Jenny Colgan - Where Have All the Boys Gone?

‘What if they live in Laos?’ said Louise. ‘That’s what bothers me. Or if they speak Tulag. Did you know that’s the hardest language on earth to learn?’

The other girls stared at her as the waiter popped out the cork from the bottle with practised ease and poured them large glasses.

Louise looked sulky as all around them the women squawked and chattered, their slim legs and expensive shoes glinting in the flattering soft light reflecting off the beige leather chairs. Katie looked at Louise and worried about her. And herself.

‘Goodnight Terence,’ said Katie when she got back from the loo. She tried to be as nice as possible.

‘£60!’ Terence was saying. ‘For this shit! Jesus!’

‘Would you like me to go halves?’ she asked.

He shrugged. ‘If you like.’

Crossly, Katie put down half the money, noticing Terence counted out his share and didn’t leave a tip.

She felt infinitely more sober once she hit the open air. She liked walking in the city at night. People and couples lurched, shouted or shuffled along, no one paying her the blindest bit of notice.

The familiar sounds of sirens and late-night misadventures echoed as she cut down past the Opera House, her heels clattering on the cobbles, leaving the heavy traffic behind her. A chap was weaving slightly by the side of the road, and she subconsciously hurried up a little bit.

‘’Ello darlin’,’ he shouted after her. ‘You look nice.’

Probably only compared to him, a very drunk man attempting to take a piss on the street, but still, she appreciated the gesture.

She was wondering how low she could possibly plummet on her male-attention appreciation charts, when suddenly, out of nowhere the man was right in front of her. She jumped six feet in the air.

‘Fuck!’ she said. ‘You gave me a fright.’

Her heart started to pound, hard, when she realised it wasn’t the same man after all. She couldn’t work out who this person was or how he had landed in front of her, but late on a Thursday night on a deserted street, it didn’t feel good…Her eyes whipped around to the side, but the genial drunkard was gone.

‘Ah,’ said a soft voice with a slight accent. ‘Yes. That can be what happens.’

He was tall and, with her heart banging furiously, Katie saw that he was dressed all in black, with a hat pulled down over his eyes. He was standing directly in front of the streetlight and she couldn’t make out his face. Oh shit oh shit oh shit. This was not good. Man in black on deserted street – either there was Milk Tray involved or this was definitely the opposite of good. Her eyes flicked to the side to see where she could run to and she cursed her ridiculous heels.

‘No,’ warned the voice. ‘Running. Don’t do it. I have a knife. Or a gun. Or something really bad. And you look like a nice person.’

Katie stared at him, frightened beyond belief.

‘I – I am a nice person,’ she said, her voice two octaves higher than normal. ‘Can you let me go?’

‘I can always tell,’ said the man. ‘I only go for nice people.’

Oh fuck oh fuck. She was going to get raped or killed or kidnapped or tortured. The worst, the most awful thing was happening. Oh God. She was in the middle of one of the most crowded cities in the world. Where the hell were all the people? Oh no. She was going to be left for dead in an alley. She wondered how they’d describe her in the papers.

‘Show me your phone,’ said the man gruffly. He took her by the arm – Katie flinched and started shaking like a foal – and led her to the dark side of the road. They could have been a couple talking.

Her phone. Of course. If she were an actress in 24 she would have thought to have done something useful with that. But she knew from her trembling fingers she’d have been incapable of pressing the tiny keys as she drew it out of her bag.

‘This is a shit phone,’ said the man, staring at the cheap little black handset.

‘Yeah,’ said Katie. Everyone kept telling her it was a shit phone. Maybe that would save her life – or make him kill her out of sheer disgust at her poor taste.

The man dropped it on the ground and crushed it under his boot. ‘You should be more stylish,’ he said. ‘You should have a better phone.’

He carefully took her bag from her and started rummaging inside.

‘And look at this mess. What a mess. How can you ever find anything in here? It’s full of tissues and lipsticks.’

‘It’s to deter muggers,’ said Katie. She still couldn’t get a look at his face, but for a murderous rapist, he didn’t seem very interested in her. In fact, he was looking at her lipstick with more interest.

‘You have a boyfriend?’

‘What?’

‘Yes, I think you have no boyfriend. You should ditch the orange lipstick. Orange, not good for you. Maybe why you have no boyfriend.’

‘Are you going to make me up like your dead mother and rape me to death?’ asked Katie in a panic.

It was dark, but she could catch the incredulous glint in his eye.

‘No!’ he laughed. ‘I’m going to take,’ he emptied out the coin section. ‘Twenty-four pounds and nineteen pence. And these cards, for about half an hour. Don’t worry. They’ll give you the money back, so it’ll be fine. Except for the twenty-four quid. Sorry about that.’

‘Don’t apologise,’ said Katie, furious. ‘Don’t do it!’

‘Yes,’ said the man. ‘No. I’m going to do it.’

He handed her back the bag.

‘That’s a messy bag. You should have a stylish bag. Don’t you have anyone to look after you?’

‘Shut up!’

‘Nice girl like you. Should have a nice man to look after you. Buy you nice bags.’

He looked regretful. ‘Well. Thanks. Have a safe trip home. Have you got a travel card?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good. OK. Be safe. Bye!’

Katie turned around to stare at him as he dived off, quick as a cat. Her heart couldn’t quite take in what had happened and kept whumping away, and she suddenly found it difficult to get her breath. She leaned against the wall.

‘Fuck,’ she heaved.

The drunk man wobbled over.

‘Hello darlin’!’

‘Where the fuck were you?’ she shrieked at him. ‘I could have been killed!’

He straightened up and managed to focus for a second.

‘Sorry love,’ he slurred. ‘I’ve already got a girlfriend.’

And he wobbled off.

‘Don’t worry love,’ said the policeman.

Louise, who she’d called in from home, was hanging about worriedly.

‘I mean, he didn’t, like, touch you up or nothing, did he?’

Katie looked at him hard. Was this the new, softer, intouch policing she kept hearing so much about?

‘No,’ she said calmly. She was feeling a lot less shaken up now than when she’d stumbled into the police station at Covent Garden. In fact, after a couple of cups of tea, she was actually feeling strangely embarrassed about the whole thing, as if she shouldn’t have bothered troubling anyone for something as clearly unimportant as a non-rape/murder-related mugging. Outside a car alarm was blaring away, but nobody was paying it the least attention.

‘He just jumped me, took all my stuff and scared me half to death.’

‘Yeah,’ said the policeman, as if he’d just been told one of his shoelaces was untied. ‘That happens.’

‘Go find him and put him in prison,’ said Katie. ‘Now, please.’

The policeman looked down at the blank sheet of paper on his desk. ‘It’s just, we’re not doing too well with the witness description.’

‘Black hat pulled down over his face. Foreign accent.’

‘Oh, him,’ said the policeman. ‘He shouldn’t be any trouble at all.’

‘Do you work late?’ said Louise, batting her eyelashes.