on a wet Tuesday, Hal had the promenade to herself, the flashing lights of the pier the only sign of life, apart from the gulls wheeling and crying over the dark restless waters of the channel. But tonight, even the most hardened partygoers had decided against venturing out, and now, at 9:55 p.m.
The bars and clubs were open long into the night, spilling drunk locals and tourists onto the pebbled beach right through until dawn. It was rare for the seafront to be completely deserted.
The girl leaned, rather than walked, into the wind, clutching the damp package of fish and chips grimly under one arm even as the gale plucked at the paper, trying to unravel the parcel and send the contents skittering away down the seafront for the seagulls to claim.Īs she crossed the road her hand closed over the crumpled note in her pocket, and she glanced over her shoulder, checking the long dark stretch of pavement behind her for a shadowy figure, but there was no one there.
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