Vanessa held his gaze a few moments longer, then picked up her drink.
'I'll move on if I'm troubling you,' Kennet said. He made no move to go. 'You've had a bad day, maybe. Want to be alone.'
'I have, as it happens. A shitty day.'
'Keeping the street safe.'
'Yes, if you like.'
'Okay, I just thought, you know, see a friend, share a drink, a chat…'
'I'm not your friend. We're not friends.'
'All those times…'
'I was Maddy's friend. Not yours.' Her voice was loud enough to turn a few heads in their direction.
'All right. Okay.' Kennet on his feet now, still smiling, backing away. 'Just thought you might appreciate the company, that's all.'
Hands raised, as if in surrender, he retreated towards the bar, pulled out a stool and sat down, quick to exchange a few words with the barman, who looked over in Vanessa's direction and laughed.
Vanessa closed her eyes, picked up her glass and lowered her head towards it, resting the rim against the bridge of her nose. When her breathing had steadied she leaned back, finished her drink in two swallows.
'You know there's a law,' she said to the barman, nodding towards the trio of girls nearby, 'serving alcohol to kids under eighteen.'
Kennet didn't as much as glance in her direction, but one of the girls stuck out her tongue and called her a name and the two others gave the finger to her back and giggled loudly.
There was a bus coming and she caught it to the Archway, thinking as they stop-started along about the boy they'd interviewed, what kind of a life he had, his sister too, wondering how much truth there was in the social worker's concerns, doing her best not to think about Kennet at all.
It was a nice enough night, not cold, not near as cold as it had been, and, getting off the bus, she loosened the scarf and unzipped the front of her coat. At the far side of the lights, she bought a copy of the Big Issue, though she knew, in all likelihood, it would end up in the bin unread. On Holloway Road she lengthened her stride. More exercise, that was what she needed, either that or it wouldn't be too long before she couldn't even squeeze herself into a thirteen. Swimming. Why didn't she leave for work an hour early, do a few lengths in the Prince of Wales pool?
At the corner of her street she slowed her pace and looked around but it was a bright night, as well as relatively warm, and there were no shadows lurking in dark corners. As usual, it took her a few moments to locate her key and she was just slotting it into the lock when an arm wrapped itself tight around her neck and she felt something cold and sharp pressing fast against the underside of her chin.
'Don't scream,' Kennet hissed in her ear. 'Don't make a fucking sound.'
Elder had phoned Maureen in Nottingham, not once, but twice.
'It's difficult, Frank. Seen asking too many questions too soon and the whole think might slip away. Give me another day or so, okay? As soon as I know anything definite, I'll be in touch. You've got my word.'
At least Katherine was at home where he wanted her to be. After a desultory five minutes of conversation, more silences than words, she asked him if he wanted to speak to Joanne and he said, no, it was okay, another time.
In the silence, Elder reached for the bottle and the glass.
He was drinking too much, spending too much time alone. Why had that been fine when he was down in Cornwall – perhaps the thing he relished most – but not here, in the city?
Difficult, too, not to let his mind slip back to the previous night, the taste and touch of another's skin. He was midway through dialling Karen's number when he stopped: what had happened between them, it was a one-off, a collision of need and circumstance, no more. Tired white meat, was that what she'd said? Sipping a little Scotch, he clicked the switch on the radio, a special report from our correspondent in Darfur.
In the hallway, Kennet kicked the front door closed. It was dark: not black but muted dark. Free newspapers and unwanted mail lay all down one side and underfoot. The air was stale and cold. When Vanessa opened her mouth to shout, Kennet narrowed the angle of his arm against her throat and a constricted choking sound was all that emerged. The knife was steady against the curve of her chin.
'Up!' he hissed. 'Up, up. Upstairs.'
Something seemed to have happened to Vanessa's eyes. The contours of everything – stairs, banisters, the electric flex that hung down to a bare bulb – were blurred. And then she realised she was half-blinded by tears.
Kennet's knee nudged against the back of her thigh.
Again, harder this time.
'Get moving. Go on.'
On the first landing she slipped and her footing almost went, but he held on to her, hauling her back upright. His breath, smelling of beer and tobacco and something else she couldn't make out, was warm and raw against her skin.
'Move. Come on, come on.'
The television was on in the first-floor flat, the sound of laughter muffled and brief. One of the things she'd always liked about the building was that people kept themselves to themselves. If ever she did bump into one of the other tenants a quick nod was all that usually passed between them, occasionally a brief word. Some bland remark about the weather or complaint about the bins was the most any of them had ever exchanged.
She knew she had to get away from him before they reached her own flat and he got her inside. Get away or raise the alarm.
On the final landing, she dug her elbow into his chest as hard as she could and wriggled as she kicked her heel back against his shin, but all that happened was he laughed and increased the pressure on her neck until she was afraid the flow of blood might stop and she would faint.
'Inside. Come on, inside.'
Her fingers couldn't fit the key into the lock until he withdrew the blade from her face and his hand slid smoothly over hers. 'There.' Steadying her until the key slipped in and turned.
'Good girl.'
Vanessa's eyes closed tight.
They were inside.
'Don't switch on the light,' he said. 'Not yet.'
His arm was no longer at her neck and she moved a few stumbling steps away, her hand against her throat. Heard him turn the key in the lock and slip down the catch.
The curtains were open and when she turned there was light enough to see the shape but not the detail of his face. The knife was back in his hand, held low against his side. She thought he was smiling but she wasn't sure.
'Anything to drink?' he said, the ordinariness of the question taking her by surprise.
'What?' A croak of sound and little more.
'A drink. You know, wine, some beer. Vodka, that's your thing.' As if this were normal now, some kind of date. Calling round after the pub. Want to come in for coffee, both knowing what that meant. The features of his face were clearer now and yes, there was a smile playing at the edges of his mouth and around his eyes.
'Look,' Vanessa said, her voice no longer recognisable as her own. 'Why don't you just go? Leave. We'll forget about it, okay?'
