Pete legs it under the bridge, up Back Lane, across the road into Burgage Square, her light is on, the glass balcony door slightly open.
He wipes his hands on the grass. Sniffs under his arms. ‘Fucking hell.’
He wonders if he should shout, looks round for something to chuck.
A guy in a suit comes into the light of the hallway and Pete is over and pushes through as he opens the door.
But Pete is past him and up the stairs knocking on Lyn’s door.