‘Sounds deadly dull. I hated art at school – always seemed totally pointless. You don’t look the arty type – well, apart from your shoes that is.’

‘What type do I look like?’

‘Hmmm.’ He looked me up and down and gave my hair a repulsive stroke. ‘A check-out assistant… Ha ha ha, hilario! Only joking. Tell me, this bloke you are meant to be meeting, what is it about him that appeals to you?’

‘Well, he’s good-looking, got a nice way about him and he makes me laugh. He showed an interest in me, so I suppose that’s the main thing.’

‘Better looking than me? I doubt it. I’m only joking, but listen, I’m not buying the graphic designer line. Not with that grey jacket and that awful fucking brooch.’

He grabbed at the brooch and tugged it towards him. It came away from the jacket revealing the wire to which it was attached.

‘What the fuck is this?’ he exclaimed. He pulled some more until at least a foot or so of the wire was revealed. ‘Are you fucking filming me? You little fucker. My wife sent you, didn’t she? Piece of fucking shit.’

He stood up and began to pull as hard as he could on the wire. I felt the little black box at the other end of the wire unclip from my belt. He gave it a harder pull as more of the wire emerged from my lapel. I yelped in pain as the box was forced upwards around my waist and then got trapped under my bra through which it was threaded. I stood up and grabbed the wire. He clawed at the front of my blouse trying to get a grip on the box. I couldn’t scream. I couldn’t speak. I let go of the wire and just stared straight into his eyes.

‘Give me the fucking camera. You are not leaving here until I have that fucking camera,’ he barked.

I reached inside my blouse and started to unscrew the housing that attached the wire to the box. He was looking around at the five or six other customers in the bar, offering them a reassuring smile.

‘Sorry about this, just a wardrobe malfunction,’ he offered to the concerned but docile onlookers.

I stopped what I was doing and dropped my arms to my sides.

‘Why don’t you just leave her?’ I asked.

‘Just give me the camera,’ he replied.

‘I’m not going to do that. You will have to rip it off me and, like I say, why don’t you just leave her?’

‘If you give her the footage then it will be her that fucking leaves me.’

‘Well, maybe that would be easier for you.’