It wasn’t just expensive, Lola discovered. It was Dolce and Gabbana. Liking her new neighbour more and more she said, ‘I’ll have it. Are you sure?’
‘Sure I’m sure.The colour’ll suit you. Better than me chucking it in the back of a drawer and never wearing it again.’
Except it wasn’t, because a week later as she was on her way out one evening, Lola bumped into Gabe and his girlfriend on their way in. The girlfriend, who had flashing dark eyes and an arm snaked possessively around Gabe’s waist, stopped dead in her tracks and said, ‘What are you doing wearing my boyfriend’s T-shirt?’
‘Um ... well, he g-gave it to ...’ Catching the look on Gabe’s face, Lola amended hastily, ‘I mean, he lent it to me, because I, um, asked if I could borrow it.’
The girlfriend shot her a killer glare before swinging round to Gabe. ‘I bought you that for your birthday! Don’t go lending it out to some girl just because she’s cheeky enough to ask to borrow it.’
The thing was, Gabe hadn’t done it on purpose. He hadn’t meant to cause trouble, he was simply thoughtless and so generous himself it didn’t occur to him that some people might not appreciate his actions.
But he broke up with that particular girl shortly afterwards and Lola had been able to start wearing the T-shirt again. From then on a stream of girlfriends came and went, entranced by the fact that Gabe was an entertaining, charming commitmentphobe. Each of them in turn was utterly convinced they would be the one to make him see the error of his ways and suddenly yearn for a life of monogamous domestic bliss.
Each of them, needless to say, was wrong.
Or had been, up until three months ago when Gabe had met an Australian backpacker called Jaydena on the last leg of her round-the-world trip. Jaydena had bucked the trend and been the one to leave Gabe, returning to Sydney when they’d only known each other for a couple of weeks and were still completely crazy about each other. Back in Australia, she emailed Gabe every day and he emailed her back. Within weeks she’d persuaded him to jack in his job and fly out to join her.
Lola was stunned when she heard. ‘But ... why?’
‘Because I’ve never been to Australia and everyone says it’s an incredible place. If I don’t go now I could regret it forever.’
‘So I might never see you again.’ It was a daunting prospect; Gabe was such a huge part of her life. And not only for the fun times. When Alex had died five years ago — suddenly, and desperately unfairly, of a heart attack — Lola had been distraught, unable to believe she’d never see her beloved father again. But Gabe had been a rock, helping her through that awful period.
She’d always be grateful to him for that.
‘Hey, I’m not selling the flat, just renting it out for a year. After that I could be back.’
Lola knew she would miss him terribly but alarm bells were ringing for another, far less altruistic reason. ‘Where are you going to find a new tenant? Through a lettings agency?’
‘Ha!’ Gabe gleefully prodded her in the ribs. ‘So it’s only yourself you’re worried about, panicking at the thought of who your new neighbour might be!
‘No. Well yes, that too.!
‘Already sorted. Marcus from work just split up with his wife. He’s moving in.’
Oh. Lola relaxed, because she knew Marcus and he was all right, if a bit on the boring side and inclined to yabber on about motorcycles. Which could well have had something to do with his marriage breaking up.
‘So no need to panic,’ said Gabe. ‘All taken care of.You two’ll get along fine!
‘Good.’ Visualising Marcus in his oil-stained, unfashionable clothes, Lola said, ‘But I can’t see me borrowing his T-shirts.’
Ugh, it was raining harder than ever now. Wishing she was wearing flatter shoes, Lola hurried along the road with her jacket collar up, then turned left down the side street that was a short cut to the tube station. She winced as her left foot landed in a puddle and Get off me, get off!
N0000!’
Chapter 5
Lola’s head jerked up, her heart thudding in her chest at the sight of the violent scene unfolding ahead of her. The woman’s piercing screams filled the air as she was dragged out of the driver’s seat of her car by two men who flung her roughly to the ground. One of them knelt over her, ripping at something on the woman’s hand. When she struggled against him he hit her in the face and snarled, ‘Shut up.’
But the woman let out another shriek of fright and he hit her again, harder this time, bouncing her head off the road. ‘I said shut it. Now give me your rings.’
‘No! Owww.’ The woman groaned as he wrenched back her arm.
‘Leave her alone!’ bellowed Lola, punching 999 into her phone and gasping, ‘Police, ambulance, Keveley Street.’ Filled with a boiling rage, she kicked off her shoes and raced down the road to the car. ‘Get off her!’
‘Yeah, right.’ The man sneered while his cohort revved the engine of the woman’s car.
‘Come on,’ bellowed the cohort, ‘hurry up, hurry up.’
‘Stop it!’ Lola grabbed hold of the attacker’s greasy hair andyanked his head back hard, shocked to see in the darkness that the face of the woman was covered in blood. ‘Leave her alone, I’ve called the police.’
‘Let go of me,’ roared the man, fighting to free himself.
‘No, I won’t.’ Grappling with him on the ground, Lola smelled alcohol on his fetid breath and felt ice-cold rain seeping through her tights. The woman was lying on her side facing away from her, curled up and moaning with pain. The man swore again and twisted like an eel to escape but Lola had him now and she was damned if she’d let him go before the- CRRRACKK, an explosion of noise and pain filled Lola’s head and she realised the other attacker had hit her from behind with some kind of weapon. Then everything melted and went black and she slumped to the ground.
As if from a great distance Lola heard the screech of tyres as the car accelerated away. Close to, the woman groaned. Without opening her eyes, Lola stretched out an arm, encountered the woman’s foot and clumsily patted it.
‘S’OK, you’re all right, just hang on and the police’ll be here.’ God, she felt so sick. The pain at the back of her head was intense. But the woman next to her in the road was now sobbing hysterically, in need of reassurance and comfort.
‘Th-they tricked m-me, I th-thought someone was hurt .. . then when I stopped the c-c-car they d-dragged me out ..’
‘Hey, hey, don’t be upset.’ Lola stroked the woman’s leg, the only part of her she could reach. ‘I can hear sirens, someone’s coming, you’re OK now.’
‘I’m not OK, there’s b-blood everywhere, he punched me in the face and b-broke my n-nose.’
‘Sshh, don’t cry.’ Squeezing the woman’s calf and shivering with cold, Lola forced down a rising swell of nausea. ‘Here’s the ambulance. I hope they don’t run over my shoes ...’
The next twenty minutes were a confusing blur. Lola was dimly aware that she was having trouble answering the questions put to her by the paramedics and the police. She hoped they didn’t think she was paralytic with drink. Blue flashing lights gave the otherwise pitch-black street the look of an eerie disco but no one was dancing. Requested to hold out an outstretched arm then touch her nose with her forefinger, Lola missed and almost took her eye out. Asked to name the Prime Minister she struggled to put a name to the face floating around in her mind.
‘Hang on, don’t tell me, I know it ... I know it ... is it Peter Stringfellow?’
The other woman had already been whisked off to hospital in the first ambulance. When a second arrived in the narrow, suddenly busy street and a stretcher was brought out, Lola waved her hands and protested, ‘No, no, I can’t go to the party, I’ve got work tomorrow.’