The Killing Street by Chris Ould

Author:Chris Ould
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Usborne Publishing Ltd
Published: 2013-04-25T04:00:00+00:00

17

She wished she’d thought to bring a different pair of shoes – and clothes, even just a pair of jeans: anything warmer that wouldn’t make her look so much like a prozzie.

It was too late now though. Even if she went back to the flat she couldn’t get in, and if Dean was there – if the cops had already let him go – she’d be right back where she started. No, she had no choice. If she was really going to get away she had to stick to her plan, such as it was.

Her first thought had been to go to Frank’s house. She knew he’d let her stay: that was what he’d said. But almost as soon as she thought about it she knew it wouldn’t work. Frank’s house would be one of the first places Dean would look for her. Perhaps in a day or two, when the stuff in the garage was gone, she might be able to risk going there, but not yet.

Instead she walked along the main road, heading west and trying to avoid drawing attention to herself. It was a long walk, especially in high heels, and at first she wasn’t even sure she was going the right way. She wasn’t used to going anywhere on foot because whenever they went out Dean always drove. Things looked different from the van and distances seemed shorter.

It wasn’t until she saw the high-rise flats of the estate after twenty minutes of walking that she finally felt confident that she knew where she was. Then, on a side road, she spotted the chippy she was looking for and from there she knew the pub was at the end of a road to the right.

The Bunch Of Grapes stood on its own on a plot of land with a tarmac car park at the back. It had been built at the same time as the Cadogan Estate, which rose up above it. It was an ugly, rectangular building with a concrete slab over the entrance where the smokers went for a fag. There were two of them out there now, and as Gemma passed them to go inside she knew they were looking at her and knew what they were thinking.

Inside she entered the lounge bar, immediately feeling the warmth as a welcome relief from the damp cold outside. There was a thick, patterned carpet and about half a dozen tables were occupied with Sunday night drinkers, most of them middle-aged or older. Gemma looked round quickly as she approached the bar, but it was immediately obvious that Evvie wasn’t here – she would have stood out, like Gemma.

Hesitating for a moment, she wondered if she should check the other bar, but then the landlord moved up to the beer taps.

“All right, love?” he asked.

Gemma had seen him before when she’d been in with Dean. His name was Bryan and he was in his early fifties, wearing a floral pattern shirt – open to show a gold cross on his chest.

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