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I entered through the heavy wooden doors and was blinded by the contrast of the gloomy drinking lounge, which was emphasized by the neon glow of beer signs and jukebox in the corner. Terry was sitting at the small table in the back of the lounge, with a clear view of the front door. As soon as he saw me, he got up, threw a couple of banknotes on the table and walked towards me.

"You're fucking late, Evie!" he hissed, and for a moment catching me off guard. He grabbed my forearm, pulling me towards the exit.

"Hey!" I squeaked. "What's your problem?"

Without an answer, he continued towards the door, dragging me after him.

"I wanted a drink first," I said, hoping to figure out what was wrong before we got to the car.

"No drinking right now," he said as we stepped out of the pub. "Henry has been waiting for over an hour now and you are fucking late!"

"So?" I cringed. "He always waits for me, it's a part of the appeal." I said sulkily.

"One of these days he'll get sick and tired of your shit, lovey. I ...

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