BooksBarbecue
Back Rabbit Hole Save as PDF
Chapters (73)
  1. Rabbit Hole
  2. Also by Mark Billingham
  3. Title Page
  4. Copyright
  5. Dedication
  6. Epigraph
  7. Preface
  8. PART ONE
  9. ONE
  10. TWO
  11. THREE
  12. FOUR
  13. FIVE
  14. SIX
  15. SEVEN
  16. EIGHT
  17. NINE
  18. TEN
  19. ELEVEN
  20. TWELVE
  21. THIRTEEN
  22. FOURTEEN
  23. FIFTEEN
  24. SIXTEEN
  25. SEVENTEEN
  26. EIGHTEEN
  27. NINETEEN
  28. TWENTY
  29. TWENTY-ONE
  30. TWENTY-TWO
  31. TWENTY-THREE
  32. TWENTY-FOUR
  33. TWENTY-FIVE
  34. TWENTY-SIX
  35. TWENTY-SEVEN
  36. TWENTY-EIGHT
  37. TWENTY-NINE
  38. THIRTY
  39. THIRTY-ONE
  40. THIRTY-TWO
  41. THIRTY-THREE
  42. PART TWO
  43. THIRTY-FOUR
  44. THIRTY-FIVE
  45. THIRTY-SIX
  46. THIRTY-SEVEN
  47. THIRTY-EIGHT
  48. THIRTY-NINE
  49. FORTY
  50. FORTY-ONE
  51. FORTY-TWO
  52. FORTY-THREE
  53. FORTY-FOUR
  54. FORTY-FIVE
  55. FORTY-SIX
  56. FORTY-SEVEN
  57. FORTY-EIGHT
  58. FORTY-NINE
  59. FIFTY
  60. FIFTY-ONE
  61. FIFTY-TWO
  62. FIFTY-THREE
  63. FIFTY-FOUR
  64. FIFTY-FIVE
  65. FIFTY-SIX
  66. FIFTY-SEVEN
  67. FIFTY-EIGHT
  68. PART THREE
  69. FIFTY-NINE
  70. SIXTY
  71. EPILOGUE
  72. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
  73. Back Cover

Left or right. Shit . . . I need to pick a direction, but I can’t, because I haven’t got a clue where I’m going.

Just . . . away.

For fuck’s sake, Al . . .

Me and Johnno in Greggs, one lunchtime. Pushing the boat out. There’s a woman tutting in the queue behind us and Johnno’s getting tetchy because I can’t decide between a pasty and a sausage roll.

Just pick one, Johnno says.

So I do.

FIFTY-ONE

FIFTY-ONE

I really don’t want anyone to think that I was planning to do this when I talked George into taking me out for a fag. I swear I just wanted to get off the ward for a few minutes and get my head straight. It was only when I saw that suspicious-looking bloke that I knew I needed to get away. It wasn’t like I was regretting not having any breakfast and was suddenly desperate for the tea and toast that’s sitting in front of me right now.

The café was the first place I came to, that’s all. I couldn’t run any further, and I wanted to be with people.

With normal people.

There was a reasonable crowd in here when I came in. There still is, but now they’re all eating, which I suppose is why the woman behind the counter can take a few minutes off. Anyway, that’s what I’m thinking when she waltzes round the counter and walks across to sit down at my table.

She was friendly enough ten minutes ago, when I ordered. and whatever else has happened to me, I think I’ve always been a pretty good judge of people. So, when I finally find the courage to look her in the eye, I say, ‘I’m really sorry, but I can’t pay for this.’

‘I guessed that,’ she says.

‘I mean I can . . . but I haven’t got any money on me.’

‘It’s a mug of tea and a slice of toast,’ she says. ‘I think I’ll survive.’

She watches me eat for a while, then turns to wave when one of the other customers leaves. They all seem to know her, so the place has obviously been here a while, and I wonder if she runs it on her own. There’s no sign of anyone else, even though there must be someone back there in the kitchen knocking out all the bacon and sausages or whatever. She’s wearing a wedding ring . . . so maybe her husband? I’m trying to work out her set-up, trying to work her out. I reckon I can still do that. I try to do it with newbies on the ward, same way I did it back before things fell apart, with other coppers, and with suspects, obviously.