For Your Own Protection(19)

The stranger was probably a tourist. Although the shop survived mainly through its local clientele, the tourist trade provided a welcome boost during the spring and summer months. The Americans and Japanese were especially fond of the shop, which was mentioned in a few London guidebooks.

Rachel returned to flicking through the book in her hands. Her concentration had returned enough for her to be able to digest at least some of the text. She had read Brighton Rock in college, and had been captivated by the town it described, with its Mafia-style gang warfare and the backdrop of the English seaside. It had inspired her to take a day trip to Brighton with Alex last summer. They had caught an early-morning train from Waterloo and arrived at the coast before lunch, before spending a fun-filled day enjoying the pier and the beach.

‘Excuse me.’

Rachel flinched, nearly dropping the book.

‘Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.’

She had been daydreaming and hadn’t noticed the man was so close. His accent was South London, if she wasn’t mistaken.

The guy was right in her personal space, up against the bookcase, just inches between them.

‘It’s okay. I’m fine,’ she said, resisting the urge to take a step back. ‘I was daydreaming. You know, away with the fairies.’ She managed a laugh, but it came out all wrong: its strained nature screamed out nerves and even fear.

But the man didn’t back off.

Rachel’s eyes met with his for a split second, before she returned to the safety of the novel.

‘Murder is a worrying thing, don’t you think?’ the man said, trailing his fingers along the spines of the books on the neighbouring shelf.

Rachel’s heart began pounding, and a stab of nausea welled up from her stomach. She didn’t know how to respond, although she wanted to run. She wanted to push past this mountain of a man and sprint up the stairs to safety. Rachel looked at him, and he smiled.

‘That book,’ he said, still smiling. ‘It’s awash with murder. Gave me nightmares when I read it for the first time. Then again, I was only twelve.’ He smiled again, and this time Rachel managed to smile back. Her body stood down from panic stations.

‘Yeah, murder,’ she said, with a barely disguised note of relief. She held the book out towards him. ‘You want to look at it?’

The man took it, reaching out with his bear-like hands. He flicked through the first couple of pages, but he didn’t really look interested in its content.

‘Do you know what I love about this book?’ he said, fixing Rachel with an intense stare.

Rachel shook her head.

‘The beginning of the novel: the way Hale is stalked through the crowds of tourists. He knows he’s going to die. It’s just a matter of time. They’re on his case, and there’s nothing he can do about it. Only run.’

‘I like it too,’ Rachel said, now stepping back slightly from the man. She hoped he wouldn’t notice her subtle manoeuvring.

He snapped the book shut.

‘But you can only run for so long,’ he said, passing it back to Rachel.

Rachel nodded, smiling weakly. She cradled the book in her arms before placing it back on the shelf. She wanted to leave, now. This man was freaking her out. He was talking in riddles. And he was still standing too close.

‘I have to go,’ Rachel said, avoiding eye contact. ‘Nice meeting you.’

She headed towards the stairs, forcing herself not to run. She’d look stupid. The man would think she was some kind of nut. He was probably only being friendly.

‘Nice meeting you too, Rachel,’ he said, as she reached the bottom step. And that’s when she ran: bounding up the stairs to the ground floor and dashing past Jim, who was reading an imported copy of the New York Times.

‘Rachel?’ she heard Jim say as she flew out of the door on to the street. ‘You okay?’

She didn’t stop to answer, instead running across the road and straight into the path of an oncoming bus. The screech of brakes was followed by a symphony of horns as the bus and the vehicles behind it vented their anger. The whole traffic flow, on both sides of the road, had stopped. Rachel staggered to a halt, facing the front of the bus. The driver leaned out of his cab window and shouted something, although Rachel couldn’t make out what it was. She looked back at the bookshop, then turned and hurried across the road. Once she reached the other side, the traffic restarted and she broke into a sprint, dodging and weaving through the crowds. Her breath was shallow and she was tired, but fear, no matter how irrational, drove her on.

As she approached her flat, she began to relax, even chiding herself for being so silly.

But then she noticed her front door was ajar.





CHAPTER THIRTEEN


The swimming pool was always packed on a Sunday morning, rammed with parents and their children, keen lane swimmers, and boisterous teenagers. Matt and Charlie had been going to this leisure centre for almost twelve months now, and Matt prided himself on the fact that it was only because of him that Charlie was now confident enough to swim without needing to be held by anyone. He still had to use armbands, of course, but to swim on his own, with only the armbands, was a huge step forward. He knew James had never taken him swimming, and Beth only a handful of times.

‘Daddy! Let’s go in here!’

Matt held on tightly to Charlie’s hand as he strained to break free. ‘Don’t run, and careful you don’t slip.’