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
My mum’s always had that kind of soft voice. The sort that makes you feel things will get a bit better, even when there’s no chance of that happening. I find myself getting sleepy, which is good, because I’ll need to be on the ball come the morning.
‘Listen, Mum, I’ll let you get back to sleep.’
‘I’m wide awake now, love. Anyway, you still haven’t said why you’re ringing at half past stupid?’
That’s my mum for you. Always the one to ask the awkward questions.
‘I was just ringing for a natter,’ I say. ‘That’s all.’
How can I tell her that I’m calling to say goodbye?
FIFTY-SIX
FIFTY-SIX
It’s the second day running that I haven’t eaten any breakfast, but this time I don’t even bother going to the dining room to not eat, because I want to be ready and I’m guessing they’ll come good and early. It’s what I would do. I have a conversation which I’ve already forgotten with Femi at the meds hatch, then another with Donna as I take the bottle of water and step away to swallow the multicoloured contents of the paper cup.
The anti-psychotics, the mood-stabilisers and whatever the new ones are.
Then I wait.
It feels strange around here this morning, though I’m well aware that could just be me. Projecting, I think it’s called. The members of staff I’ve run into since I got up definitely seem a bit tense, though, and I can’t help wondering if they’ve been pre-warned. It would make perfect sense and again, it’s what me or Banksy or any detective with a bit of nous would have done. So the arrest team have the ward set up just the way they want, before they come steaming in.
Two, possibly three of them.
An extra person in handcuffs with them when they leave.
Marcus is still around. I’ve never seen him here on a Saturday and a Sunday and although I’m guessing they’re still short-handed, because it doesn’t look like Malaika’s back yet, it might just as easily be because he knows what’s going to be happening.
I step in front of him when he emerges from the toilet.
‘When are they coming?’
‘When’s who coming?’
It seems convincing, so I decide to give him the benefit of the doubt, and, of course, there’s one very good reason why the members of staff might not know anything about it. Why the last thing the police would do is pre-warn them. Because perhaps the person they’re coming here to arrest is a member of staff.
Fuck’s sake, Al. Keep it together . . .
My voice or Johnno’s. It’s hard to be sure any more.