Thinking about money, I remind myself that I wanted some cash to take back to Carrie. There’s a cash machine across the room and I head over and withdraw 50,000 rubles. I’ve no idea how much that is, but it’ll do for now. I push the money deep into the pocket of my denim cut-offs, and head to one of the small bars. I frown at the pumps, not knowing which one to go for, and then something makes me turn around. That feeling when there’s someone in your presence, a shift in the air that grabs your attention. He’s at the next small bar, the one I had almost chosen before this one. His head is dipped, turned away from me, and I can’t see his face, but suddenly I can’t breathe.

It can’t be.

‘What you like?’ The man behind my bar is holding a glass aloft, head cocked slightly. Waiting.

‘I…’

I can’t stop staring at the man at the next bar. It’s something in the way he moves his head. The way he runs his hand through his thick, sandy hair. His hair was one of the first things I noticed – well cut and styled, but natural; not one of these stupid hipster haircuts full of wax and cream. The shape of his shoulders, too, and the perfectly sculpted arms, fitted perfectly into his T-shirt – not straining and bulging like those idiots who spend too long in the gym.

I’d stood behind him at the reception desk, waiting to check in. The man behind the counter was flustered and taking too long. He was serving a couple who seemed to be making a number of requests that he wasn’t used to dealing with.

He was standing behind them, seemingly unbothered by the delay. Head bent slightly as he scrolled through his phone. He smelled of citrus aftershave and the underlying hint of coconut sun cream. I’d taken a couple of steps towards him, and I could see his phone screen though the gap in the bend of his arm. Pictures of him and friends. Active, happy people. I think he must’ve sensed me then, in his personal space, and had taken a step forwards, just as the harassed receptionist finished with the couple and beckoned him to the desk.

I’d stepped forwards too, but kept enough distance this time. I dropped my rucksack onto the floor and started to rifle through the top pocket, making it seem like I was busy looking for my passport or something.

‘Miss – you want beer?’ The man behind the pumps speaks loudly to me, as if he thinks I haven’t heard him.

‘I … uh.’ I shake my head and step away from the bar. Another man slides into my space and he and the bar man start talking in fast Russian.