“Careful on your way home tonight,” says Len.
“Don’t you live in Tufnell Park?”
“No,” said Amy, “Raynes Park. They’re miles away. Literally.”
“Ha! Sorry,” says Len, as he pulls on his gloves. “To me a park’s a park. Anyway, don’t get sexually assaulted. Not even in Raynes Park.”
Amy throws a pen at him.
“I don’t make any promises. Not with this body,” she says, gesturing lewdly. “I have to fight ‘em off as it is.”
Sylvia can hear them as she makes her way down the stairs. She can’t stand them. They work on the floor below and she has never caught their names, but every day she hears their horrid jokes and piercing laughter.
She pushes open the front door to the building and joins the commuter glacier that inches down High Holborn.