I stumble backwards into a bin that scrapes along the wall thanks to the weight of my body. The noise isn’t a lot, but it’s enough. And enough might as well have been a trumpet blasting. I turn and sprint back down the alleyway, hugging the bins as I run. Behind me, I hear the back door that leads straight to Ava’s kitchen being opened, its prolonged creak an indication of years of neglect.

I duck down behind the closest bin. Some bags of rubbish have spilled out beside me and onto the ground. I don’t hesitate. Squatting down on my haunches, I pull the filthy bags over myself. My hand bursts right through one of them, entering a slimy, stinking mass that’s a mess, but the least of my worries at the moment. Running footsteps are fast approaching. I duck down further, pulling another reeking bag over my head. The smell alone makes me want to gag. I clench my lips together and hold my breath to try and control my upchuck reflex. Two sets of footsteps run right past.

‘Shit! Where did he go?’ A woman’s voice begins to curse up a blue streak.

‘He can’t have got far.’ The accompanying man’s voice answers her.

Their footsteps start again, fading away like a sinister Doppler effect. I throw off the bin bags and immediately strip off my jacket to give it a good shake. Bits of food and worse fly off my now-ruined woollen jacket. My olive-green jeans are in only marginally better shape. Wiping my hands on my jacket and using it to brush down my trousers, I fold it over my arm and stroll out of the alley like I haven’t a care in the world, heading in the opposite direction to the footsteps.

I force myself to saunter. Running into a crowd of ambling pedestrians will immediately give the game away. I head back to my car. Those around me who get too close take one whiff and immediately widen the distance between us, giving me a whole colour palette of dirty looks. Like I set out to pong like this on purpose. Anyway, let them gawp. That’s fine by me. I turn my head with a deliberate frown, hoping it seems like I’m looking for someone.

Ah … A few metres behind me, among the pedestrians, stands a Nought man with collar-length blond hair and matching blond eyebrows. He’s wearing a mac and dark trousers. Beside him is a taller brunette woman in jeans, a dark jumper and a brown leather jacket. I might not have noticed them if they hadn’t been standing and scanning the people around them who are all on the move. The man and woman each have one hand tucked beneath their coats. They still have their guns.