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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

There are two fake leather sofas at the front and a variety of chairs scattered around behind. A few armchairs that almost certainly have things living in them and plenty of the hard blue ones that are knocking around all over the ward. They’re usually lined up around the walls in here, but as soon as the TV gets switched on people drag them into the middle of the room to get a better view. There’s even a few low tables dotted about so people can keep their tea or nuts or Fanta within easy reach.

It’s nice enough, as it goes, long as you don’t mind the farting.

Everyone has their spot, of course, and I’ve seen it kick off more than once if a favourite perching position is snaffled. Ilias likes to sit at the back, from where he can provide a foul-mouthed commentary if he’s in the mood, or occasionally throw things. Shaun prefers a chair near the door and Lauren, as always, was in prime position on a sofa at the front, her fat fist wrapped around the remote control as though it were a sceptre. Or a sock full of snooker balls.

I pulled one of the empty chairs across and sat down next to Ilias.

‘What’s on?’

‘It’s all shit,’ Ilias said. He stared at me, suspicious. ‘You weren’t there for dinner.’

‘I was asleep.’

He grunted, then cupped his hands round his mouth, like nobody would hear him shouting otherwise. ‘Turn it over!’

Lauren stuck up a finger.

‘Why do you care, if it’s all shit?’

‘It’s the what-do-you-call-it . . . the principle,’ Ilias said. ‘Why should that cow decide which shit we have to watch?’

We sat and watched for a couple of minutes. Some chefs on a road trip. It wasn’t unenjoyable, as it happens.

‘You’ve been here about as long as me,’ I said.

‘Longer.’ He sounded proud of the fact, and said it again, keen to make sure I knew. ‘I was here the night they brought you in.’ He let out a low, phlegmy chuckle. ‘Shouting about lights in the garden and funny music and all that.’

I ignored that, took a few seconds, and nodded. ‘Makes sense, because you always know what’s going on around this place. Who’s getting off with who, who’s got the hump about something, all that. You keep your ear to the ground.’ I looked at his ear as I said it. Huge, and sprouting long black hairs like he was a hobbit.