Knowing it was useless, but compelled to try anyway, I once more pressed the redial button. Frustration at its repeated failure to perform its most basic function almost made me throw the phone on the pavement in disgust. Fortunately good sense prevailed. The irony was there was a bank of payphones inside the station. I’d been standing right beside them after climbing the stairs. But I could no more force myself to walk back into that building than I could pluck a signal from the airwaves by sheer force of will. I had to face facts. I was alone in a remote area on a dark December evening, with no means of communication and no way of knowing if the man who had so terrified me earlier that evening had followed me off the train.
I tried to calm my racing thoughts which were beginning to get away from me like stampeding ponies. Focus on the problem in hand; the problem that was fact and not a terrified flight of fantasy. I had to communicate with someone, be it Matt, a cab company, or the police, and I had no means of doing so. Well, stripped down like that, the answer was obvious. Find another phone. There were still payphones on British streets, weren’t there? Mobiles hadn’t entirely taken over our civilisation yet, had they? And while I couldn’t remember the last time I had actually used a telephone kiosk, I knew that I ought to be able to find one somewhere. I swept my glance around the car park and taxi rank area. Well, no, there wouldn’t be any here when there was a perfectly adequate bank of phones sitting a few hundred metres away inside the station. And they’d be ideal – if it weren’t for the homicidal maniac lying in wait right beside them. A small laugh, more hysterical than amused, bubbled up as my over-active imagination elevated the possibly-not-even-there stalker to deadly criminal status.
And then I remembered. There was a payphone on the pavement just outside the old church. Or at least there always used to be. And the church wasn’t that far away, a mile or two at most, I reckoned. And worst case scenario, if the phone booth had been removed, I would at least be halfway towards the main town, where I’d be sure to find another one, or even hail a cab. Having a plan was like antacid on the burn of my panic.
With exaggerated slowness I began to step back towards the road which would lead me to the church. Although I wasn’t sure how far sound could carry in the night, I wanted to be as quiet as possible as I made my retreat from the station. So I didn’t risk dragging my case along on its casters but picked it up the handles instead. Carrying it might slow me down a little but the rumbling sound of the wheels would lead anyone straight to me like a tracking device. And even though it was cumbersome to carry so many things at once, I still kept my mobile phone open in my hand, trying it every twenty seconds or so, ever-hopeful that it would respond.
I can’t remember when I knew for certain that he was behind me.
I thought I’d been so quiet. Until I was some distance from the station I had lowered each foot into careful place on the pavement, effectively muffling the sound of my tread. Only when I felt positive that I was out of earshot did I break into a really brisk walk. I risked looking backwards on numerous occasions, never once seeing anyone. There were several roads that led away from the station. If he hadn’t seen me leave, it would be impossible to know which one I had taken. I had just begun to feel the vice grip of panic loosen its fingers from around my heart when I heard the noise. A light tinkling sound, followed by a rolling noise. As though someone had accidentally kicked a bottle into the road.
Standing statue-still, I strained my ears and my eyes. There were no street lamps on this stretch of road, they would not appear until I’d reached the church itself. And the leafy street, lined with thickly trunked trees, could provide a hundred hiding places for someone to conceal themselves, when the only light around was from an icy moon and a frosting of stars.
This was not the time for caution. I ran. And as I did I heard the sound of heavier footsteps begin to do the same. It was impossible to be certain but I was grateful to hear that the sound was not as close as I had first thought. Needing to know how much of a lead I had, I threw a backward glance over my shoulder and although I could still hear the heavy pounding on the pavement, I still couldn’t see anyone. I picked up my legs and drove myself harder.
I wasn’t particularly fit, I’d proved that already from my dash to catch the train, but it’s amazing the effect that pure adrenalin can achieve. I hadn’t moved this quickly since my school days, yet still I could hear the echoing pounding of my pursuer. I wasn’t breaking ahead, just maintaining the distance. I knew I couldn’t keep going at this pace, not for much longer. My shoes, designed for fashion rather than a survival sprint, had several times skidded on the rime of ice lying on the pavement’s surface. On one particularly icy patch I totally lost my purchase and felt my feet slide from beneath me. My arms cartwheeled in an attempt to regain my balance, and my case dropped with a thud to the pavement. Somehow I didn’t fall, but I left the case where it lay. Less than twenty seconds later I heard a crashing sound, and a loud cry. At least now I knew how far behind me he was. It was too much to hope he’d broken his ankle in the tumble, but even the idea of him being injured gave me the spurt of extra drive to keep going.