It all happened so quickly and Alison was scared. Yvan squeezed her hand tightly. He would give himself up before he’d let anything happen to her and she knew it.
As they crouched down behind the seats of Stamford Bridge in the very early hours of Christmas Day, a dozen men in heavy leather jackets were checking the stadium row by row. Their shouts were getting closer. Time was running out and Alison was relying on Yvan to decide on an escape plan for them.
She had always trusted Yvan to know what to do, ever since they met on a Kibbutz ten years ago.
Alison had only known about the Kibbutz because her mother had wanted to teach her the value of hard work, just as their neighbour's son had done so. Alison didn’t really follow worldwide politics and she didn’t really care for free labour even if its purpose was utopia. The only reason Alison agreed to become a volunteer was because she was bored.
She was bored of the same old clubs and bars in London; she was bored of visiting the hairdressers every six weeks for another trim and if she was feeling daring, something experimental like a fringe; and she was bored of dating a bad boy from Surrey just to annoy her parents.
No, life at the age of 19 had become predictable and Alison needed a new challenge that would make her feel alive again. Little did she know, 10 years later, that she would be staring death in the face - and for the second time round.
To be continued ...
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