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  The couple from the pub must have left at around the same time as Tommy and David. They were now standing on a street corner about twenty yards from the pub entrance. I couldn’t hear what they were talking about — shouting would be more accurate — but I was close enough to read their body language and see the clouds of their breath in the cold night air. He was waving his arms, pacing. She was standing still, her arms folded across her chest. It was obvious the woman was scared.

  I crushed my half-smoked cigarette into the broken flower pot that served as an ashtray and walked back through the pub, nodding to Big Joe as I left through the front door. As I approached the arguing couple, I slowed down. All I wanted to do was to make sure that the woman was okay.

  Ever since I was a kid, I’d always hated bullies. One advantage of being quite a big lad was that I didn’t get bullied. At least, not for long. The first proper fight I ever had was with a boy called Marcus who fancied himself as the top boy in the playground and preferred other children’s money to his own. To his credit, he was a quick learner, although the bloodied nose and black eye I gave him almost got me expelled.

  Remembering Marcus and the satisfaction I’d got from putting him on his back, I stopped about ten feet away from the woman in the yellow dress and her companion. With my hand clasped in front of me in the classic bouncer’s pose, I cleared my throat.

  “Everything okay?”

  The woman looked at me, her green eyes striking even in the glow of the streetlights. The look of fear on her face being replaced by relief still haunts me to this day, and it told me everything I needed to know in an instant. I took a step closer to the couple, rolling my shoulders as I did so. Her companion glanced up at me. I was a fair bit taller than him and had at least a two-stone weight advantage. None of it fat. I’m big, but I’m not a bloater. Lucky genes, I guess. It’s not from the gym.

  “Nah, we’re good, mate. Thanks.” He reached his hand out and grabbed the woman’s arm just above the elbow before trying to drag her away from me. I took another step closer as she resisted.

  “Let go, Robert,” she said, trying to pull away from him. Robert? What a poncy name. The least he could do would be to shorten it to Rob. I took another step closer and was now well within arm’s reach of Robert. Close enough to see the grooves in his hair from too much gel. “Please, you’re hurting me.” The woman looked up at me, her eyes wide. This was the nearest I’d been to her, but I didn’t want to take my eyes off Robert to see what she looked like up-close.

  “Robert,” I said. “I think you need to let go of the lady.” My voice was low and full of menace.

  “Piss off, fella,” he replied, tugging again at her arm. I could see white patches on her skin around his fingers. “This has got fuck all to do with you, so just leave it, would you?” He looked at me with a dark expression on his face. He was either brave, stupid, or both. Being brave and stupid was usually a road to nowhere in my experience. I relaxed my arms, letting them hang at my side, and flexed my fingers before bunching them into loose fists. A recognisable signal to most people that things were about to get serious.

  “Robert, let go. Now,” I said, almost whispering. Another signal. “I’m not going to ask you again.”

  In response, Robert took a step backwards. The woman let out a squeal of pain, raising her free hand to prise his grip off her arm. That was the decision made right there for me. I stepped towards him, snapping my right arm up as if I was going to smack him under the chin with a deft uppercut, but I didn’t ball my fist. Instead, I shot my hand out and grabbed him by the neck, forcing his head back. I dug my thumb and middle finger deep into the soft tissue between his jaw and ear and pushed him back, away from the woman. As I’d predicted, he let go of her as he tried to get me to loosen my grip on his neck. I took a step forward, moving him away from her, and tightened my fingers. I’d had the same move done to me once, so knew how bloody painful it was. All you can do is try to release the pressure under your ears. It’s a sensitive spot which was why I’d chosen it. He had both his hands on my right arm, leaving my left one free. All I wanted was for him to let go of the woman, which he’d already done, and to send him a message.

  “Are you listening, Robert?” I asked, easing up on his neck so he could speak.

  “Yes,” he replied through clenched teeth. His face was already red from the pressure on his throat.

  “I’m going to let go of you in a minute, and you’re going to walk off nice and quietly,” I said in a soft voice. “Because if you don’t, you’re going to get hurt.” I squeezed his neck to illustrate the point. “Really hurt. You got that?” He nodded in response, so I lived up to my word and let go of him, taking a half step backwards in case I needed to use my hands. Robert took a deep breath and stood there, looking at me with a mixture of fear and anger on his face. He rubbed at his neck where red finger-shaped welts were forming. I pointed over his shoulder.

  “Go on Robert,” I said. “Off you fuck.”

  He stared at me, and for a moment I thought he was going to claw back some of his pride with a swing. Instead, his gaze flicked over my shoulder. I could tell he was thinking of something to say to the woman behind me. Probably something impolite from the look on his face, so I took half a step towards him. He backpedalled and then saw sense, turning to walk away. I watched him for a couple of seconds, until I was sure he’d not retreated for a run-up back at me, and then turned to the woman. She was watching Robert walk away, rubbing her arm where she had similar welts to the ones on his neck. What goes around comes around.

  “Are you okay?” I asked. She paused and looked at me before replying.

  “I am, yes. He’s such an arsehole.”

  “Boyfriend?”

  “Ex-boyfriend,” she said. “As of this evening. He just isn’t adjusting to it very well.” At last, I could look at her face. Even though it was bathed in the orange glow of the street lights, she was beautiful. A small button nose with a sprinkling of freckles, framed by high cheekbones. She smiled a quick nervous smile that gave me a glimpse of slightly crooked front teeth before they disappeared. “I’m sorry you had to get mixed up in all that.”

  “No problem at all. Look, there’s a taxi office just down the road. Why don’t I walk you to it in case your mate Robert is still hanging around?” She looked at me and smiled again, holding it for longer this time. It was only one front tooth out of kilter, and for me, that was the prettiest thing about her. I held out my hand, conscious of the fact that a few seconds ago it had been choking the life out of her ex-boyfriend. “My name's Gareth.” She took my hand and shook it; her fingers cool and delicate in mine. I suddenly felt stupid, shaking this woman’s hand so formally.

  “I’m Jennifer,” she replied. “Nice to meet you, Gareth.”

  3

  To be honest, I never thought I’d see Jennifer again after I’d walked her to the taxi office. We’d chatted on the way, but it was only a few hundred yards away from the pub. It wasn’t because I didn’t want to see her again, but it’s just not how the conversation went. It was small talk, nothing more. When we reached the taxi office, all I knew about her, apart from her name, was that she worked in Human Resources somewhere. She had been going out with Robert for about a year, and he was an absolute arsehole. I didn’t get the chance to tell her anything about me other than the fact I worked as a bouncer on the doors of pubs and clubs in Norwich, and she didn’t ask. I couldn’t exactly tell her I was also a part-time burglar.

  When we got to the taxi office, I asked the bloke behind the counter for a cab. We waited in silence for a few minutes before one turned up and I did the gentlemanly thing by opening the rear door for her. As she put her seatbelt on, I opened the passenger door to talk to the driver.

  “Hi, mate, you alright?” I said as I dropped a twenty-pound note on the passenger seat, careful to keep the money out of Jennifer’s sight. Wherever she lived in Norwich, twenty quid would be more than enough to get her home and leave a healthy t
ip. “Can you do me a favour?” I reached for the driver’s ID card dangling from the rear-view mirror. “Jim, is it?” I looked at his surname, but it had too many consonants for me to even try to pronounce. “Could you drop this young lady wherever she needs to get to, and then just hang around for a minute to make sure she gets inside okay?” The driver looked at Jennifer in the rear-view mirror and then back at me. “Her tosser of an ex-boyfriend is about somewhere, and we’ve already had words. I think he got the message but just in case, yeah?”

  “Sure, boss,” he replied in an Eastern European accent, or maybe somewhere else. Not a local boy. “I look after her, no problem.” I stood on the kerb for a few seconds after the taxi had left, watching its red lights disappear down the road. What an interesting end to the evening it had turned out to be.

  About a week later, maybe longer, I was back in The Heartsease to meet up again with Tommy and David. The job we’d been talking about earlier in the week was coming along well, and we were planning on doing it at some point over the next few nights. Tommy and David were already huddled in the corner with full pints when I got there, so I didn’t bother going over to see if they wanted a drink. Big Joe regarded me with rheumy eyes. He didn’t bother asking me what I wanted and was already pouring a lager.

  “Alright, Joe?” I asked him.

  “Yep, all good,” he replied. “I’ve got a message for you behind the bar. I’ll grab it in a sec.”

  “What sort of message?”

  “From that bird who was in here the other night.” Joe looked at me with a smirk. “I hear you worked her boyfriend over.” He returned his attention to the pint.

  “Where did you hear that?” I asked, annoyed. I didn’t like things like that being public. It wasn’t as if it was bad for my reputation. I didn’t want a reputation at all. The smirk disappeared from Joe’s face.

  “I just heard, mate. Keep your knickers on.” He put the pint on the sticky counter between us and turned to get an envelope. “Here you go.” He handed it to me and I saw ‘Gareth’ written in child-like handwriting on the front. I waited until Joe had disappeared to do whatever it was he did around the back of the bar and then ripped it open. There was a single piece of paper inside with a phone number and the words “Can you call me?” written in the same childish scrawl. I stuck it in my pocket, figuring Robert had come back and she wanted a big ugly friend to stand between him and her again.

  Later that evening, after Tommy and David had gone, I nipped back outside to the beer garden for a smoke before heading back to my flat. I dug into my pocket to find a lighter and pulled out the note I’d shoved in there earlier. With five and a half pints in my stomach, I decided to give Jennifer a ring to see what was going on and what she wanted. Where’s the harm in that, I asked myself. If she was a damsel in distress, maybe I could be her knight in shining armour? I was giggling at the thought of me trying to ride a horse as I punched the numbers into my phone. Why doesn’t someone make phones with big buttons for people like me with larger fingers? At the third try, I got the numbers in the right order and pressed the ‘Call’ button.

  “Hello?” Jennifer answered the phone before the second ring, catching me off guard. I’d got the phone wedged between my shoulder and my ear so I could light my cigarette, and I almost dropped it trying to sort myself out.

  “Oh, hi. Jennifer?” I said. “It’s Gareth.” There was silence on the other end of the line. “From the other night?”

  “Hey, Gareth,” Jennifer said, her voice slow and deeper than I remembered. Maybe she’d been drinking too. “Thanks for calling.” There was another silence, this one bordering on uncomfortable.

  “So… you left me a note?” I asked, my cigarette now under control. I sat on the bench, realising too late it was wet with either rain or urine. “Is Robert still being an arse?”

  “He is, yes, but that’s not why I called. I’m not after a bodyguard, don’t worry.” Her laugh echoed down the phone. “I thought maybe I should say thanks or something, you know, for coming to my rescue and everything.” She paused, and I heard her take a breath. “I mean, it would have been fine, but I appreciate you stepping in.”

  Even though I was pissed, I was sure it wouldn’t have been fine. It might have been okay that evening, but I knew Robert’s sort. At some point in the future, it would go downhill. It would start with a slap in the heat of the moment, followed by profuse apologies, flowers, and promises it would never happen again. Great sex. Then the next time it would be a fist, not a slap. Maybe somewhere it wouldn’t bruise, or maybe it would be a punch in the face? That pretty face, with a button nose and ever so slightly out of line front tooth.

  “Are you still there?” Jennifer’s voice on the phone made me jump.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, I was miles away,” I replied, trying to concentrate on something other than how much I liked her crooked tooth. Another silence. I had to break it, fill the void. “I was just thinking about, er, thinking about…” Shit. What should I say?

  “What were you thinking about, Gareth?” Hearing her say my name sent a shiver down my spine. This was getting weird. I shouldn’t have called her after one beer, let alone five. In fact, I shouldn’t have called her at all. The only thing I was achieving was making a fool out of myself.

  “Sorry, I’ve had a few pints,” I said. “I’m not pissed. Well, just a bit. Maybe ever so slightly pissed.” Her laugh brought a smile to my face.

  “Can you keep a secret?” she said, her voice so faint I struggled to hear it.

  “That’s one thing I can definitely do,” I replied, trying to put some confidence in my voice.

  “So am I,” she said. It was my turn to laugh at her. “I’m sitting in my flat with an empty bottle of wine listening to Celine Dion.”

  The image this brought to my mind made me laugh out loud. I’d gone to see Bridget Jones Diary at the cinema with a date. The only thing in the film I thought was funny was the blonde actress singing “All by Myself” into an empty bottle of wine. That was the most memorable part of the whole miserable, but short-lived, relationship. There was no second date.

  “No, no, no,” I said. “You’re listening to the wrong song.”

  “Okay, so what would you recommend then?” Jennifer’s voice had shifted, become much more conversational. I racked my brain for a moment before coming up with what my beer-soaked brain thought was the perfect answer.

  “Gloria Gaynor,” I said. “Definitely, Gloria Gaynor.”

  “Help me out here,” she replied. “Bit before my time, I think.” I thought for a second about singing down the phone the first few lines of the song I had in mind, but I wasn’t that pissed.

  “I will survive,” I said. “First I was afraid, I was petrified,” I continued, managing not to sing. She laughed.

  “Oh God, yes,” she said. “I know it. It's not on my iPod though.” I kept quiet. It was on mine.

  We spent the next fifteen or twenty minutes going back and forth, relaxing into an easy conversation about music, films, and what we both enjoyed doing in our spare time. All nice and safe, nothing controversial. Nothing about her idiot ex-boyfriend. Big Joe stuck his head out of the rear door of the pub at one point, no doubt to see where I’d gone or to make sure I wasn’t trying to break into the back. He disappeared, reappearing a few minutes later with a fresh pint which he put on the table in front of me. If he wasn’t such an ugly bugger, I could have kissed him.

  I’d discovered Jennifer’s favourite death scene in a movie was Dennis Hopper being killed by Harvey Keitel in True Romance. In return, I’d shared the fact I’d cried when King Kong died. In fairness, I was only seven. But I’d still cried like a baby. We’d both blubbered at Watership Down, so it was honours even. The conversation had slowed down, not because we’d run out of things to say, but I think because we realised we had so much more to talk about. Not how I’d imagined the conversation playing out at all. Jennifer said something else, but I didn’t catch what it was she said.
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br />   “Sorry, I missed that,” I said. “What did you say?” There was a pause before she replied.

  “I said, are you free tomorrow night?”

  “Er, yeah I think so.”

  “Do you fancy going out for a drink?” Jennifer said. “I owe you at least one to thank you properly.”

  So the next night, we went for a drink. It wasn’t at The Heartsease though. That was the last place I wanted to take her. We went to a smart wine bar in Norwich which had not long opened. Even though it was only a drink, so she could say thank you, I still made an effort and was what I thought passed for a perfect gentleman. It must have worked as the weekend saw us at the cinema. Then a meal the week after, then a few more drinks the weekend after. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she liked me. I knew deep down that wasn’t the case though, just based on the fact women like Jennifer never went for men like me. She was just too — I’m not sure how to describe it — too bloody nice. I hate the word nice, but it’s the best one I can think of to describe her.

  I was sure all Jennifer wanted was some company. Someone safe who she could just chill out with who would keep her arsehole ex-boyfriend away. As far as she was concerned, I worked security on doors so would fit that bill nicely. But, the more I saw of her the more I liked her. It wasn’t just because she was attractive, there was something more about her. One Friday night, a few weeks after the incident with Robert, we’d gone for a few drinks in a pub down by the river in Thorpe St Andrew. When I’d phoned up for a taxi to take Jennifer home before dropping me off at mine, there’d been a two-hour wait. Even though it was just before Christmas, it was a balmy evening with clear skies. A very pleasant night for a stroll, so we decided to walk back. We were about halfway back to her flat when I decided we could take a shortcut.