but then I wasn't planning to spend much time in it, so I counted out the money and placed it in his outstretched hand.He pulled a key from one of the hooks behind him and handed it to me. And that was that. It made me think that most people tend
I felt like saying something in return - after all, too many people get away with too much in this life - but decided that not drawing any attention to myself was probably the best option. I turned away, heading in the direction of Lancaster Gate.
I'd had a girlfriend round here once, back in thelate Eighties, not long after I'd come out of uniform. Liz, her name had been, and she'd been a part-time model; a real beauty who ordinarily would have been way out of my league, but a sweet person with it. We'd met after she got mugged and sexually assaulted while going to visit a friend on my home patch of Islington, and I was assigned the case. The relationship then hadn't exactly started in the best of circumstances, but something between us had evidently clicked, and after I'd been to her flat on a couple of occasions to update her on the case's progress, we'd begun an affair. Or sort of affair, anyway, since one side-effect of the assault was that she felt unable to have sex with a man. Instead, she just wanted to be held and kissed, and for a while that suited me fine. I could think of a lot worse ways of spending my time than cuddling up to a beautiful woman in a nice apartment with a good bottle of wine, but eventually - inevitably, I suppose - I got frustrated. She was seeing a psychiatrist and told me that she was on the mend - we even tried it one night, but at the crucial moment she broke down in tears and pushed me away - and a few days after that, I said that maybe it would be best if we went our separate ways. She begged me to give it a little more time, but I was young and I was selfish and in the end that's a fatal combination. I met up with her once after that, to tell her that we were winding down on the case in the absence of any leads. She took the newsstoically enough and told me that she was leaving London. I never saw her again, and it was only now, for the first time in years, that I thought about her. I wondered briefly as I crossed Praed Street what had happened to her, and whether she'd put the past behind her and got the kids she'd always said she wanted, or whether her life was still crippled by the after-effects of that one night. My heart hoped it was the former, but my head was convinced otherwise. She'd been that sort of girl, and I've always been that sort of pessimist.
I found accommodation in Norfolk Square, a quiet area of fading Georgian townhouses, the majority of which had been transformed into hotels of varying quality, situated a short walk from the station. I chose one of the cheaper-looking ones and went inside.
The man behind the desk, who was either Turkish or Arabic and who showed a comforting lack of interest in me, wanted twenty-five pounds per night up front. I said I wanted a room for a week and asked what discount that entitled me to. Eventually, after carrying out some silent calculations on a slip of paper in front of him, he grunted that it would cost me a hundred and twenty if I paid him straight away. I didn't bother going to take a look at the room first. I had no doubt that it would be none too pretty, but then I wasn't planning to spend much time in it, so I counted out the money and placed it in his outstretched hand.He pulled a key from one of the hooks behind him and handed it to me. And that was that. It made me think that most people tend
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