Free Three Steps Behind You by Amy Bird

just as I get to Moss Bros, I am nearly hit by a red bus zooming up at me from behind. I shake my head as I hurry into the shop. Nicole really is out to get me.
    Inside the shop, there is no red. No femininity. Just suits for men. I decide to hire, not buy. That way, I will still have some cash left, for the other needs. I hire the best one they have – it even has tails.
    ‘You going to a wedding?’ asks the assistant.
    ‘No,’ I say. ‘Are you?’ I will need to practise small talk, for later.
    He doesn’t reply. He is clearly out of practice too.
    I leave my old clothes in the changing room. After all, I won’t need the car rental polo shirt again, if I’m settling with them. I can transform, fully, into researching author. I can shed my external shell of daily drudge and take on the mantle of literature. I will wear Luke tonight, be Luke, inhabit him. Maybe inhabit another. Adam will be proud, finally, of the work I produce.
    As I leave the shop and walk along the street towards Soho in my new suit, people look at me and smile, and get out of my way. This is what it feels like to have power, to be Luke.
    Luke struts along Dean Street like a hero. He is the hunter gatherer, he is the man beyond all men, and tonight he will bring home a prize
.
    I also notice that, for the first time today, Nicole is not following me. She is nowhere. She is gone. It is just Luke and I, walking around, living our life, preparing for book four, which won’t feature her – by name. Anonymity, to protect her way of life. If she still has one.
    I go into a busy-looking bar and order a martini. I sit on a bar stool, being careful to flick my tails over the edge of the red leatherette seat. As I sip my martini, I survey the scene. Some groups are just women, some have men in, some are couples. There is one woman at a table by herself. She may be attractive, I don’t know, but if she was that great, she wouldn’t on her own. I try to appraise her objectively. Quite young, say twenty-six, which I guess gives her points. Brown hair, a bit frizzy. Glasses. Deduct points. Low-cut top, pink with silver stripes on, displaying collar bones and cleavage. Add points. Arms quite toned, no hint of a belly but she is sitting down so hard to tell. Neutral score. Her wine glass is nearly empty.
    She looks up. I smile. She looks down. I wait. She looks up again. I nod. She looks down again, hiding a small smile. I wait for her to look up again, and she does. I raise my glass and tap it slightly, tipping my head in a questioning gesture. She remains seated for a moment, does a little shrug to herself, then stands up.
    ‘Have you been to a wedding?’ she asks.
    Oh, okay. This is the latest line. I get it. The guy in the shop was hitting on me.
    ‘No,’ I say. ‘Have you?’
    ‘No,’ she says.
    ‘You’ll need a drink then,’ I say. ‘White wine?’
    She nods.
    ‘Good with lobster,’ I say. ‘Although champagne’s better.’
    ‘Right,’ she says, and laughs. ‘I have champagne with lobster all the time.’
    ‘Then why are you here?’ I ask her.
    She hoists her handbag up on her shoulder. ‘I fancied a drink. The flat gets so stuffy, when it’s hot.’
    ‘You live locally, then?’ I ask.
    She nods. ‘Where are you based?’
    ‘North London.’
    ‘Oh, very nice,’ she says. I think of my grey house with its grey windows on the grey North Circular.
    ‘Parts of it are,’ I agree.
    ‘I’m Luke, by the way,’ I say, because I am, tonight.
    ‘Ally,’ she says.
    I nod. The barman comes over to us.
    ‘Ally here will have a white wine, large,’ I say. Ally pulls her purse out from her bag. ‘Oh no, my treat,’ I say, putting my hand over hers, pushing the purse back into the bag.
    ‘My mother told me never to accept gifts from strangers,’ she says.
    ‘Is your mother here?’ I ask.
    Ally gives a small shrug, and a half-smile. ‘No,’ she says.
    ‘Would you like her to be here?’ I ask, looking into her eyes.
    ‘No,’