He didn’t see the door opening, but saw the three figures emerge from the darkness opposite. Two young thirty-something men exited the building together and partially obscured the smaller figure behind. They started walking to their right, towards Broadway. He crossed the street with the intention of falling in behind them to see if he could get a better look. By halfway across the street, he established that the third figure was female. His heart quickened. By the time he reached the curb he could see the beret on her head and he could hear the thump in his chest. One look at her gait and he knew it was her. As she walked, she trailed her right foot across the ground. It was a habit he’d noticed when she was just fifteen, shortly after they met, and it was obviously one she was not willing to give up on. He felt his heart trying to escape its mooring. He opened his mouth to call to her, but her left arm wouldn’t let him. As they turned onto Broadway, the neon lights followed her arm’s path until it merged with the right arm of the man strolling next to her. He followed her beret in the crowd as it turned off Broadway until five minutes later it disappeared through a tiny door on the left off Columbus Avenue.

For the second time that day, he stood across the street from a building she sat in. He watched the inviting warm glow radiating from the window of the little pub while attempting to blow some life into his numb and tingling fingers. Thirty minutes later, she left with one of the men. He felt his stomach churn and was grateful that he was close to a pub with a toilet. He watched them turn left just next to the pub. He crossed the street and turned the corner. He needed to speak to her. The alleyway was dark and completely deserted!

45

Only after he surfaced from the bathroom situated adjacent to the front door was he able to take a proper look around the little pub. It had a long bar to the right and four booths to the left. The small group, of nine or ten mainly male clientele, were all smartly dressed and probably a regular after-work crowd. It was a tired little place that had seen better days, and its walls consisted of nothing but several faded Guinness posters. He could make out Journey singing ‘Don’t Stop Believing’ over the chatter of the regulars and was still deciding what his next course of action would be when the barman shouted to him in a Belfast accent.

‘Will you be staying for a drink, Mr O’Reilly, or are you just in to use our facilities?’

He was still attempting to programme the fact that he knew his name, when the pale, ponytailed barman came around the bar to greet him.