Slough House полностью

‘River will be here soon,’ she told them. ‘River Cartwright.’

‘That’s good. But we’ll be gone by then. We move quickly.’

‘Do you have a coat, Sid? Or a jacket? It’s not too warm out.’

‘Still a little early in the year.’

Jane was blonde and Jim dark, though viewed from this distance, rather than from – say – an upstairs window, neither convincingly so. Sid suspected artifice, an hour in a hotel bathroom with a packet from the nearest Superdrug. They were dressed the same as the first time she’d seen them, white shirts under dark jackets and coats, and their voices were bright and well-practised. They might not be working to a script, but they were improvising the dialogue for a planned scenario, and if the effect was a little laboured, well, what could you expect from bad actors?

‘I’m not going anywhere,’ she said.

‘You need to reconsider that,’ said Jane.

‘You’re not well,’ Jim explained. ‘Don’t you remember? You were being taken care of, in a very nice place, but you left early. You’re still getting those headaches, am I right?’

‘And they’re going to get worse without treatment,’ said Jane.

‘So what we’ll do is, we’ll leave a note for your Mr Cartwright, tell him where we’re taking you so he can come visit.’

‘But the sooner we get you there, the better.’

‘Traffic can be murder.’

‘How did you know I was here?’ she said.

‘Well, we popped next door, had a word with the nice lady.’

‘That’s the thing about the country, isn’t it? People taking notice of what’s going on around them. This was a city, you could be living here months, nobody would even know your name.’

‘Years, even.’

‘Like Jane says. Years.’

‘Is this yours?’

Jane had found Sid’s jacket, draped over a chair.

‘You might want to put that down. It looks like a heavy nuisance.’

Sid looked at the aimless gun in her hand. Stupid choice of weaponry; like going into battle wielding a holiday souvenir.

Tt Tt Tt.

The noise it made hitting the carpet was a faint echo of assault.

‘Good girl,’ said Jim.

‘Now here’s what we do,’ Jane said. ‘We all get into the nice warm car out there, and we head back to where you can be taken care of. Somewhere you should never have left in the first place.’

Sid found her voice. ‘You’re not from there. From the farm.’

‘No, dear. But we’re who they call when they need someone brought back.’

‘Runaways.’

‘Like yourself.’

She could make it as far as the door, she thought. Or maybe not all the way to the door. She could make it most of the way to the door, and then Jim would have her. Unless Jane had her first.

Use your little grey cells, ma chère.

The ones she still had left, her bullet meant.

‘Or you could keep running,’ Jane told her. She stooped to pick up the metal lump, and caressed it for a moment while looking at Sid. ‘You could run next door, even. Tell the nice lady we’re taking you somewhere horrid.’

She replaced it on the shelf.

‘But she won’t believe you,’ said Jim. ‘On account of, we’ve already had a chat with her.’

‘And she knows you’re unstable,’ said Jane. ‘Apt to injure yourself.’

‘Save anyone else the trouble.’

‘So best not make a fuss. Here, put your jacket on.’

It makes, how you say, the good sense, her bullet said.

Because she wouldn’t get as far as the door.

Jim was holding her jacket for her to slip her arms into. Be Villanelle, be Lara Croft. But she remained Sidonie Baker, and he remained unaware of any other possibility. Allowing herself to step backwards into his nearly embrace, she felt the jacket swallow her up.

‘All ready?’ Jane asked.

You are, how you say, fucked, said the bullet.

Jim opened the door with a butler’s flourish, and ushered Sid through it. Let’s take the back door, he suggested, in such a smooth undertone it barely required speech marks. Jane, leaving last, extinguished the lights. There was a circular hole in the back door’s pane, an expertly removed slice of glass through which one or other had reached to unlock the door and gain entrance. Exit was more easily achieved. As they led her to the car, Sid stared at the neighbour’s house, what was visible of it behind its screen of hedge. There were lights on, but no signs of movement. She hoped they had done nothing to harm her, the neighbour lady. There was no reason why they should, of course. But recent history spoke of collateral damage; of disregarded shrapnel ripping holes through innocent lives. If there were such a thing any more, thought Sid, as an innocent life – but that thought felt way too heavy; felt like a thought for a final journey. She sat in the back, Jim next to her. The seat belt was too tight, but she made no attempt to adjust it. Some things, you learned to live with.

And now would be a good time to punch this man in the head.