Chapters (73)
- Rabbit Hole
- Also by Mark Billingham
- Title Page
- Copyright
- Dedication
- Epigraph
- Preface
- PART ONE
- 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
- PART TWO
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- FIFTY-THREE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- FIFTY-FIVE
- FIFTY-SIX
- FIFTY-SEVEN
- FIFTY-EIGHT
- PART THREE
- FIFTY-NINE
- SIXTY
- EPILOGUE
- ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
- Back Cover
‘Yeah?’ I was surprised it had taken this long for someone to fill the bed that had been unoccupied since Jamilah had left. It was usually one out, one in, like straight away. I wasn’t complaining though. ‘Man? Woman?’
‘Some woman, apparently . . . fifty-odd, he reckons.’
Donna was passing by on her morning route march and had clearly overheard. ‘I’ve already seen her,’ she said. ‘Seems nice enough.’
Lauren and I both wheeled round immediately, desperate for more details, but Donna had gone, heading quickly away towards the airlock. It wasn’t a big deal because we knew she’d be back again soon enough and there was no way Lauren would let her go next time without pumping her for every bit of info she had.
She’d already begun to sing, throwing her own, horrific idea of twerking into the mix, as she mangled the words of a Bob Marley song.
‘New woman, new blood, new woman new blood . . .’
That should give you some idea of just how giddy the patients in here can turn when a newbie gets brought in. I’m not talking about an Informal because they’re rarely worth getting the flags out for. I’m talking about a brand spanking new section-monkey.
Same as I was, a couple of months ago.
It’s easy to tell which is which, because it’s a whole different process.
The ones being sectioned don’t go to the 136 for a kick-off and they usually rock up in an ambulance, fresh from A&E. The Informals are on their own if they’re asking to be admitted, or with coppers hanging off them like that poor bastard who’d been dodging traffic. The unfortunates who are likely to be here for at least twenty-eight days tend to arrive with one or two distressed rellies in tow, a doctor or two and maybe a social worker to make an outing of it. They’re all over the place most of the time. They’re still confused about what had happened to them back at the hospital or why the hell people had turned up at their house with legal documents. They’re angry because they think they’ve been conned and some of them (yours truly, very much included) scratch and spit their way through the admittance procedure like they’re being dragged towards a firing squad.
Ah, the procedure . . .
You know when you check in to a nice hotel?
Well it’s bugger-all like that.
You know when you check into a shit hotel?
No, not like that either.