‘Hold your bloody horses, will you?’ said the woman, wide-eyed with exasperation. She stepped back and finally Dora was able to step inside, out of view. She pushed the door closed behind her.

‘Is it just the one room you’ve got left?’ asked Dora, gasping the words out.

The woman eyed her curiously. ‘Yes. Just the one. Why, you got a mate coming or something?’

‘No, but . . . can you turn the sign round, please? Right now? So it says “no vacancies”?’

‘Here, you’re not in any trouble, are you?’

‘No, it’s only . . . my husband’s going to meet me here in town tomorrow. I got the train in from York to meet him. But there’s this chap kept pestering me. Wouldn’t leave me alone, on the train. Followed me out of the station and I’ve just seen him again, a minute ago. Can you turn the sign around, please? Then he’ll think the place is full and he won’t come in.’

‘He been bothering you, has he?’ The woman’s irate manner seemed to abate as she looked at Dora, wild-eyed and clearly distressed.

‘Yes. He has.’

‘Right.’ The woman moved to the little window beside the door. She lifted the nets, turned around the sign. ‘There. All done. Bloody men. Just for the night you say, dearie?’

‘Yes. Just for the night.’ Dora’s eyes were fixed on the window, the people passing by out there, their faces veiled by the crisp, clean nets. Maybe she’d been imagining seeing him. Maybe. Her mind was so panicked that probably that was all it was: her seeing things.

‘That’ll be ten pounds including breakfast, which is served at eight, no later. You want to sign in then?’

Dora got out her money, paid, signed in the book as Mrs Steven Bradbury.

The woman turned the book around and peered at Dora’s signature.

‘Bradbury, is it?’ She eyed her keenly. ‘You don’t sound like a Yorkshire girl.’

‘I’m from down south, originally. Portsmouth. My husband’s a Yorkshireman.’

‘Right.’

‘So if anyone comes in here asking . . .’ said Dora.

‘Don’t worry. I’ll turn them away.’ The woman looked Dora over, mud-spattered, flushed with exertion. Then her eyes lingered at Dora’s middle. Her lip curled in disgust. ‘Men! They’re all bloody monsters.’ She picked up Dora’s suitcase. ‘Follow me up then,’ she said, and started up the stairs.

As Dora made to follow, her eye was caught by a man with cold sharp features, passing by outside.

Donny Maguire.

Her heart jumped in her chest like a gazelle scenting a lion in the undergrowth.

Christ, she’d only just missed him.

Dora hurried up the stairs after the landlady.

She’d escaped him. For now. But tomorrow, she was going to have to get out of here, move on. Because he wouldn’t give up. Donny Maguire would stay on her tail until he ran her to ground. She knew it.

46

‘It was a lovely breakfast,’ said Dora, handing her plate to the landlady when she came over to her table next morning.