night,’ Sasha said. ‘Oh, did you hear about Harriet?’
‘Her New Year party? You already told me.’
‘No, not that. She was burgled. Someone broke into her flat – it was last weekend.’
‘Oh shit.’
‘I don’t think they took much, but she said they completely trashed the place. They destroyed all her old photo albums, ripped them up and poured water all over them. They smashed up her computer and emptied out all the cupboards and drawers, just totally wrecked everything. Get this: they stole all her underwear. It’s the only thing they took. Though just the nice lingerie, not the everyday stuff.’
‘That’s freaky,’ I said. ‘My God.’
‘Yeah, she’s devastated. Gone back to her parents. Said she feels violated, you know?’
I could imagine. I made a mental note to send her an email, saying I hoped she was OK. I wondered, briefly, if any of the underwear I’d bought her was among the stuff that had been burned; if she ever still wore it. I’d bought her some Elle MacPherson lingerie, which she’d worn all the time, and had got her a set from Agent Provocateur for Valentine’s, which had cost a fortune.
Poor Harriet.
‘It’s made me take extra care when I go out,’ Sasha said. ‘I must have checked I’d locked the door about ten times before going out this morning.’
We went inside and watched the film. Halfway through I texted Charlie to say goodnight and to ask what she was doing.
She replied immediately. In bed, thinking about you. See you in the morning :) xxxxxx
‘Oh dear, you’ve got that look on your face,’ Sasha said. ‘Lovestruck puppy.’
And then she started to cry. I sat and held her for a while until she felt better, at which point she announced she needed to go to bed.
‘Thanks, Andrew,’ she said, as I left.
‘No worries.’
Her face was streaked with tears and there was a big damp patch on the front of my shirt.
‘You deserve it, you know,’ she said.
‘What?’
‘Happiness. I’m really glad you’ve met Charlie.’
‘Me too.’
She blew me a kiss and I started to walk home, my coat wrapped tightly around me. My flat was a fifteen-minute walk from Sasha’s.
I had just turned off the main road in order to take a shortcut through the quieter backstreets, when I heard footsteps behind me. I looked over my shoulder, a casual glance, and saw a figure in black, wearing a hood. The way they were walking – close to the walls, keeping in the shadows, their pace slowing as I turned to look – made me feel sick with nerves. I knew loads of people who had been mugged for their mobiles. It was an epidemic and I had just been walking blithely along the street staring at my iPhone in full view of any passing thief.
Or maybe it wasn’t a mugger . . . I couldn’t help but think of the person who had followed Charlie through the park, and the figure who I was convinced had been watching us that time by the lake.
I increased my pace, feeling in my pockets for weapons. I had my keys and I supposed my phone could do someone some damage if you hit them over the head with it in the right way. The person behind me – I pictured him as a muscular, wiry youth, the ‘hoodie horror’ who stalks middle-class urban nightmares – was gaining on me. I was only a few minutes from home now. I could be there in one minute if I ran. But what if the hoodie ran too and was much faster than me?
Heart thumping, I walked as fast as I could. I didn’t dare look behind me, as if doing so would invite the hoodie to jump me. I had no idea how close he was now. Maybe I should call 999, tell them I was being followed. But I clung to the hope it was all in my imagination, that the guy behind me was an innocent heading home.
I could see my flat now. My keys were in my hand, ready. I broke into a jog, stealing a glance over my shoulder. The figure was nowhere in sight. Breathing hard, I reached the front steps of my building.
Someone jumped out on me.
I cried out with
‘Her New Year party? You already told me.’
‘No, not that. She was burgled. Someone broke into her flat – it was last weekend.’
‘Oh shit.’
‘I don’t think they took much, but she said they completely trashed the place. They destroyed all her old photo albums, ripped them up and poured water all over them. They smashed up her computer and emptied out all the cupboards and drawers, just totally wrecked everything. Get this: they stole all her underwear. It’s the only thing they took. Though just the nice lingerie, not the everyday stuff.’
‘That’s freaky,’ I said. ‘My God.’
‘Yeah, she’s devastated. Gone back to her parents. Said she feels violated, you know?’
I could imagine. I made a mental note to send her an email, saying I hoped she was OK. I wondered, briefly, if any of the underwear I’d bought her was among the stuff that had been burned; if she ever still wore it. I’d bought her some Elle MacPherson lingerie, which she’d worn all the time, and had got her a set from Agent Provocateur for Valentine’s, which had cost a fortune.
Poor Harriet.
‘It’s made me take extra care when I go out,’ Sasha said. ‘I must have checked I’d locked the door about ten times before going out this morning.’
We went inside and watched the film. Halfway through I texted Charlie to say goodnight and to ask what she was doing.
She replied immediately. In bed, thinking about you. See you in the morning :) xxxxxx
‘Oh dear, you’ve got that look on your face,’ Sasha said. ‘Lovestruck puppy.’
And then she started to cry. I sat and held her for a while until she felt better, at which point she announced she needed to go to bed.
‘Thanks, Andrew,’ she said, as I left.
‘No worries.’
Her face was streaked with tears and there was a big damp patch on the front of my shirt.
‘You deserve it, you know,’ she said.
‘What?’
‘Happiness. I’m really glad you’ve met Charlie.’
‘Me too.’
She blew me a kiss and I started to walk home, my coat wrapped tightly around me. My flat was a fifteen-minute walk from Sasha’s.
I had just turned off the main road in order to take a shortcut through the quieter backstreets, when I heard footsteps behind me. I looked over my shoulder, a casual glance, and saw a figure in black, wearing a hood. The way they were walking – close to the walls, keeping in the shadows, their pace slowing as I turned to look – made me feel sick with nerves. I knew loads of people who had been mugged for their mobiles. It was an epidemic and I had just been walking blithely along the street staring at my iPhone in full view of any passing thief.
Or maybe it wasn’t a mugger . . . I couldn’t help but think of the person who had followed Charlie through the park, and the figure who I was convinced had been watching us that time by the lake.
I increased my pace, feeling in my pockets for weapons. I had my keys and I supposed my phone could do someone some damage if you hit them over the head with it in the right way. The person behind me – I pictured him as a muscular, wiry youth, the ‘hoodie horror’ who stalks middle-class urban nightmares – was gaining on me. I was only a few minutes from home now. I could be there in one minute if I ran. But what if the hoodie ran too and was much faster than me?
Heart thumping, I walked as fast as I could. I didn’t dare look behind me, as if doing so would invite the hoodie to jump me. I had no idea how close he was now. Maybe I should call 999, tell them I was being followed. But I clung to the hope it was all in my imagination, that the guy behind me was an innocent heading home.
I could see my flat now. My keys were in my hand, ready. I broke into a jog, stealing a glance over my shoulder. The figure was nowhere in sight. Breathing hard, I reached the front steps of my building.
Someone jumped out on me.
I cried out with
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