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
Why do I keep saying it? I know my Thing is walking around in here somewhere on two legs. Easier than saying he or she all the time, I suppose.
Tony puts out a hand and says, ‘Good luck, Al,’ like we won’t be seeing each other again. I know he’s not going anywhere, but I shake his hand anyway.
‘Cheers, Tone.’
Besides which, having seen all those stab wounds in Debbie McClure, he or she is definitely an it.
When George comes ambling round the corner, I jump to my feet ready to go. He puts on a comical burst of speed and by the time he gets to me he’s pretending to be out of breath. He’s already got the keys in his hand.
‘Honestly.’ He looks at Tony and shakes his head, then mimes puffing on a cigarette. ‘Bloody addicts, eh?’
I never smoked roll-ups before I came here. Didn’t smoke much of anything come to that. I was one of those annoying part-time smokers who just scrounged fags off other people at parties, but now I’m every bit the addict George was talking about, and it’s always roll-ups, because it’s cheaper and that’s what everyone else in here smokes. These days, I can roll a fag blindfolded and with one hand, but you wouldn’t know it. Not now, seeing me spill tobacco and tear two Rizlas while I struggle to stop my hands shaking.
‘Here,’ George says. ‘Let me.’
‘I didn’t think you smoked,’ I say.
‘I don’t, but I reckon I can make a better job of that than the pig’s ear you’re making . . .’
I hand over the tobacco and the papers and lift my face to the sun until he hands me back the cigarette.
‘Thanks.’
He lights it for me, steps from shade into sunlight himself. ‘Those new meds’ll kick in pretty quick,’ he says. ‘Sort these memory issues out.’
‘Hope so,’ I say.
‘Those blips.’ George looks at me. ‘That’s all they are, right, pet?’
I’m trying to decide whether to tell him the truth when I remember what Bob told me on Thursday and decide it would be much more useful to ask George about his row with Debbie instead. I’m just working my way round to it when I spot a bloke walking quickly down the hill from the main entrance towards us.
I stop and stare at him.
‘What?’ George asks, turning to look.
‘Who’s that?’