The Lost Victim by Robert Bryndza

Author:Robert Bryndza [Bryndza, Robert]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781914547256
Publisher: Raven Street Publishing

29

The wind was now blowing a freezing gale and snow onto the corridor outside the flats. Kate and Tristan went to the lift and pressed the call button. The cold was a shock compared to the warmth inside Doreen’s flat, and it made Kate’s eyes water.

As they waited for the lift, they looked down to the courtyard below. The snow was deep, a blanket of white tracked with a single line of footsteps running past the statue. The views out over London were beautiful, even where the light pollution seemed to catch in the low bank of clouds with an orange-grey glow.

‘I’m surprised Doreen has lasted so long living here. So many memories,’ said Kate.

‘She probably didn’t have a choice,’ said Tristan. ‘She was trapped by her circumstances, until now. Maybe winning the lottery was karma, for all her suffering.’

‘I don’t believe in karma. If it were real, Peter Conway would have been dead long ago.’ The lift finally arrived, and they hurried inside out of the wind.

When Kate and Tristan stepped out of Victoria House, the clouds parted, and the moon was just rising, pale and large on the horizon, and it bathed the snowy landscape in an almost magical glow.

‘Are you hungry?’ asked Tristan.

‘I don’t know. Do you want to go to the pub?’

‘No. I meant go for a drink or a coffee. We can talk about what happened today. And I don’t fancy going back to the flat. It’s so cold and echoey.’

‘I know. It feels so empty, and yet there are so many noises. I haven’t seen a neighbour, but I keep hearing footsteps and creaks in the night.’

‘You’ve lived in a house on your own for too long.’

‘I still hear creaks at home, but I’m used to them. They’re my creaks.’

The most direct journey back took them through Pancras Road. It was busy and bright, with the offices and shops under the arches all open with lights on in the windows. The Starbucks, formerly Reynolds newsagent, was crowded with people, and a group of teenage girls talked and laughed in seats in front of the window. As they drew closer to The Jug, it seemed surreal to be in this beautiful, bright, snow-covered landscape when, thirty years ago, this had been a dangerous, lonely road. Tristan stopped outside. They peered through a large picture window, which had been recently added. It wasn’t in the old pictures of the building from 1988.

‘What do you think? It’s as good a place as any to have a drink?’

‘Okay. Let’s check it out.’

The inside had been recently refurbished, and it was very busy. Kate wondered if it had always looked like a modern warehouse space, or if they’d knocked out all the interior walls and the original ceiling. It had a rustic vibe with modern tables and chairs. A few booths ran along the windows. The wall behind the bar was lined with hundreds of spirits in bottles, all lit up, and on the corner of the bar was a large silver ice bucket filled with champagne bottles.

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