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
He’s probably trying to smile, but his mouth just . . . twists. ‘I think it’s only fair that I know,’ he says. ‘That’s all. There’s still all your stuff in the flat, obviously.’
‘You didn’t chuck it out? That’s really sweet.’
‘Seriously, Al—’
‘No, it is.’
‘Where are you going to go?’
‘Is that an invitation to move back in?’
For the first time, there’s the tiniest twinge of guilt at seeing him look so uncomfortable. My head must be even more messed up than I realise. ‘It’ll probably be a halfway house kind of place,’ I say. ‘Just for a bit, then hopefully the council can find space for me somewhere. There’s no way I’m going to live with my mum and dad.’
‘That all sounds . . . OK,’ he says.
‘And, you know, I’m still hoping to get my job back. So . . .’
Lucy must be spreading the word, because now Donna is taking time out from pounding the corridor to peer in. It’s like a skull looming at the window. I wave her away.
‘Listen, Al,’ Andy says. So I do, because he says it in such a way that I know it’s going to be good. ‘When everything happened . . . you said some weird stuff to me, you know? Accusing me of all sorts. Saying I was involved in what was going on or what you thought was going on . . . that I was doing things to try and hurt you. Like I was part of some big plot or something. And I wasn’t. I promise that all I was ever trying to do was help you.’ He leans towards me and he’s actually wringing his hands. ‘You do know that, don’t you, Al? I mean . . . you know that now, right?’
I say nothing. I just stare at him until he looks away again.
He really wants an answer. He wants the answer that will make him happy, at any rate. I’m certainly not going to give him that, but I don’t particularly feel like telling him what I do think, either.
I reckon I’ve told more than enough truth for one day.
‘Trust me, Andy,’ I say, eventually. ‘I’ve got far better things to worry about at the moment. Fair enough?’ Blimey, I couldn’t help myself. I told him the truth anyway.
He seems OK with that, or at least he accepts it’s the best he’s going to get, so for the next fifteen minutes or so it’s just chit-chat. He asks how my mum and dad are, and how Sophie is. What the food’s like in here and if I’ve made any friends. He talks a bit about his job and how he’s been finding it hard, but all I can think is boo-hoo and it doesn’t sound like it’s got any less tedious.