Anastasia and Falana were waiting for her at a table in the bar. They’d already acquired a pitcher of sangria, and Falana poured out a large glass for Maria as soon as she sat down. The place was noisy, filling up quickly with young people celebrating the start of the weekend. In the background techno dance music throbbed. Not much chance of serious conversation here, thought Maria.
She had agreed to meet the two girls after Anastasia had bumped into her at lunchtime and asked if she’d join them that evening; caught on the hop, and distracted by the discovery that her desk had been tampered with, Maria had said yes. All afternoon she had kicked herself for agreeing, but having said yes, she didn’t see how she could get out of it without being gratuitously rude.
She had gone home first, showered and changed into tight jeans and a sparkly top – she was expecting to find the girls done up in their latest finery. She swapped her office shoes for strappy sandals, and her handbag for a little shoulder bag, then she closed the windows, put down the blinds and left her flat.
‘Do you always come here?’ Maria now asked.
Anastasia nodded. ‘We usually have something to eat in this place, then go on to the clubs nearby.’
They stayed in the bar for an hour or so, sharing various small plates of meze, which were plonked on the table from time to time by passing waiters. The sangria jug gradually emptied and another was acquired. Maria tried to steer the conversation towards their office colleagues but UCSO Athens was devoid of eligible men and the girls had little interest in talking about anything in it beyond Katherine’s clothes. They shared a gentle laugh at the old-fashioned ways of Mr Limonides and they all spoke with envy of Claude’s travels, but beyond that neither of the Greek girls said anything to provide Maria with additional insights into the staff of UCSO.
After one false start in a new nightclub, which turned out to be for men looking for other men, they moved on to a place called Broadway, which had an enormous dance floor. By the bar, girls gathered in small packs, eyeing groups of young men who were eying them. Maria had been brought up rather traditionally and found all this a bit unnerving. Anastasia and Falana met some friends in the club, most of them young enough to make Maria feel ancient. She nursed a glass of wine while Falana talked with a succession of youths who seemed barely old enough to shave. Anastasia turned out to have a steady boyfriend, and stayed clinched with him on the dance floor. When a small pimply youth offered to buy Maria a drink, she decided it was time to go home.
Outside the club there was no sign of a taxi, but the doorman pointed out a bus stop a little way down the street and, though it was almost one o’clock, assured her the buses were still running. Before long a half-full bus arrived and she climbed on and sat down in the comparative peace and quiet with a sigh. What a waste of an evening, she thought. Nothing new learned and only a raging thirst and a headache to show for it. At least she had done her bit for good relations with the girls. They had been happy that she’d joined them. Hopefully a repeat performance would not be expected.
Maria was the only one to get off the bus at her stop. The small shops in the street were closed up and deserted. The night was still, the air heavy. All she could hear was the occasional distant whoosh of a passing car, and the slapping of her sandals against the pavement. Then she heard another sound behind her. It took her a minute to realise it was someone else’s footsteps.
She was still a good ten minutes’ walk from her flat. As she went on she continued to hear the steps. She turned round once, but couldn’t see anyone. Perhaps they were too far back. But when she stopped to listen, the footsteps stopped as well. Could it have been an echo? No. When she started to walk again, the other footsteps were not in synch with hers.
Tock tock tock. Still the other steps rang out, but no one caught her up. Maria tried to find this reassuring; if someone were following her, wouldn’t they be drawing closer? Yet she found herself growing alarmed.
This was not a neighbourhood for late-night revels; the surrounding apartment buildings were all dark. The streetlamps threw out only a weak, watery light. She could always scream for help – that would certainly wake people up. But doubtless the mysterious stranger behind her would turn out to be some teenager, walking home after a party. How embarrassing that would be.
She was now just a minute or two from the safety of her flat, but the footsteps were still echoing hers. Was the noise drawing any closer? She couldn’t tell. What should she do? She turned the final corner on to her own street, then quickly reached down and took off her sandals.
Then she ran, holding the shoes in one hand, barefoot along the pavement. At last she reached her building and stopped, breathless, at the front door to tap in the entry code. As she did so her back crawled and she tried to listen for the sounds of someone else on the street, but all she could hear was the drum-like thumping of her heart.
Inside the building at last, she closed the outside door firmly behind her. The light to the stairwell was on, which comforted her as she climbed the flight of stairs. She opened her door slowly, still listening.
Her flat felt stuffy and warm, and she remembered she had closed the windows and the blinds earlier. She went to the fridge to get some cold water, feeling rather silly about the fear she’d felt in the street, now that she was safe. Whoever had been behind her was probably sitting in their own flat around the corner now, blissfully unaware of the scare they’d given her.
Crossing the sitting room, she went to run a bath. When she flicked the switch just inside the bathroom door, the bulb popped and the room stayed dark. She turned to get another bulb from the kitchen, but the light in the sitting room had gone out as well, leaving the entire flat in darkness. Damn, Maria thought, the fuse must have blown. She edged back out of the bathroom to get the torch she kept in the sitting-room cupboard.
It was then that she heard a noise behind her. ‘Who’s there?’ she demanded, her stomach suddenly contracting with ice-cold fear.
Something moved in the darkness. She felt an arm encircling her throat. She choked, and found she couldn’t scream.
Or breathe.