‘Look,’ he continues, ‘this might sound really creepy, so feel free to tell me where to go, but my hotel is just there…’ He pauses and points through the trees at a towering concrete block next to the river. ‘And maybe you could do with some place to get cleaned up? Have a lie down?’

Cleaned up? I’d like to be offended, but I can actually smell myself through the clean clothes, and it’s not particularly fragrant. I should tell him where to go, just for his assumptions. I was clean before I came out, wasn’t I? This is obviously a combination of the sprinting, the adrenaline come-down and the vodka leaching out of my pores. I should tell him where to go, and I should head back to my own hotel and sleep, but instead I say, ‘That’s very kind of you. I’m staying in a crappy hostel and it would be nice to go somewhere nicer for a while.’

He squeezes my shoulder. ‘See? That’s exactly what I was thinking. I was thinking: This girl is backpacking – this girl would just love to come and see the massive tub in my en suite … Am I right?’

He grins, displaying his perfect white veneers, and I think: I know your type, Brad. But I can handle it.

Then he stands up and holds out a hand for me to take, and I take it, like some grateful little college girl so pleased to be with this handsome man, and I think how much I am going to enjoy the rest of the afternoon – and not for any reason he thinks.

32

It turns out that Brad is staying in the Royal Bolshoi Plaza, which is considerably plusher than my hotel, so in some ways I’m not even lying about how nice it would be to have some proper luxury. The staff here are well groomed and slick, and none of them bats an eyelid as we walk past the desk. I’m sure in my hotel there would have been a hint of a sneer at least, after their snotty non-welcome when I checked in.

Brad calls the lift using his key card, then extends a hand as the doors slide open.

‘After you, honey,’ he says, with a wink.

I get a strange little chill, then. Not sure why. But something makes me think that ‘Brad’ – if that’s even his name – has done this before. The way he’d ‘rescued’ me and brought me back here seemed a little too easy. Or maybe that’s just because of my own messed-up head. If I hadn’t passed out like that, I fully intended to swipe at least one of those babushka dolls. Not because I even want one, but because I’d enjoyed the thrill of the earlier shoplifting and fancied another buzz.