Lazy Bones by Mark Billingham Page A

sleeve. They stared at Thorne as they went, walking away backwards up the street.
    The girl lobbed her empty can into the road and shouted back at
    Thorne. . 'Poofs! Fucking queers...' "
    Thorne lurched forward to chase after them but Hendricks's hand,
    which had never left his shoulder, squeezed and held on. 'Just leave it.' 'No.'
    'Forget it, calm down...'
    He yanked his shoulder free. 'Little fuckers...'
    Hendricks stepped in front of Thorne, picked up the bag and held it out to him.
    'What are you more pissed off about, Tom? The fact that I was cal ed a queer? Or that you were?'
    Unable to answer the question, Thorne took the bag and they carried on walking. They veered almost immediately right on to Angler's Lane, a one-way street that would bring them out close to Whorne's flat This narrow cut-through to Prince of Wales Road had once been a smal tributary off the River Fleet, now one of London's 'lost'
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    underground rivers. Here, when Victoria took the throne, local boys would fish for carp and trout, before the water became so stinking and pol uted that no fish could survive, and it had to be diverted beneath the earth, confined and hidden away in a thick iron pipe.
    Now, as Thorne walked home along the course of the lost river, it seemed to him that nearly two centuries later the stench was just as bad.
    By a little after ten, Hendricks was fast asleep on the sofa, and likely to remain so wel into Sunday morning. Thorne tidied up around him, switched off the TV and went into the bedroom.
    He got no reply from the flat. She answered her mobile almost immediately.
    'It's Thorne. I hope it's not too late. I remembered from the sign on the door of the shop that you weren't open on Sundays, so I thought you might...'
    'It's fine. No problem...'
    Thorne lay back on the'bed. He thought that she sounded pretty pleased to hear from him.
    'I wanted to say thanks,' he said. 'I enjoyed today.'
    'Good..Me too. Want to do it again?'
    During the short pause that fol owed, Thorne looked up at the cheap, crappy lampshade, listened to her laughing quietly. There was a noise he couldn't place in the background. 'Bloody hel ,' he said. 'You don't waste a lot of time...'
    'What's the point? We only saw each other a few hours ago and
    you're ringing up, so you're obviously pretty keen.'
    'Obviously...'
    'Right, wel , tomorrow's for sleeping and I'm busy in the evening. So, how keen would you say you are, real y? On a scale of one to ten...'
    'Er... how does seven sound?'
    'Seven's good. Any less and I'd've been insulted and more would
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    have been borderline stalker. Right then, what about breakfast on
    Monday? I know a great caff...'
    'Breakfast?'
    'Why not? I'l meet you before work.'
    'OK, I'l probably have to be at work about nine-ish, so...'
    Eve laughed. 'I thought you were keen, Thorne! We're talking about when I start work. Half past five, New Covent Garden flower market...'
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    17 JULY, 1976
    It was more than half an hour since he'd heard the noises. The grunting and the shouting and the sounds of glass shattering. He heard her footsteps as she moved around, from her bedroom across that creaky floorboard that he'd never got around to fixing, into the bathroom and back again.
    He spent that half-hour wil ing himself to get up off the settee and see what had happened. Not moving. Needing to build up some strength, some control before he could venture upstairs...
    Sitting in front of the television, wondering how much longer this was going to go on. The doctor had said that if she kept taking the tran quil isers, then things would settle down, but there was no sign of that happening. In the meantime, he was having to do al the stuff that needed doing. Everything. She was in no state to go to the shops or to the school. Christ, it had been 'over a week since she'd last come downstairs.
    Walking across to the foot of the stairs, stiff and slow as a Golem . . . Listening to it, watching it, feeling it al come apart. They'd given him