Ahead of him now was a flight of several steps that provided access to the main road, from where pedestrians could walk into the City in one direction, or instead across London Bridge to the South Bank. Even though his nose was tucked into his upturned collar against the cold, it still registered the stench of stale urine in this sheltered place – reminiscent of the generally squalid ambience of the stairwells at a typical inner city block of flats.
Then he heard the noise again – definitely a shout – and it brought him to an abrupt halt. He recognised the voice: it was Kay and the word she was shouting was his name. He turned back towards the river and Kay arrived on the run a second later. Beads of perspiration glistened on her forehead and cheeks – Nick guessed from her dance floor exe
