He had already started a brisk walk down the road towards the Starbucks. Over his shoulder, he called back to her: ‘I’ll cross here.’

She watched motionless as he waited for a break in the traffic before striding across the road. In moments, he was on the other side and making his way towards the computer shop. Georgie looked about desperately but couldn’t fathom any sort of plan; her mind was completely blank. For want of some better idea, she started to walk up the pavement on the other side across from Charlie, half running to keep up with his pace and closing in on the drinkers who had started to idle up the street. On the other side of the road, Charlie had turned and subtly gave her a thumbs-up sign.

Oh, my God, he’s quite serious.

Georgie felt a rising sense of panic grip her. He’s going to get caught going into the flat and it’ll be all my fault!

One of the drinkers stumbled but kept himself upright by clinging on to his companion who objected by pushing back, causing the one who had tripped to fall into the third, smaller man. They fell about each other in a chorus of profanities and curses, including some words that Georgie had never heard before. In any other situation, it might have been comical.

She stopped. Oh, damn, damn, damn! She was standing next to a bin tagged onto a lamppost, covered with faded and torn stickers from club events two years ago. The bin was full, a half-drunk glass bottle of Coke jutting out of the top.

Georgie looked at it. Then at the drinkers up ahead, almost level with the Starbucks.

I can’t do it.

She looked across. Charlie was almost at the computer shop – no sign of him slowing down. She caught a glimpse of a WPC peering out of the Starbucks window. Had she recognised Charlie? If she sees him going into the flat she’ll report it to Rowlinson . . .

She checked for CCTV; couldn’t see any. She had seconds left to react.

Bugger it!

Georgie took hold of the Coke bottle and hurled it as hard as she could in the direction of the drinkers before darting behind a bus shelter.

She peered through the gap between the metal frame of the shelter. She had hoped the bottle might smash on the pavement, causing the drinkers to react. Instead, the bottle ricocheted off the back of the smaller man, causing him to tumble into the others, yelping angrily. Sorry!

Despite the projectile’s misdirection, the effect was more or less as intended.

When the smaller man had regained his balance, he put his fist into the stomach of the nearest man to him. That man immediately went to ground, which drew a screech of incomprehension from the third man.

‘Fucking bastard just bottled me!’ barked the smaller one, nursing his back.