Maria was shocked that the first two faces to turn to her as she walked into the bar were those of the two drunks from the last time. The one she had hit with her beer glass looked at her sullenly, a gauze pad taped to his distended and discoloured cheek. Her heart sank: this could mean that her little adventure would end before it had even begun. The two men eyed her and then turned back to their drinks. They were obviously chastened by their experience of the night before. Either that or they weren’t yet drunk enough to have the courage to molest a female. But it was clear they hadn’t recognised her and Maria felt a small thrill of satisfaction at the sight of the lingering injury she’d inflicted on Fatso. The barman was by far the greater challenge. Unlike the other two, he was sober and the same barman who had been on duty on Sunday. Instead of sitting at a table as she had before, she took a stool at the bar. She was relieved to see that the looks she received from the brassy-looking blondes in the bar were even more hostile.

‘What can I get you?’ asked the barman.

Maria smiled widely. She had good teeth and had been surprised just how much Anna’s shade of lipstick accentuated them; made her mouth look sexy.

‘A vodka and coke, please.’ Maria did her best to sound less Hanover and more Cologne. ‘I’m here to meet a friend. He said this bar but I couldn’t find it so I’m late. Did he leave a message?’

‘What’s your name?’ asked the barman.

‘Anna …’

He checked with another member of staff.

‘No. No message. Still want the vodka?’

‘Why not?’ Maria smiled again. The muscles in her face reminded her of just how unused to it she had become.

Maria sat and sipped her vodka, feeling no less conspicuous than she had the night before, but this time she felt in control. Her anxiety began to ease. There was a decent enough crowd scattered around the tables, at the bar and even standing in groups talking loudly. It was dense enough foliage for her to remain as concealed as much as a young woman on her own in a bar like this could be. Maria became aware that quite a few of the conversations were taking place in a Slavic language. Whether it was Polish, Russian or Ukrainian she didn’t know; they all sounded the same to her.

She stole a glance across at the two men who had accosted her on Sunday night. The man with the injured face still looked pretty sorry for himself and his drinking buddy looked equally as glum, but seemed to be trying to console him.