7:Prague Diary

We made it back to the city and as Russ had seen a sign saying that there was a D.J on in the Hard Rock Café, he wanted to go back there. It was dead when we went in. We had one drink and then walked bloody miles to another bar that he wanted to try. This one advertised live music, but only had live cricket on the telly to offer. I was waiting for the vodka to kick in and liven me up but, as I sat there, I felt incredibly tired.

I didn’t want to be a party pooper but I was exhausted and felt like crap. We hadn’t been to bed before three all week and we were up again at eight. All I wanted was to get back to the hotel and fall into bed. Now this is where I start blaming Russ for what happened next and it really wasn’t his fault. He didn’t want to go to bed. He wanted to stay out and finally find some night time fun in Prague. How would I have felt if it had been the other way around and he wanted to go home when I didn’t? Conscious of not spoiling his fun I told him to stay out and enjoy himself and I would go back to the hotel. When he agreed to this and seemed perfectly happy to go on without me, I was pissed off. He insisted in walking me back as far as Dominoes so that I wouldn’t get lost. He was going back into the city, in fairness, he could have just dumped me where we were and left me to it.

From Dominoes it was a very simple tram ride back to the hotel. I assured him that I’d be okay and to go and enjoy himself and then I saw my arse big time when he did. Russ is a simple soul. He doesn’t do mind games. He’s the type of man that if he asked you what you want for your Birthday and you say, ‘Nothing,’ that’s exactly what he’d get you. If I’d told him that I wanted him to come back with me, he’d have reluctantly agreed. I told him to go and then blew my stack when he left me. As soon as I got on the tram, alone, I was aware of a young lad eyeing up my handbag. Now maybe he thought it would go nicely with his new blue dress and just wanted to ask me where I’d bought it, but—I waited until the very last second to get off at my stop so that he couldn’t follow me.

What happened next was nothing. It sounds really bad, but it really wasn’t. Because of my height and stature and the fact that I can look after myself, I was never in any serious danger. But if circumstances had been different, or the man was a little younger and fitter, I very well could have been.

To get from the tram to the hotel you have to pass under a railway tunnel. A man had just come out of the bar on the corner. He was a dirty scummy old bastard and I’d put him at probably about sixty years old. He wore a blue blazer covered in food stains and dirty grey, polyester trousers. He was unshaven and looked as though he hadn’t had a wash for some time. We crossed paths at the centre of the tunnel. It was still only about eleven o’clock but it was very dark and secluded. As we passed something told me to meet his stare and not show any weakness. I think this partly saved me from a serious attack. As I walked on, instinct alone told me that he had stopped and had turned around to face me. I didn’t hear this, I just knew. If I hadn’t wheeled around when I did he would have attacked me from behind.

He was standing in the middle of the tunnel. He had taken down his flies and had his cock out and he’d started to move back towards me.

I took two paces towards him, made aggressive ‘come here’ motions with my hands and yelled at the top of my voice, ‘Come on then. Come on.’ He faltered. He was unsure of himself and hesitated. He hadn’t expected me to turn. I retreated with my back towards the entrance, still facing him and giving him loads of attitude. I kept taking a step back towards the hotel end of the tunnel all the time egging him on to come and get me. He was sizing me up and moving towards me but his confidence had gone. I said something along the lines of, ‘Come on then, just try it mate and I’ll break your fucking neck.’ To be honest, and to get this into context, he was only a short man and not particularly stocky. I never really felt frightened and was just following my instincts on how best to deal with the situation. Something told me that weakness meant trouble. As I walked backwards he came towards me, still game to try something on. He was muttering at me in a low voice in Czech. I didn’t understand a word of it but I got the intonation and I don’t think he was asking me if I’d like a nice cup of tea. He was talking dirty and nastily too. I raised my voice so that I was making plenty of noise and continued to threaten him. I was in a tunnel below the ground and there wasn’t another soul in sight. I kept my eyes on him all the time but in my peripheral vision I was looking for a large rock or something that I could use as a weapon, there was nothing.

I’d been backing up since I’d taken my first two steps towards him to show that I wasn’t frightened of him. The minute I stepped out of the tunnel and into the street lighting, in view of the bar that he’d probably come out of, he threw in the towel. He shook his fist at me, said something uncomplimentary that ended in a scathing, ‘English’ and spat on the ground. Wheeling around he went on his way. I watched him out of sight not wanting to turn my back on him a second time, he stopped once to put his cock back in his pants and when I was sure that he wasn’t going to turn back on me, I went on to the hotel.
I believe that if I’d shown that man one second of weakness or fear he’d have sexually assaulted me. He’d intended to jump me from behind, take me by surprise and drag me back into the darkest part of the tunnel. I blamed Russ for it. I was a woman alone at night in a strange city. Okay, so nothing happened, but what if he’d been a big strong bloke or had a couple of mates with him? Would I have been so lucky then? I was within hearing of the bar. I could have screamed my head off with a good likelihood of somebody hearing me, but I’d bet a week’s wages that nobody would have come out to see what the trouble was. And what if I’d been smaller and more vulnerable or if I’d been a young girl? What might have happened then?

I was furious with Russ for putting me in that position. What kind of man leaves his woman alone in a strange city at night, I thought, seething and stocking up on verbal ammunition for his return? Once in bed I began to worry about him after seeing the seedier side of Prague that night. What if he’d got in with bad company who might take advantage of him? He could be robbed or beaten. Hell, he’s only a small bloke, he could have been raped. Russ sees only the good in people; with a drink inside him he’s unaware and doesn’t see what’s under his nose. I have a writer’s imagination and played out every possible scenario culminating with the one where I boarded the plane, dressed in black alongside Russ’ coffin. I dozed periodically while I waited for him to come back but woke every few minutes worried sick about him. He stumbled through the door in a drunken stupor at half past five in the morning to a very frosty reception.