Hidden Depths

Paris - Continued

A few days had passed and Rashid was growing to despise his room. It was too small, too hot and too noisy. Despite being very good value for Paris, he knew that he only had enough money to live in this sauna-like shoebox for a week or two before his sister's life savings were exhausted.

But none of this was really to blame for his hatred of the place. Rashid's standards were sub-zero after a lifetime of living in his mum and dad's Birmingham bedsit.

Rather than the heat, the noise or the smell, it was the lack of distraction that Rashid hated. Although he travelled light, he had brought a lot of baggage with him. He hated this room, he hated his past and he hated the ridiculous custom that had taught his father to value his pride more than his own children.

So, despite his vow to spend his evenings engaging in the cheap and time-accelerating pastime of sleeping, at around nine pm he pulled on his trainers and headed out of the door. Once again, Rashid wanted to run. He wanted to run from his room, he wanted to run from his memories, and he wanted to run from himself. He wanted to leave Rashid Shadid lying on that tiny bed, in that rubbish little room, and walk away as a new person.

The man on reception didn't look up from his phone as Rashid passed by and pulled open the flimsy front door. Stepping into the street, he caught a glimpse of long dark hair in his peripheral vision. He casually turned his head to have a closer look and saw that the girl who had passed him was walking with short hurried steps. She turned her head to look his way and he couldn't help but look back at her business-like glance with a sloppy and self-conscious grin.

As the girl continued to look his way, Rashid felt his face redden and his legs freeze. He was used to being ignored by all girls other than his sister, and the pleasure of anonymously admiring her beauty from a distance began to turn into rising panic, as he realised she was stopping and turning to face him full on. It was therefore an unusual relief when he was barged out of the way by a burly black man dressed in an expensive-looking suit.

The relief Rashid felt was soon replaced by the familiar fury that had sparked so many previous battles. The drunken businessman grasped at the brunette with big, powerful arms, but she evaded his grasp with agility that Rashid hadn't been expecting. The girl kicked off her high heels and began to circle the big man while his boozed-up brain struggled to process her swift movement.

Rashid wasn't sure if she was going to need his help, but his fight-or-flight reflex had been sparked and, as ever, it was the fight instinct that was unquestioningly obeyed.

'Oi, suit!' Rash barked in French. 'You wanna be careful who you push around.'

The businessman turned and looked down his nose at Rash, before replying in drunken but near perfect English.

'Run along to a much-needed French lesson, little English boy, before you get...hurt.'

Rash couldn't believe it. Not only had this drunken fool pushed him around, he'd had the bare-faced cheek to join in with the rest of this bloody city by ridiculing his French skills. Rash caught the girl looking at him and realised that she had actually only just noticed him. He was slightly disappointed to work out that the previous glance had been at the well-dressed monster of a man who was storming up behind him.

Despite the fact that she was in the process of being attacked, the girl seemed to be looking at Rash with an air of mild amusement. That was more of a blow to Rash's pride than the suit's ridicule, but it was the suit who was going to pay.

With a well-practised springy snap of his legs, Rash closed the two metres between him and the suit and lifted a powerful uppercut to his chin. The suit wobbled but stayed upright and managed to compose himself quickly enough to send an aggressive but amateur punch towards Rash's forehead.

Rash ducked down and twisted his body to slam the bent elbow of his left arm into his attacker's ribs. The businessman winced with pain as Rash spun his hips and body back around and channelled the full momentum behind his right fist, burying it deep into his enemy's solar plexus.

The suit dropped like an Armani-clad sack of potatoes and hugged his ribs and stomach while gasping for breath. Rash leant over him with his fists clenched at his hips, ready to pound the man if he tried to get up. The beautiful girl placed one hand on the wall of Rashid's hotel as she lifted up a perfect foot and replaced her strappy high heels.

'There's no fight left in him,' she said. 'He's just a drunken rich boy who thinks he has the right to take what isn't being offered. But we should probably leave before the cops show up.'

It was the first time that a Parisian had continued to address him in French, so it was a moment or two before Rash registered that the girl was telling him to go with her. Although his blood was still pumping, he thought that he had probably overreacted once again. His shoulders dropped with embarrassment as he looked from the girl to the man on the floor and back. The girl pulled on her second shoe.

'Are you coming then?' she asked, holding out her long slender arm and tapping her fingers against her open palm. Rashid's fists relaxed and he tentatively put his hand in hers, before they briskly walked away from the quietly groaning suit on the floor.