She pictured herself flinging open the door and running to the stairs. Running in her high heels across the empty top floor of an empty car park. The sound of her heels tip-tapping on the concrete. That useless, hopeless sound of high heels when they think they can get away. You must have heard that sound, that staccato, woman sound. Clicking past your window when midnight’s been and gone. Such a nervy, fragile, female sound.
