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
LAUREN, aka The Singer. From Kent or Essex . . . that neck of the woods, and I almost went with another nickname entirely, because a couple of nights after I got here she marched into my room, asked if she could use my bathroom and proceeded to piss all over the floor. I mean everywhere, and not just in my bathroom, either. Everybody else’s too as it turned out, like she was marking her territory. So I nearly went with Cat-Woman, but even though the piss-spraying is marginally more unpleasant than her tuneless wailing it happens a bit less often, and trust me, she’s nothing like those sexy women in the Batman films, so The Singer it is.
Lauren could be anywhere between thirty and fifty, and actually looks a bit like Adele (before she started living on fresh air and kale and lost all that weight) but sadly labours under the tragic misapprehension that she also sounds like her. I must say, though, sometimes the singing can be quite funny. This is her third time on section, and I have to admit that I did laugh a few days after I came in, when I found her in the toilets, serenading herself in the mirror.
‘I’m once, twice . . . three times a loony . . .’
But . . .
You know how prisons have a ‘Daddy’ or whatever? Someone who everyone’s a bit wary of and who more or less runs the place? Well, Lauren’s the Daddy on Fleet Ward. Nobody messes with Lauren, not Ilias, not Tony . . . nobody. Even George and Marcus give her a wide berth when she’s got one on her and she’s on a WAL more often than she isn’t.
She’s just . . . bad.
Some people are, right? I met plenty of them when I was working, nicked my fair share, so there was something about her I clocked straight away that I definitely did not like the look of. It’s not drugs, I’m fairly sure of that, so I can only think it’s some kind of bog-standard disorder. Serious ADHD or a skewed personality thing. Who knows, maybe she can’t help herself. Maybe she skulks back to her bedroom every night and weeps into her pillow, hugs a teddy bear or whatever, but the fact is that, out here during the day, she can be a dreadful cow. Like all bullies she wants a reaction and she usually gets one from most people. Tears or fawning, a daily shouting match.
I try not to get involved and steer clear of her, but it’s hard.
We’re living on top of each other, so sometimes you haven’t got a choice.
One day, me and Lauren are going to kick off and it won’t be pretty.
EIGHT
EIGHT