Michael Ridpath - Free To Trade

'What did she say?' I asked.

'She told me to go to hell,' Rob answered miserably. 'She said I was an idiot, and I should make sure I never bothered her again. Then she got up, and left.'

'Bibendum, eh? That must have set you back a bit,' I said.

'It did. It would have been worth it if she had stayed. I can't work out why she didn't. I mean, we got on so well. I know we had a good time together, she would have to admit that.'

I shrugged my shoulders. 'Well, there is not much you can do now.'

'I don't know,' said Rob. 'Maybe if I did something dramatic. You know, really romantic. Something that would make her realise how important she is to me. Women like that sort of thing, you know.'

I raised my eyebrows, but didn't say anything. I dreaded to think what Rob would classify as 'dramatic'. I thought about trying to talk him out of it, but decided it was a waste of time. When Rob's mind was made up, his mind was made up.

It was extraordinary the way he was able to switch his affections from one woman to another, and within a week or so form a passionate attachment to someone completely new. Almost the mirror opposite of myself, I thought. I remembered Debbie's encouragement to me to get involved with women again.

It was hard to think of Debbie and Rob together. Debbie's bubbly repartee and Rob's earnest declarations of devotion didn't seem to me to mix very well. Perhaps that is why the relationship had not lasted very long.

Almost without thinking I said, 'I miss Debbie.'

Rob looked at me. 'Yes,' he said, his voice firmly in neutral.

'You and she saw a lot of each other at one stage, didn't you?' I asked.

'Yes, we did,' Rob answered. He clenched his pint in front of him. His face reddened noticeably.

'It's funny, I never would have guessed,' I said.

'We were very professional about it. We never let it interfere with work. Anyway, once it was over, it was over.'

That wasn't what Felicity had said. I remembered what she had told me about Rob pestering Debbie just before she died, to ask her to marry him. I needed to know what had happened.

'I saw Felicity the other day. You know, Debbie's flatmate.'

Rob didn't say anything so I ploughed on. 'She said that you asked Debbie to marry you the week before she died.'

Rob stiffened, and looked at me sharply. He was bright red now, the blood had spread out from his cheeks to his ears and his neck. He breathed deeply, his whole body racked with emotion. His chin shook, and his eyes blinked. For a long, painful moment he couldn't bring himself to say anything.

I had gone too far, and I regretted it, but there was nothing I could do to take my words back.

Finally it all came out in a torrent of words. 'The stupid, stupid, stupid bitch. I loved her. She knew that. Why didn't she say yes? If she had only said yes, she…'

He broke off and stared at me through watery eyes. He bit his lip, slammed down his beer on the table with such force that I was surprised the glass did not shatter, turned away from me and left the pub.

I sat there for several minutes, stunned by the heat of Rob's outburst. I had never seen anyone so emotional. It had seemed to me to be a mixture of anger, regret, with a vicious undercurrent of pure misery. I felt terrible that I had been responsible for setting him off. I had never taken Rob's passion for women seriously, I couldn't quite believe that it was for real. I now knew it was. I should treat it with much more respect in future.

I drained my glass and left the pub. I was beginning to see what Claire had meant when she had said there was something strange about Rob. No normal person would behave as he did. His outburst had frightened me. I wondered what those phone calls to Debbie must have been like. No wonder she had been shaken by them.

And now, less than a month later, his attentions had turned to Cathy. Still, she looked like she could take care of herself. They probably deserved each other.

It was a nice warm evening, and the glow of the beer slowly restored my spirits. It had rained heavily earlier in the day, and the headlights of passing vehicles danced with the streetlamps in the puddles, occasionally joined by the darting orange of the indicator of a turning car. A group of youths were shouting incoherently outside a pub on the other side of the road. I turned to look at them as they began to make their unsteady way up the street. As I turned away from them, I caught something in the corner of my eye.

Joe.

He was there, sitting by the window of the pub, watching me.

Or was he?

I looked more closely, and saw a lean figure inside the pub stand up and move away from the window. It was his size, but I couldn't be sure it was him. I had only caught a glimpse of him. Perhaps I was imagining it. Or perhaps…

I hurried down the road and suddenly turned right into a mews. It was dark. Too dark. My feet splashed through the newly formed puddles lurking against the side of the road.

I stopped for a second. I thought I could hear a rustle behind me. I felt as much as heard footsteps, but I couldn't wait to check if anyone was there. There was an illuminated phone box a hundred yards ahead, just outside a wine bar.

I strode rapidly towards the source of light, reflected off the pools of water in the road and the glistening leaves of the privet hedges which loomed up on either side of the street. The back of my neck tingled, I expected at any moment to feel an arm round my throat or an iron bar on the back of my head.

I jumped as a couple tumbled out of the wine bar right in front of me. I paused to let them pass, laughing and swaying, on their way back to Gloucester Road.

I made it to the phone box. I pushed the door and squeezed myself inside. From what I could see, there was no one in the mews. The problem was that because the phone box was lit from the inside, it was very difficult to see anything outside.

I lifted the receiver to my face, ready to dial 999 at any sign of trouble.

There was none.

This was ridiculous. After a couple of minutes I replaced the receiver and left the phone box. I walked briskly down a narrow pathway, and then along a road next to a church. There was a path through the churchyard which formed a shortcut to my flat. I took it.

I had only walked a few yards when I thought I heard a soft thud behind me and to my left. Even though I was in the middle of a city, the churchyard was eerily quiet. The usual urban sounds were reduced to a muffled far-off rumble by the wall and the church. I waited, eyes and ears straining to pick out any sound or movement. Then I thought I saw a shadow flit behind a gravestone.

I ran.

I sprinted through the churchyard, flying past gravestones and moonshadows, concentrating on the churchyard gate. I reached it unscathed, and although it must have been almost five feet high, I hurdled it without slowing down. I ran on through another mews and on to the main road and didn't stop running until I reached my flat.

I let myself in, poured myself a large whisky, and threw myself on to the sofa, still gasping for breath.

As my pulse and my breathing began to settle down, so did my brain. I was jumpy. Way too jumpy. I had never actually seen Joe clearly. I had thought I had seen and heard someone following me, but could I be sure? Was I going to spend every day from now on looking over my shoulder, running from shadows? I was a little drunk and more than a little scared.

I pulled myself together. Yes, I was up against some unpleasant people. They were unpredictable and probably dangerous. Joe, in particular, didn't seem to like me very much. But there was nothing I could do about that. I wasn't going to let him ruin my life. If I was careful and kept my wits about me, I would be all right. Or so I told myself as I took another gulp of whisky.