long route to boost his fare, but I didn't care enough to complain. Along a narrow alley, a man pushed a small wheelbarrow; behind him, two dogs fought beside an overflowing rubbish bin. People smoked outside pubs, crowding around the doorways in a way that surely deterred passing trade. Sullen faces peered through the fading light, their eyes containing only suspicion.
  By the time we reached the Armley Ridgeway I was ready to get out and walk. Only the depressing sight of a sex shop hoarding kept me inside the car. A feeling of claustrophobia pressed against me, pinning my body to the seat, and the driver kept flicking glances at me in the rearview mirror. I finally jumped out of the vehicle at the roundabout near the Travel Inn, stuffing money into the driver's fist and not waiting for any change as the lights cycled to green and the traffic began to move forward around me. I made the opposite kerb safely, yet I felt dogged by a strange sense of muted terror.
  It took a while to cross the adjacent road; traffic was heavy this close to Leeds centre and nobody seemed prepared to let me step out without sounding their horn. At the next green light I lurched off the kerb, slamming into the side of a Mazda and almost falling bodily onto the dusty bonnet of a black Ford Focus.
  Once in the centre proper, I began to feel calmer. My mood lifted as the last dying rays of sunlight caressed my cheek, and as I drew closer to the Crowne Plaza Hotel, I almost felt normal again â whatever the hell normal is.
  I slipped into the pub opposite the hotel and ordered a single malt, downing it swiftly before the barmaid had even returned with my change. "Another?" she said, grinning. I shook my head and pushed for the door, nerves almost forcing me to change my mind. What was I doing here? Surely this was the wrong thing to do. Ellen and I were history. Whatever we had once shared should not be resurrected. Then I remembered that she wanted to ask me something â a favour of some kind â and I eagerly accepted the justification to keep our dinner date.
  I saw her as I entered the rotating glass doors. She was standing in the foyer next to a cheap potted plant, a few steps away from a circular sofa occupied by four or five women in skirts so short I could see the meat of their thighs as they crossed and uncrossed their legs. Ellen waved as I made my way across the open space towards her, the other hand going up to push her hair behind one ear.
  She looked good, as if the years had never passed. She had cut her hair short and lost some weight â rather than curvaceous, she now looked tanned and athletic, as if she worked out a lot. She was wearing a simple black dress with a thin, long-sleeved cardigan over the top. It was attractive but not overtly sexy, and I wondered how long she had agonised over which outfit to choose.
  The women on the sofa were speaking in what sounded like Russian or Polish â an eastern European language I could not quite place but had heard recently in the little room above Baz Singh's club. One of the women laughed and the sound was so shrill that it hurt my ears. One of her companions slapped her thigh.
  "Thomas." Ellen's voice held the slight tinge of an American accent, which was to be expected as she'd spent so long in that country. It made her sound like a different person, someone I didn't really know. The nerves increased, and I lost my footing on the carpeted floor, almost stumbling into her.
  "Hello, Ellen. It's nice to see you." I held out a hand, then pulled it back and leaned in for a quick embrace. She kissed my cheek. Her lips felt like silk; her skin smelled of lemon.
  "You too, Thomas. You look good â if a little on the skinny side." She smiled: a flash of pure-white dentist-cleaned teeth in her smooth, brown face. I wondered if she used Botox. Her cheeks were taut yet strangely puffy. Then I
  By the time we reached the Armley Ridgeway I was ready to get out and walk. Only the depressing sight of a sex shop hoarding kept me inside the car. A feeling of claustrophobia pressed against me, pinning my body to the seat, and the driver kept flicking glances at me in the rearview mirror. I finally jumped out of the vehicle at the roundabout near the Travel Inn, stuffing money into the driver's fist and not waiting for any change as the lights cycled to green and the traffic began to move forward around me. I made the opposite kerb safely, yet I felt dogged by a strange sense of muted terror.
  It took a while to cross the adjacent road; traffic was heavy this close to Leeds centre and nobody seemed prepared to let me step out without sounding their horn. At the next green light I lurched off the kerb, slamming into the side of a Mazda and almost falling bodily onto the dusty bonnet of a black Ford Focus.
  Once in the centre proper, I began to feel calmer. My mood lifted as the last dying rays of sunlight caressed my cheek, and as I drew closer to the Crowne Plaza Hotel, I almost felt normal again â whatever the hell normal is.
  I slipped into the pub opposite the hotel and ordered a single malt, downing it swiftly before the barmaid had even returned with my change. "Another?" she said, grinning. I shook my head and pushed for the door, nerves almost forcing me to change my mind. What was I doing here? Surely this was the wrong thing to do. Ellen and I were history. Whatever we had once shared should not be resurrected. Then I remembered that she wanted to ask me something â a favour of some kind â and I eagerly accepted the justification to keep our dinner date.
  I saw her as I entered the rotating glass doors. She was standing in the foyer next to a cheap potted plant, a few steps away from a circular sofa occupied by four or five women in skirts so short I could see the meat of their thighs as they crossed and uncrossed their legs. Ellen waved as I made my way across the open space towards her, the other hand going up to push her hair behind one ear.
  She looked good, as if the years had never passed. She had cut her hair short and lost some weight â rather than curvaceous, she now looked tanned and athletic, as if she worked out a lot. She was wearing a simple black dress with a thin, long-sleeved cardigan over the top. It was attractive but not overtly sexy, and I wondered how long she had agonised over which outfit to choose.
  The women on the sofa were speaking in what sounded like Russian or Polish â an eastern European language I could not quite place but had heard recently in the little room above Baz Singh's club. One of the women laughed and the sound was so shrill that it hurt my ears. One of her companions slapped her thigh.
  "Thomas." Ellen's voice held the slight tinge of an American accent, which was to be expected as she'd spent so long in that country. It made her sound like a different person, someone I didn't really know. The nerves increased, and I lost my footing on the carpeted floor, almost stumbling into her.
  "Hello, Ellen. It's nice to see you." I held out a hand, then pulled it back and leaned in for a quick embrace. She kissed my cheek. Her lips felt like silk; her skin smelled of lemon.
  "You too, Thomas. You look good â if a little on the skinny side." She smiled: a flash of pure-white dentist-cleaned teeth in her smooth, brown face. I wondered if she used Botox. Her cheeks were taut yet strangely puffy. Then I
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