The Half Truth(37)

Another bash against the door. He was now trying to break into the cubicle.

She wiggled the key again. ‘Come on. Turn.’ Finally, there was give and the Allan key moved.

She could hear the lock on the door rattle as the screws loosened with yet another thump. Tina moved the Allan key another quarter turn. She pushed up on the handle and it lifted without resistance. She shoved the window open with the palm of her hand. The small courtyard at the back of the café was her escape route.

There was a wheelie bin against the wall. She could use that to scale the brickwork and be out in the street.

As she put one foot onto the top of toilet cistern and gripped each side of the window frame to pull herself up, the bolt on the door finally gave way.

In crashed one of the Russians. Tina didn’t look behind. She let out a scream and tried to pull herself up. A hand grabbed at her flaying ankle.

‘Help!’ she shouted through the open window. She knew she couldn’t escape but she wasn’t going to give up easily. She kicked back with her foot, catching the man in the chin.

‘Cyka!’ It was the wingman. ‘Bitch!’ he said in English this time.

Tina felt him release her ankle. She kicked again but this time found thin air. Once more she attempted to pull herself up through the window.

Two arms grabbed at her hips, then encircled her waist, pulling her backwards. She was yanked down, her feet clattering on the toilet lid. She kicked against it, trying to gain leverage to push her attacker away. He was too strong.

‘Help! Someone!’ she screamed out.

A hand clamped down on her mouth. Fingers dug into her cheek from the force of the grip. Unceremoniously she was dragged into the washroom area.

At this point, Tina became aware of another scuffle going on in the passageway outside.

Raised voices sounded. Grunts. Swearing, in Russian. There was the sound of a body being thrown against a wall. She could hear things being knocked down and then the sound of the storeroom door slamming against the wall. Somebody stumbled into the room, the clattering of brooms and mops accompanied by more dull thumps and the sound of grunting following each connection.

The door to the washroom flung open. The Russian still had his arms around her waist and as he turned towards the door, he pushed Tina forwards. Her head collided with the edge of the door. The force sent her off balance. Pain shot through her head, exploding in her skull. She staggered to the side. In the briefest of moments she caught a glimpse of the man now coming into the washroom.

She didn’t have time to consider who he was. There was a flurry of fists, more grunts, more swearing. Tina cowered in the corner. Her path to the doorway and safety blocked. The mirror shattered as the Russian’s head was smashed against it. As his head was then cracked against the sink, the Russian slumped into an unconscious heap on the floor.

For an eerie few seconds, silence spread through the café. Tina looked up at her rescuer. Her body began to shake violently, shock taking hold of her muscles. Her stomach went into spasm and she retched.

The walls of the washroom closed in. Her vision took on a telescopic effect – all peripheral vision deserting her. She was on the verge of passing out. She struggled to remain conscious, to fight the urge to surrender to the enclosing blackness.

She tucked her head down, leaning forwards, on hands and knees. Willing the blood to rush to her head.

She couldn’t pass out. She wouldn’t allow it. Not now.

She felt a hand on her back, then scooping her hair to one side, coming to rest on the side of her cheek.

She breathed deeper. The blackness began to recede.

A Russian voice, one she recognised, spoke urgently to the man in the room with her. The hand lifted from her face. She grabbed at it.

‘Please …’ she choked on her words as tears flowed swiftly from her eyes. ‘Don’t go.’

She could hear a police siren outside. Blue flashing lights bounced rhythmically off the stainless-steel kitchen appliances down the passageway.

More urgent Russian words were exchanged.

Tina raised herself into a kneeling position, any thought of standing dismissed. She knew her legs wouldn’t hold her. She looked up at the two men in front of her. How could this be? She tried to speak, but her word were lost. She didn’t know what to say. She could hardly believe what was happening.

She heard voices coming into the café. They were faraway and distant. She couldn’t focus on them. The men in front of her turned and sprinted to the rear of the café. She heard the locks and bolts on the door, the scuffling of feet against the wheelie bin outside as they scaled the wall and were gone.

Tina slumped forwards. The wail was animal-like as she called out.