to the landlady, and sealed it. He hadn’t bothered to explain why he was going. He’d just asked her to return his deposit check to his parents. The rent was paid up till the end of the month, but Kaspar suspected she’d have found a new tenant before then. Even though the boiler had a tendency to break down and noise from the street outside was a constant disturbance, plenty of people would consider the inconvenience worth it to live in such a vibrant area.
Kaspar slipped the envelope into the landlady’s post box, which was one of a number built into the wall at the side of the front door. Her apartment was at the top of the building, two floors above the one he’d been renting. He was well aware he could have gone up to check whether she was in. He’d have been able to hand over the key and ask for his deposit back in person. But even though the money would have been useful, it would have meant explaining his sudden decision to leave, and he didn’t want to have that conversation with her—or anyone else, for that matter.
He’d left his elderly, black-framed bike chained to the railings outside the house. Once he’d retrieved it, he climbed on, adjusted the bulky rucksack on his back then set off down the busy street without looking back. It was a short distance from the red-light district to Centraal station, along the Damrak with its tacky mixture of souvenir shops, fast food restaurants and overpriced bars. As he stopped off at a bureau de change, Kaspar thought that as much as he loved Amsterdam, he wouldn’t be too sad if he never saw this part of the city again.
A vast parking area for cyclists had been created in front of the station. He found a free space on one of the racks on the lower level and wheeled his bicycle into it. Though he wrapped the lock around the front wheel, he didn’t fasten it. It went against all his instincts to encourage some opportunist to come along and steal from him, but he didn’t need the bike any longer. Let someone else make use of it.
On the ride from his apartment, Kaspar had been considering the best way to reach England. He could travel by air, rail or sea, but buying a last-minute plane ticket was out of the question since he needed to conserve his money for as long as possible. Going by train would mean traveling all the way to Brussels and picking up the cross-channel Eurostar service from there the following morning. The quicker—and most likely cheaper—option was the ferry. Boats to the English coast sailed from Hoek van Holland. Looking up at the board in the main entrance hall, he noticed a departure to that very destination in just over ten minutes.
He strode over to the nearest ticket machine, full of renewed determination.
* * * *
The ferry terminal was a long, low, glass-walled building, busy with people arriving to catch the last sailing of the evening. Kaspar took a deep breath and walked inside. If there were no spaces left on tonight’s boat to Harwich, he’d have to make a bed for himself on the uncomfortable-looking seats in the departure lounge. He hadn’t realized the advertised ‘regular service’ meant one boat in the morning and one in the evening.
“Can I help you, sir?” The woman at the desk spoke to him in English.
He replied in the same language. “Yes, I need a ticket for the boat that leaves at half-past ten.”
“For one person? Let me check. I’m not sure whether we have any more cabin spaces available.” She stabbed at her computer keyboard before shaking her head. “I’m sorry. The last one’s just been taken.”
“Oh, I don’t need a cabin.”
“Unfortunately, sir, it’s a requirement on board all our overnight sailings. I can’t allow you on as a foot passenger. I’m sure you understand.”
He suspected the ruling had been brought in to prevent rowdy stag parties roaming the ship overnight, disrupting the sleep of the other travelers, but it didn’t help him. Kaspar turned away from the
Kaspar slipped the envelope into the landlady’s post box, which was one of a number built into the wall at the side of the front door. Her apartment was at the top of the building, two floors above the one he’d been renting. He was well aware he could have gone up to check whether she was in. He’d have been able to hand over the key and ask for his deposit back in person. But even though the money would have been useful, it would have meant explaining his sudden decision to leave, and he didn’t want to have that conversation with her—or anyone else, for that matter.
He’d left his elderly, black-framed bike chained to the railings outside the house. Once he’d retrieved it, he climbed on, adjusted the bulky rucksack on his back then set off down the busy street without looking back. It was a short distance from the red-light district to Centraal station, along the Damrak with its tacky mixture of souvenir shops, fast food restaurants and overpriced bars. As he stopped off at a bureau de change, Kaspar thought that as much as he loved Amsterdam, he wouldn’t be too sad if he never saw this part of the city again.
A vast parking area for cyclists had been created in front of the station. He found a free space on one of the racks on the lower level and wheeled his bicycle into it. Though he wrapped the lock around the front wheel, he didn’t fasten it. It went against all his instincts to encourage some opportunist to come along and steal from him, but he didn’t need the bike any longer. Let someone else make use of it.
On the ride from his apartment, Kaspar had been considering the best way to reach England. He could travel by air, rail or sea, but buying a last-minute plane ticket was out of the question since he needed to conserve his money for as long as possible. Going by train would mean traveling all the way to Brussels and picking up the cross-channel Eurostar service from there the following morning. The quicker—and most likely cheaper—option was the ferry. Boats to the English coast sailed from Hoek van Holland. Looking up at the board in the main entrance hall, he noticed a departure to that very destination in just over ten minutes.
He strode over to the nearest ticket machine, full of renewed determination.
* * * *
The ferry terminal was a long, low, glass-walled building, busy with people arriving to catch the last sailing of the evening. Kaspar took a deep breath and walked inside. If there were no spaces left on tonight’s boat to Harwich, he’d have to make a bed for himself on the uncomfortable-looking seats in the departure lounge. He hadn’t realized the advertised ‘regular service’ meant one boat in the morning and one in the evening.
“Can I help you, sir?” The woman at the desk spoke to him in English.
He replied in the same language. “Yes, I need a ticket for the boat that leaves at half-past ten.”
“For one person? Let me check. I’m not sure whether we have any more cabin spaces available.” She stabbed at her computer keyboard before shaking her head. “I’m sorry. The last one’s just been taken.”
“Oh, I don’t need a cabin.”
“Unfortunately, sir, it’s a requirement on board all our overnight sailings. I can’t allow you on as a foot passenger. I’m sure you understand.”
He suspected the ruling had been brought in to prevent rowdy stag parties roaming the ship overnight, disrupting the sleep of the other travelers, but it didn’t help him. Kaspar turned away from the
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