‘Put a bit of distance between you and your last drink, then we’ll talk. I thought that you were getting yourself straight. Last time we spoke I had distinct vibes. “I just need a purpose,” you were saying.’

‘You don’t think getting drunk is having a purpose?’

‘I don’t think that’s what you meant, no.’

‘Well, OK then, give me one. Give me a purpose.’

Cuckoo exhaled noisily. ‘Christ, it’s all on me now, is it? I’m in charge of keeping you alive?’

Now that Abbott’s phone had charged, stuff was happening. Alerts appeared. He reached for the phone, but just as he did, Cuckoo snatched it away. ‘Listen, Abbott, this is serious. I hear what you’re saying. I know that back in special forces you could switch the boozing off at will and pull yourself back into shape when the job required it. But that was before. That was when you were still SF. Alcoholism is a progressive disease. It’s an addiction. It’s not something you can just pull the plug on.’

‘That’s OK, then, because I’m not an alcoholic and not an addict so there’s no problem.’

‘Prove it,’ said Cuckoo.

***

Back on the street, Abbott watched Cuckoo depart, knowing that the other man was right. OK, he told himself, let’s just cap the day’s drinking and then we’ll start anew tomorrow. Inside The Sportsman the wake was still in full swing; if anything, more raucous than it had been before. Even Nigel the landlord was lit up. ‘Well, if it ain’t The Sportsman quiz champ. Can I get you a beer?’

‘Love one,’ said Abbott, assailed by a sudden thirst. As Nigel went off to pull the pint, he checked his messages. There was one from Tess sent a few days ago inviting him to dinner. Had he seen it? He couldn’t even remember. Either way, there was a second text prompting him. ‘Hello? Anyone there? Dinner? Saturday night?’

Abbott fought a wave of panic. Dinner. Tess. Dinner. Tess. Dinnertess.

No fight, no contact, no operation had ever made him feel as off-balance as this. This was the effect Tess had on him.

OK. Calm, calm, calm. So it was only Tuesday. He hadn’t missed the date. He texted back, ‘Love to. Just give me a time and place and I’m there.’

He thought about Tess. About the two of them sitting together at dinner, not in Kettner’s, but in her house. He thought of what Cuckoo had said, and how Cuckoo was right. If he was going to track down Scutter – and if Scutter really was connected – then he needed to be on his game.

He thought about all of that. And by the time Nigel returned with his pint, he was gone.

Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12