Chapters (49)
- Cover
- Table of Contents
- Also by Graham Hurley
- LIMELIGHT
- Copyright
- Dedication
- Epigraph
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- AFTERWARDS
Brett has sent me an email. It comes from a police computer. He wants a private meeting. And he says it’s urgent.
I’m looking at Mitch again. Is it too late to take a plane to South America? Or the Far East? Or New Zealand? Somewhere Bullivant will never find me? While I’ve still got my passport, should I simply beg a lift to Heathrow, blow a heap of money on a ticket, and flee?
I shake my head. I can hear my mum again. Face whatever’s coming your way, she’d say. And never turn your back.
I decide to ring Brett. He answers the call at once.
‘Enora?’ He’s sounding almost cheerful.
‘Me.’
‘We need to talk.’
‘Why?’
‘Just say yes. You know the big car park at the foot of the hill? The one on the seafront? I’ll be there in forty minutes. Look for the same shit Ford Focus. Nothing changes in this life.’
Abruptly, before I have a chance to ask anything else, he’s gone. Should I bring a solicitor? Should I ring Tony or Andrea and ask for advice? Should I lean on Mitch to accompany me down? In the end, I do none of those things. My mum, again. Man up, girl. Take it on the chin.
When Mitch asks where I’m going, I tell him I need the fresh air. This has the merit of being true. The inside of what passes for my head is befogged. Too much red wine. Too much excitement. I take the long way down to the seafront, and then march along the pebbles to clear my tubes. By the time I finally make it to the car park, Brett has already arrived and I’m feeling a whole lot better.
He watches me coming towards him and leans across to open the passenger door.
‘Top night,’ he says at once.
‘You were there?’
‘Of course I was there. Incredible turnout. Total triumph.’
This is truly the last thing I’m expecting. Part of me, to be frank, doesn’t believe him.
‘So why? Why were you there?’
‘They sent me.’
‘They? You mean Bullivant?’
‘No. I’m afraid Bullivant’s history, poor bugger. He fought and lost. Our lot can be unforgiving, believe me.’
I shake my head. I don’t understand a word he’s saying. Fought? Lost? What the fuck’s going on?