'Repossessed?'
'That's the one.' She laughs again. 'I'm up shit creek without a … ' She looks at the ceiling for inspiration.
'Paddle,' I help her out.
'So, things are crap,' she drawls, 'and I thought I could see my little sister and have a nice chat, and I could tell her all my crap, and she could listen and be all sympathetic and help me out.' She slams to a halt, trying her best to sit up straight. 'And anyway, where have you been? You've not been answering your phone.'
'I've been away for a couple of days. Out of the country.'
'Ooh, anywhere nice?'
'Bermuda.'
Her eyes widen. She leans forwards again, smiling almost benignly.
'Look at little Maya, falling right on her feet with a rich, sexy man.' And now her expression morphs, any hint of kindness banished from the grin. 'It's just a shame he lied to you.'
'Knock it on the head,' I snarl, eyeing up the doorway. I've been here for less than five minutes and I'm already thinking about leaving. 'That's all sorted, so you can drop it. Focus on your own car crash of a life and leave me alone.'
'My life isn't a car crash,' she hisses. 'I've met someone.'
Thoroughly stunned, I sit bolt upright.
'Have you?'
'Yeah.' Self-satisfaction staggers briefly across her face. 'He's lovely.'
'But you've only just split up with Geoff.'
'And?'
'Where did you meet him?'
'In Oxford.' She shrugs, turning the glass on the table, leaving a dribble of wine in its wake. 'Supermarket. Car park. He bumped into my car and asked me out.'
Immediately, I'm on guard. For a start, it's not every day Sara gets chatted up in a supermarket car park. And what with everything else that's happened recently, I'm not about to simply fob it off as coincidence.
'What's he like?' I demand.
'Tall.' Her eyes glaze over. 'Meaty, lovely dark hair. Brown eyes. Really nice brown eyes.' She giggles. 'And he's probably got a massive cock, but I haven't seen it yet.'
I shift about on my seat and glance at the door. Sara's description of her mystery man is far too familiar for comfort.
'What's his name?'
'Name?'
'Name. Tell me.'
Confusion creeps into her eyes. 'James. He's got a lovely voice.'
'Scottish?'
'What?'
'Is he Scottish?' I snap.
'No, silly.' She chortles. 'Why are you asking that? He's English. He lives in Oxford. But … ' She touches the side of her nose. 'He's married. I'm his fancy woman. Or I would have been if he'd turned up.' She waves a hand at the bar.
'Turned up here?'
Suddenly, things just don't seem right. The hairs on the back of my neck bristle with electricity. I scan the empty room.
'Here.' She prods the table with her index finger. 'He was supposed to meet me here. We've got a room together so we can … you know.' She smiles, a sugary sweet, drunk as a skunk smile. And then the sweetness dissolves. 'But he's chickened out, the bastard. Left me a message.' She goes on in a false upper class accent, drunkenly trying to mimic him. 'Something's come up. Have a drink on me. I'll pay for it all. Why don't you just see your sister?'
I freeze. Now why would he say that? Again, I glance at the door. A shaft of sunlight falls through the glass panes. A pair of flies dance in it.
'How does he know about me?' I demand.
'We talked. That's what you do when you go on a date. I told him about my family. He told me about his.'
No, this isn't right at all. Fishing my mobile out of my handbag, I hold it on my lap.
'I don't like this, Sara.'
'What don't you like?'
'This place. You need to come with me.'
'Where are we going?'
'Back to Dan's flat.'
She shakes her head.
'No. I can't talk to him.'
'You don't have to. I can't leave you here. Just go and pack your things.'
'But I've had … ' She squints at the wine glass.
I lean across the table. Things have gone far enough. It's time to bring out my evil twin.
'I don't care if you can't see straight or string a sentence together or walk in a straight line,' I snarl. 'Now, go and get your stuff. You can crawl up the fucking stairs for all I care. Just do it.'
Stunned by the force of my own voice, I sit back, silently amazed that my little outburst seems to have done the job. With a distinct wobble, she staggers to her feet, pushes back her stool and zig-zags towards the door. As soon as she disappears from view, I call Dan.
He answers on the first ring.
'Maya? Is everything alright?'
I close my eyes. Just hearing his voice makes me feel safe.
'No,' I murmur. 'I'm scared. I think … '
The phone is snatched right out of my hand. Startled, I open my eyes and look up.
Straight into the face of Ian Boyd.
Chapter Twenty-Five
I hear Dan's voice, faint, shouting my name. Ian Boyd smiles at me and raises the mobile to his ear.
'It's okay, Daniel. I've got her. She's fine.'
He ends the call and places the phone on the table. It begins to ring. I see Dan's name. Boyd hits the ignore call icon.
'That's going to get on my nerves,' he says, his tone light-hearted.
The phone begins to ring again. This time he answers it.
'Listen here, Daniel, old boy. Like I said, I've got her. Maya's fine. Don't worry. And I wouldn't bother with the police if I were you. Things can happen. Know what I mean? Now would you be a good little man and stop bothering me?' He ends the call with a smile and drops the phone back onto the table. 'Now. Where was I? Do you think they've got crisps behind that bar? I'm a bit peckish.'
I can barely believe what's happening. I'm sitting in some tawdry dive of a back street bar with Ian Boyd, and he's chatting away as though we're old friends meeting up for a drink. I'm retreating, withdrawing inside my head. This isn't really happening to me. I'm not here. I stare at the carpet, noticing that it's stained, threadbare in places.
'I've got a bodyguard,' I inform him. But really, what's the point? Boyd's sitting right next to me and unless he came down from a bedroom, it's a sure-fire certainty that Beefy's already out of the picture. I just hope he's okay.
'Have you?' He points towards the door. 'Oh, that big idiot out there? No.' He shakes his head contemptuously. 'He's gone.'
In one fell swoop, my bubble bursts. Denial gives way to fear, and fear to panic. Jesus, I hope he doesn't mean what I think he means.
'What have you done to him?'
'Oh, don't worry.' He picks up the wine bottle and examines it. 'A clonk on the head. My boys won't harm him. They'll just drop him off in an alleyway. He'll wake up with a headache, covered in piss.'
While I battle off a severe case of the shakes, Boyd turns slowly, examining his surroundings.
'I could really do with a snack,' he announces. 'I suppose I'll just have to help myself, seeing as the barman's nipped out for an hour.' He winks at me. 'I asked him to give us a little space. Gave him a few quid to spend. The receptionist was the same.'
My breath catches. My stomach reels. With Beefy out of the way and the hotel staff paid to keep a distance, I've got nothing more than a drunken sister for back-up.
'And what about Sara?'
'Oh, her?' He smirks. 'I'm glad you sent her back up to her room. Nice move, that. Far easier to deal with. She's locked in the bathroom. I'm just glad I never had to fuck her.' He sniggers. 'Not a pleasant prospect.' And now he's serious. 'So, are you going to come with me or not?'
The last thing I should do at this moment is give way to anger, but I just can't help it.
'Why the fuck would I go anywhere with you?' I seethe.
'Do I really have to explain?'
'Yes.'
I look at my phone, reminding myself that I may well be in a state, but I need to string this out for as long as I can. By now, Dan should know exactly where I am, but God only knows how long it's going to take him to get across London.
'Because Mr Swanky Pants needs to be taught a lesson,' Boyd grumbles, rubbing his belly.
'I think you've already done that.'
'And, of course, because you and me are meant to be together.'
'We're not meant to be together. I'm with Dan, and that's the way it's going to stay. So you can stop all this nonsense.'
'Nonsense?' He grins at me, his dark eyes flashing.
'Killing his dog,' I remind him with a scowl.
'Aye, well, he was pissing me off, so I thought I'd piss him off in return. Tit for tat. That sort of thing. Never mind, eh? It was only a dog.'
'Only a dog?'
'Aye. A dog.' He purses his lips in disgust. 'I can't stand the fucking things. Never understood the English obsession with them. I prefer the Chinese attitude.' He raises an eyebrow. 'They eat them in China.'
'You're sick.'
'Maybe. And maybe not. Actually, I could eat a dog right now.' A bright smile crosses his face, collapsing almost immediately. He leans forwards, elbows on the table. 'You know, I really thought you'd leave him when you found out about the Italian Job. But, no.' He shakes his head. 'I let you in on the fact that your boyfriend's full of shit, and what do you do? You jump on a plane with him and scoot off out of the country.' He leans back, holding his hands in the air. 'Go figure.'
'You can't break us up.'
'And then … ' Ignoring me, he presses an index finger against the table top. 'Then I have to go to all the trouble of luring the pair of you back to London.' He shakes his head again. 'I could have done without that.'