Having ironic little thoughts was a self-indulgence too. Whatever CC had become entangled in, he had Al’s gun in his pocket. With a prop like that to hand, the chances of things getting messy skyrocketed. But then, things had become messy long ago, when they’d decided to kill Malone.
A figure up ahead who might be CC morphed into someone else: wrong age, wrong shape. Keep looking. She turned a corner, crossed the road, reversed direction.
At the time it had felt like unfinished business; something that should have happened sooner. Leaving CC out of it, though, had required deliberation—CC would have balked at wreaking revenge.
Her phone pinged again: Al, this time with a full sentence.
She didn’t reply. Looking skyward, as if checking the weather, she scanned upstairs windows, trying to gauge the depths each concealed. Maybe behind one of them, Di Taverner, a woman whose very thoughts were gilded splinters, was talking to CC. She’d be explaining, first, why his blackmail attempt had failed, and then why he had no choice but to fall in with whatever she was about to outline.
Which would doubtless be ugly and dangerous, Avril thought. But he wouldn’t be facing it alone.
Shirley had done as much staring out of the window as she could tolerate, and given that the alternative was to work she took to brooding instead about Louisa’s future plans, and how she might—well, maybe not fuck them up, but that was the backup plan. They were colleagues, and she had the greatest respect, but Jesus: If Louisa was in line for some high-profile security job, she—Shirley—would be failing in her duty to herself if she didn’t point out to whoever was in charge that she was the better candidate. The most basic review of their respective CVs underlined that. Louisa was in Slough House because she’d botched an op that put a bunch of hooky guns on the street, whereas Shirley’s so-called crime was decking a handsy colleague, which wasn’t so much misdemeanour as social duty. Anyway, long story short, she, Ash and Lech were now in Roddy’s room, brainshowering—which she wasn’t a hundred per cent was an actual word—how to get the lowdown on Louisa’s new job, supposing it actually existed. Or some of them were.
“Not really our business, is it?” said Lech.
“Not really our business, is it?” Ash mimicked.
“Fuck off. I mean, if she’s decided to move on, who can blame her? She’s been here longer than any of us.”
“Except me,” said Roddy.
“I wasn’t counting you.”
“Why not?”
“Because you don’t count.”
“It’s not that she’s leaving, it’s where she’s going,” Shirley said. “If they’ve got openings, we should know about them.”
Lech shook his head. “What, she’s found a new job, so we should all go with her? What world are you living in?”
Ash said, “Same one as you. That’s our problem.”
“You can quit. No one’s asking you to stay.”
“Just because your face looks like an emoji for despair doesn’t make you wise and all-knowing.”
“Yeah,” said Shirley. “It just makes you basically unemployable.”
She was starting to think Ash might not be as annoying as first and also second through twentieth impressions had suggested. Maybe she’d let her know that talking to Lamb about her kitty money might not be a happy chat.
“So ask her,” Lech said.
“She probably won’t tell us.”
“I can find out,” said Ho.
“Yeah, right. The tattooed wonder boy.”
“I’d rather have a tattoo than a face like a . . .”
“Pissed-on bin fire?” Shirley suggested.
“You’re very free with the insults, for someone the shape of a pedal bin. Anyway, how can he find out?”
“Simps,” said Ash. “He can check her email.”
Lech looked at Roddy.
Roddy said, “Who do you think raided Doctor Desk’s inbox?”
“If you’ve ever even
“Yeah, yeah, no one wants to read your emails,” Shirley said. “You have no life.”
From downstairs came the unmistakable sound of Slough House’s back door opening, the aural equivalent of a purple-inked letter of complaint. Then feet on the stairs: a purposeful clatter, someone in a hurry. Two someones.
The door burst open and River was there, Louisa close behind him.
“Oh hi,” said Lech. “Did Sid reach you? She called earlier, I think she’s lost her phone.”
River stared.
“I said—”
River stepped forward, grabbed Lech’s head in both hands and kissed his forehead. “Thank you,” he said. Then released him. “It didn’t fucking occur to you to let me know?”
“It wasn’t me took the call.”
“Where is she?” Louisa asked.
“I’m not your out-of-office bot,” Ash said. “She called, I told Lamb. End of.”
