Emma Flyte didn’t seem too enamoured of Slough House. She wasn’t actually running her finger over surfaces and tutting, but that might have been because she was trying to avoid touching anything. ‘I’m familiar with the phrase “office culture”,’ she’d said, on looking round. ‘But yours appears to involve actual spores.’
River wouldn’t have minded, but he’d cleaned up just last week. Or thought about cleaning up, he now remembered. A plan he’d ultimately rejected in favour of doing sod all.
Flyte had chosen his office in which to assemble them because Lamb’s room barely had space enough to roll your eyes. Lamb, pouting like an emperor in exile, had commandeered River’s desk, and was currently rearranging its clutter with his feet. But at least he’d kept his shoes on. River was leaning against a filing cabinet, his instinct being to keep everyone in sight, while Coe was at his own desk, acting, as usual, as if he were alone. Catherine had pulled a chair against the wall and sat calmly, a folded newspaper in her lap, and Louisa and Shirley were either side of the window, like mismatched candlesticks. Ho, of course, had been hustled away by Dogs and Lady Di, so wasn’t there. That’s all of us, thought River.
Shirley had glowered at both him and Louisa that morning, but her heart hadn’t been in it, mostly because she’d wanted to tell them that she’d been right and they’d been wrong. Somewhere around two in the morning, there’d been broken glass all over Ho’s street. A body had come through a window, and been spirited away. It all sounded like the kind of thing slow horses daydreamed about while fiddling with spreadsheets – action, excitement, other people getting hurt. Though Shirley’s vagueness with the details suggested she hadn’t covered herself in glory.
‘So Lamb was there all the time?’ Louisa asked.
‘Go out with Kim, go home to Jackson Lamb,’ said Shirley. ‘Ho’s priorities are seriously fucked.’
Afterwards there’d been police followed by, in short order, the Dogs. It had been, Shirley said, a travelling circus, and nobody had a clue what was going on.
Situation normal, then.
Flyte, who had positioned herself by the door, was casting an eye over the assembled company. River’s previous encounter with her had involved his head coming into violent contact with hers, and the fact that this was accidental probably didn’t console her as much as it did him. At the time she’d suffered bad bruising, but the damage had left no permanent trace. If Kim was an eight and a half, possibly a nine, Emma Flyte was a ten, possibly an eleven.
What she was focusing on now was Coe, who was fixing buds in his ears.
‘What’s that?’
He didn’t respond.
Lamb said, ‘He’s a bit stand-offish. Try punching him in the face.’
‘Coe,’ Louisa said. ‘Someone wants a word.’
Coe looked at Flyte.
‘What’s that?’ she repeated.
‘iPod.’
‘Put it away.’
‘Why?’
Emma Flyte said, ‘Do I look like I’m here to answer questions? This is a lockdown. No comms.’
‘It’s an iPod,’ Coe repeated.
‘I don’t care.’
Catherine said, ‘You’re familiar with Slough House’s brief, I assume?’
‘I’ve had that pleasure.’
‘Then you’ll know that some of us have … issues.’
‘What’s your point, Ms Standish?’
‘Just that listening to music has the effect of calming Mr Coe down. He’s subject to panic attacks, you see.’
‘And what happens if he doesn’t listen to music?’
‘I’m not sure,’ Catherine said. ‘We’ve never prevented him before.’
‘But he carries a knife,’ Shirley put in.
Flyte looked at Coe. He was thin, white and wearing a hoodie that had bunched around his shoulders: if you were looking for someone to play Bowie on an off-day, he’d not be a bad start. When he had first arrived in Slough House, River recalled, J. K. Coe had been tense as a fist. If he’d loosened up a bit since, he’d become no friendlier.
‘Do you always talk about him as if he weren’t here?’ Flyte asked.
‘Yes.’
‘And is he always like this?’
Shirley said, ‘It’s part of his transitioning process. He’s spending six months living as a prick.’
Coe didn’t bat an eye. He did, though, look as if he were about to say ‘It’s an iPod’ again.
Maybe it was this that triggered a sigh from Flyte. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Listen to the damn thing.’
Coe’s only response was to plug himself in.
River glanced at Shirley, who had been known to get angry when a tense situation resolved itself without violence, but she just shook her head as if disappointed but not surprised. She caught his glance, though, and stuck her tongue out. Then looked at Louisa. ‘I spy,’ she began.
Louisa said, ‘Continue with that, and I will kill you. I will kill you dead.’
‘Well we have to do something. Apart from anything else, I don’t plan to quietly starve.’
The idea that Shirley could quietly do anything was unnerving.
‘We need provisions,’ she said.
‘She has a point.’
‘I’ll go get some treats, yeah?’
‘Nobody leaves,’ said Flyte. ‘You do know what “lockdown” means?’
‘Nobody’s leaving,’ Lamb explained. ‘Dander’s just popping out for a few minutes.’
