Read Never Look Back for Free Online Page B

No. 12 drew back their curtains and No. 8 pulled up his blinds. Almost every flat showed signs of life now, except hers. The bald guy from No. 9 left his house at 8.45 a.m. He was wrapped up in a coat and scarf but had shiny brogues on his feet. He wouldn’t make it to the station without slipping, that was for sure. As No. 9 slammed his front door half a dozen other doors seemed to open in sync.
    As he opened his car door, a thin film of ice in the jamb cracked and broke. He paced up and down the pavement, hugging himself until a slamming sound made him turn. There she was. His anxiety, his anger, his weariness, they all disappeared. She was wearing her blue jeans and a black jacket he didn’t recognize. She didn’t have a scarf on or even any gloves. The coat was too big for her slim frame. She had lost weight. He was so relieved by her sudden appearance that he didn’t move. He stood on the pavement not more than three houses away from her, staring. Without making a sound he stepped behind a white van parked at the side of the road and watched her lock her flat and walk to her car. It wouldn’t do to startle her. She held up a delicate hand and clicked her keys. He noticed that she was muttering under her breath and her hands seemed to be shaking. The indicators flashed on her silver Golf as she pulled open the door and climbed in.
    The sound of her engine starting dragged him from his stupor. He crossed the road. It was so hard not to look at her as he ran to his car. Once he was in he fumbled to get the key into the ignition. The engine faltered for a second before rumbling into life. He had parked facing Peckham Rye, as she had, so all he had to do was wait for her to pull away before following, a safe distance behind. It was a test of skill to follow her by car. She drove fast and rarely obeyed the traffic laws. Before they had even reached the lights at the edge of Peckham Rye she was four cars in front. He craned his neck to keep the back of the Golf in sight but he was having trouble keeping up with her as she swerved from one lane to another. His car groaned and wheezed as he pushed it harder and harder to keep pace. In Forest Hill she ran a red light, but the roadworks outside Catford Station forced her to slow down and he was able to weave in and out of the traffic until he was two cars behind her. He ignored the shouts of protest from angry commuters.
    As they entered Lewisham and hit yet more roadworks he let himself relax, just enough to think about where she was going. She hadn’t been lugging her camera equipment when she had left her flat earlier. Her friend Toni, the rotund Italian, lived in Honor Oak, so she wasn’t late for a coffee date. Two cars pulled off on a side street leaving just one car between them. The temporary traffic lights outside Lewisham Police Station changed and she accelerated and then swung her car, without indicating, across the road. She was blocking the traffic, causing chaos. Once her car was wedged into a space, the traffic began to move again. He was so busy watching her that he almost rear-ended the car in front. He dragged his eyes back to the road and kept going. He looked over his shoulder as he drove past. Sweat prickled in the hairs on the back of his neck. He needed to find somewhere to park. If he hadn’t been right outside the police station he would have just mounted the kerb and left his car to its own fate. The bright yellow and orange of the Shell garage sign caught his eye. He indicated and pulled into one of the parking bays. He jumped out of the car and ran but by the time he reached her car she had disappeared. He scanned the street but couldn’t see her.
    The police station car park was on his left, teeming with people. Uniformed officers punctuated a meandering group of men and women as they drifted in and out of the station’s electric double doors. Then he saw her. She was sat on a long red-brick wall that ran down from the entrance. She had her