I was strolling across to the town centre to get some coffee for the guys. We’d been working late all week, and the stuff from the vending machine somehow tasted even worse late in the evening.

My mind was still mostly full of thoughts of Alex – her uncanny resemblance to the woman Carthia, her book, her sister’s dreams, everything about her really.

It had been just over two weeks since that fateful day at the lift, and I still couldn’t fathom out what in the world was going on.

We met most days for lunch, and each evening, when I finally got off work, I would go round. We talked and talked, and I was sure I knew more of her now than anyone else alive.

And yet it did not come anywhere near to explaining what the hell was going on.

I was about to cross the dual carriageway that separated our building from the town – not much traffic in the evenings – when I heard a scream, a woman’s scream, a cry for help mixed with some really strong language.

I bolted for the steps to the overpass. The overpass I should have taken in the first place I thought to myself. I took the steps two at a time. There had been a few muggings in the past, and most people did not venture into the more secluded areas after dark, at least not alone.

At the top, not ten feet away, a woman was kneeling on the floor desperately clutching her bag, while a large, muscular guy held a knife to her face and pulled at the bag strap. Three other big lads, all in their late teens, stood about him grinning, jeering and generally goading him on.

I heard the words, “Leave the bag, Shane… let's just take her off and have us some fun."

The one I presumed was Shane hissed at the other telling him, “Shut the fuck up, stupid. Don’t use my name."

I recognised the woman, her name was Pauline. I had seen her in a couple of meetings I had attended a few weeks ago.

From what I knew of her she was a fiery one, always spoke her mind, always got the job done, and cowed down to no one. Strange the thoughts that flash through your mind at times like these, really, really irrelevant thoughts, A fiery temperament must be a compulsory trait for female Project Managers. I almost laughed, but then brought myself under control.

Unfortunately Pauline was not being cowed now either. Oh, she was obviously afraid, but I could see by her eyes that there was no way she was going to let them have her bag.

If she had just let it go in the first place, they would be gone by now. But here they were still, and one of them at least, contemplating rape.

“Hey lookie,” said the wannabee rapist, finally noticing my presence. “We got us a punch bag.” And he started towards me.

Shane had moved his knife back away from Pauline’s face and was flashing it in my direction. But he still held the bag strap, and Pauline still held the bag.

She could just let go and run, but I could see that there was no fear of that. Her eyes raged with fury that this could be happening to her.

Before I was taken I was not a very physical person, I had rarely been in a fight, even as a youth, and would always try and talk my way out of a situation rather than let it turn violent; and I was so indecisive, so very, very indecisive – it frightened me how much I had changed.

Had this been Ellas, after I was free of him, I would have seriously hurt all four of them for this – an attack on a helpless woman. But I was home now, home where too much violence would attract attention, attention that I really did not need.

Yet, too little or too slow and this woman, Pauline, might be seriously hurt – decision made then I thought.

My knife hit Shane in the arm, just above the elbow, and he dropped his knife screaming, “He stuck me, he stuck me. The fucker stuck me."

Before Shane’s knife had hit the floor, my foot shattered the approaching wannabee’s kneecap, and stepping forward I laid Shane out with a blow to his temple.

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Then, as I knelt to help Pauline to her feet, the other two took off as fast as they could, with not a single thought for their friends.

To my astonishment, as she stood, Pauline shouted, “Bastards! You bloody bastards!” at the top of her voice, and began to kick Shane as hard as she could. She was a short woman, short and petite, five foot nothing was the phrase that described her, but boy could she kick.

I let her have her due, and then gently took her arm and pulled her back. Her face was contorted with rage, and it took a moment to get her attention.

“You’re safe now,” I said, holding her arm as she tried to pull back toward Shane. “Come with me. I’ll walk you back to your office. We can call the police from there if you want.”

But that wasn’t what I wanted, I didn’t want any contact with the police at all. It had taken forever for the interest in my case to go away as it was, this would only start it off afresh.

I took hold of both her arms, held them until she looked up at me. “Look, I’ll stay if you want to press charges, but to be honest I would rather not be caught up in a mess like this. The press would have a field day given my previous exploits," I said to her gently.

She looked at me for a long moment, not quite understanding, and then she must have recognised me, realised who I was and what I had meant.

She turned back to Shane and gave him one last kick, and then said, “Okay. We’ll both leave. The other two got away, but at least these two got what they had coming." And with that she smiled, and that shocked me more than the kicks had. This was one hard lady.

I reached down and pulled my blade from Shane’s arm, he groaned with the pain even through his unconsciousness. With my handkerchief I picked up Shane’s knife, it was similar to mine and would do, I thought. I smeared the knife in Shane’s blood and threw it at wannabee’s feet. “Pick it up,” I growled.

Wannabee tried to shy away from it, until I stepped toward him. He grabbed at it then, holding it up to me, threatening me with it.

I laughed. “That’ll do nicely,” I said, and catching hold of Pauline’s arm, I guided her past him and back towards our building.

I took Pauline home, well she took herself home really; she drove. I no longer had a car and did not care to start driving again.

Her knees were scuffed and one of her hands, and she had a bruise on one cheek where Shane had punched her because she would not release her bag.

Despite all this, she said she was fine to drive. I went along for the ride, and to make sure she got home safely before the shock came along, as I knew it must.

All thoughts of coffee, and the guys waiting for it had fled my mind.

Pauline lived on her own in a semi just out of town. Her boyfriend, or should I say ex, had moved out some months ago.

We had just stepped over the threshold when it hit her. She had offered me coffee and then suddenly started to shake, and in seconds she was sobbing uncontrollably. The adrenalin and rage had held it in check until then, but the shock of all that had happened, and what might have happened, had finally caught up with her.

I sat her down on the sofa and pulled her close. There was nothing I could say that would help, so I just held her until it went away.

Eventually, after a few moments, she calmed down and sat up, wiped her eyes and tried to apologise for being so tearful. It was not like her at all she said, she never cried no matter what.

She tried to get up to make the coffee, but I caught hold of her arm, stopped her. “You sit, I’ll get the coffee,” I said. “You’ll feel better in a few moments. Just sit, relax, and try to calm yourself."

After that we sat, drank coffee, and talked. We talked into the small hours, about tonight’s events at first, and then just small talk; two strangers getting to know one another.

Pauline had seen me with Alex a number of times, she said, and had thought we were more than just friends. She did not really know Alex, but she knew of her, and liked that Alex stood up for herself.

She never once questioned where my knife had come from, why I carried such a thing or where it was now. Nor did she ask about my year long absence. She just accepted me as someone who had come along and helped when she needed it. She told me a little of her life; she was from the Valleys in South Wales originally, moved here some five years earlier for the job. She’d been with Paul, her ex, for two years, but in the end it hadn’t worked out.

She was over him now, she said, and surprisingly it had only taken a week or so to realise that she was quite happy to be alone.

It was nice. We got along really well for those few hours, and I found myself relaxing in a way I had not done since my return.

Nothing untoward happened, just talk, but I think I made a friend that night, someone who perhaps, just perhaps one day I could confide in.