off. My legs were shaking, and I stumbled.
“Here,” he said, and offered me his arm.
I hesitated for a moment, feeling the terror coming back. I wanted to run, I wanted to run fast and hard and not look back. But then I took his arm, and we started to walk up toward Talbot Street and home.
A police car suddenly pulled to a stop beside us, and a tall, lanky officer got out. “Hold up a second, please,” he said to us.
The shaking got worse.
“All right?” said Stuart.
“CCTV saw you back there,” the officer said to me. His radio, clipped to the front of his armored vest, was bleeping and talking to itself. “Looks like someone was giving you some trouble. Everything okay?”
I nodded vigorously.
“You’re looking a bit shaky,” the police officer said, eyeing me doubtfully. “Had a lot to drink?”
I shook my head. “Just—cold,” I said, my teeth chattering.
“You know this gentleman?” the police officer said to me.
I nodded again.
“I’m going to walk her home,” said Stuart. “Just around the corner.”
The officer nodded, checking us both out. From the car, the other officer said, “Rob—flash call just come in.”
“Long as you’re okay,” he said, but he was already halfway inside the car, and the sirens started a second later, making me jump half out of my skin.
We continued walking. I hadn’t drunk anything stronger than fruit juice, but each step felt as if the ground was swaying.
“You don’t like police, huh,” Stuart said. It wasn’t a question.
I didn’t answer. Tears were pouring one after the other down my cheeks. I’d felt the panic at the mere sight of him, at the cuffs buttoned to the front of his vest, and the siren had just about finished me off.
By the time we got to the front door, he was just about holding me up. I was gripping his arm like a lifeline, too afraid to let go. “Come upstairs, I’ll make you a cup of tea,” he said.
As soon as the front door was shut behind us, I let go of him. I checked it, just once, even though he was there. I turned the lock clockwise and counterclockwise, pulled the door toward me, pulled it again and heard it rattle, ran my fingers over the edge where the door met the jamb. I wanted to check it again but I realized he was watching me. I managed a weak smile.
“Thanks. I’ll be all right now.”
I waited for him to go up the stairs so I could check the door again, but he stood his ground.
“Please. Just come and have a cup of tea. We’ll leave my door open so you can leave if you want to. Okay?”
I stared at him. “I’ll be fine. Thank you.”
He didn’t move.
“Please, Stuart, you can go back out and find your friends. I’m fine now, honest.”
“Just come and have a cup of tea. The door’s locked, I saw you do it. You’re safe.” He was holding out his hand, waiting for me to take it.
I didn’t take it, but I did manage to give up on the checking. “All right. Thanks.”
You’re safe? What an odd thing to say, I thought, following him up the stairs. I couldn’t look at my flat door as we passed it, because I wouldn’t have been able to resist the urge to start checking. As it was, I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight.
He turned on all the lights in his flat as he went in, putting the kettle on in the kitchen. To the left of the kitchen area was a large, open-plan living room, with two bay windows facing the front. Leafy green plants on the windowsills. I wandered over to them and looked out. Despite the dark, there was a good view over to High Street, crowds of people still walking up and down without a care in the world. From up here you could see over the rooftops of the houses across the street, down across the twinkling orange streetlights of London toward the river, in the distance the lights on top of Canary Wharf flashing on and off, and beyond it, the Dome, lit up like a landed spacecraft.
He put a mug of tea for me down on the coffee table and sat in one of the armchairs. “How are you feeling?” he asked gently.
“I’m okay,” I lied, my teeth chattering. I sat on the sofa, which was low and deep and surprisingly comfortable, hugging my knees. I felt so tired, all of