33 Nick
The Talbot Arms is a pub I’ve never been in before. I’ve lived in this town all my life and the pub’s always been here, but I don’t think I know anyone who’s ever drunk in it. Put simply, it’s the roughest of rough estate pubs; a concrete monstrosity covered in St George’s crosses and Sky Sports banners. There’s always at least one window boarded up, and you can smell the cigarettes and stale piss from a passing car.
The car park is strewn with dog-ends and lager cans, but there’s a distinct lack of cars. I’m only inches from the door when I suddenly wonder what the hell I’m doing. This is a massive step to take. The fact that the kidnapper wants me to do this rather than hiring someone themselves tells me they want to make me suffer, too, which means it’s someone that Tasha and
