road, you dozy bitch—’
Marnie shut him up with her badge. ‘Find another way round.’ She put the badge away. ‘And stop playing with your horn.’
She went back to Noah, who was standing and had mustered a smile. ‘I’ve got it from here. You need to be working the case. Give me a couple of hours and I’ll be back on my feet.’
It was a long speech, and he looked less ghastly than he had in the car.
Marnie nodded. ‘Take care. Call me when you can, but not before.’
Noah climbed the stairs to the flat with his hands on the walls either side of him. Blind, because the left side of his head was a sliding mess of colour, everything red and green like Sol’s favourite TV show. The pain was twin hammers in his head, one for each temple. At least he hadn’t thrown up in the car. He reached the flat and felt with his fingers for the lock – a snagging sensation like teeth. Fitted the key. Pushed at the door. One foot in front of the other.
Make it to the bed and lie down.
Lie down.
He closed the door, checking it was locked, waiting for the throb of nausea to subside. The migraine had repainted the hallway, set it at an angle hard to negotiate even with his hands holding on to the walls. Like crawling up a tunnel that got narrower the further he went.
‘… fuck with me, you little fucker!’ A stranger’s voice.
Noah stood listening. Hard to hear past the thundering in his head and he needed – God – he needed to lie down. The stranger’s voice came again, too low to hear but raging, anger like a solid object pushing at the wall between him and the sitting room.
‘Sol?’ His voice came out frayed.
Seven steps from the hall to the sitting room. He took five before his brother came out into the hall. ‘Shit. Shit . Come here, man.’
Noah held him off with a look. ‘Who’s in there?’
‘No one. A mate.’ Sol shook his head. ‘You look dead, bro. What’s up?’
‘Migraine. Who is he?’
‘No one. I told you. Come on.’ Sol took his arm, steering him away from the sitting room, towards the bedroom. ‘Shit, man. Haven’t seen you like this in years. ’
‘He was swearing at you.’ Noah lay on the bed, blocking the light with his arm while Sol drew the curtains. ‘Your mate. Called you a little fucker.’
‘Banter.’
Noah kept the crook of his elbow across his eyes. The migraine was an iron spike through his left temple. ‘Get rid of him.’
‘Yeah.’ Sol covered Noah with the side of the duvet he wasn’t lying on. ‘You gonna puke?’
‘Not if I can help it.’
Sol said something like, ‘Hang on.’ Noah couldn’t hear past the thundering in his skull. He badly wanted to pass out. It wasn’t nearly dark enough in the room. May Beswick …
He should be looking for May Beswick. No, for her killer. That was what he should be doing. Not lying here praying to pass out. He was meant to be looking for a killer.
‘Bucket.’ Sol put a hand on Noah’s elbow, an awkward, brotherly pressure. ‘In case you puke.’
It’d been years, but Sol hadn’t forgotten what to do when Noah was like this. Pure chance he was here to close curtains and fetch buckets, and who the hell was in the flat, calling him a fucker, threatening him? No good …
Noah had to sleep. He had to be unconscious. It was the only cure he knew, when the pain got this bad. ‘Tramadol,’ he begged his brother. ‘Bathroom cabinet.’
Sol said, ‘I’m on it.’
19
From the bedroom window in Taybridge Road, Marnie watched the vertical climb of the city, its high-rises topping out the trees in Battersea Park, dwarfing the sprawl of the Garrett estate.
Engineered exclusion: the higher the city climbed, the fewer people had access to it. It wasn’t just the penthouses at the power station that cost millions. The cloud-kissing office space was reserved for the elite. For the view from the Shard you needed a pricey ticket and a security scan. More and more of London was being fenced off for fewer and
Marnie shut him up with her badge. ‘Find another way round.’ She put the badge away. ‘And stop playing with your horn.’
She went back to Noah, who was standing and had mustered a smile. ‘I’ve got it from here. You need to be working the case. Give me a couple of hours and I’ll be back on my feet.’
It was a long speech, and he looked less ghastly than he had in the car.
Marnie nodded. ‘Take care. Call me when you can, but not before.’
Noah climbed the stairs to the flat with his hands on the walls either side of him. Blind, because the left side of his head was a sliding mess of colour, everything red and green like Sol’s favourite TV show. The pain was twin hammers in his head, one for each temple. At least he hadn’t thrown up in the car. He reached the flat and felt with his fingers for the lock – a snagging sensation like teeth. Fitted the key. Pushed at the door. One foot in front of the other.
Make it to the bed and lie down.
Lie down.
He closed the door, checking it was locked, waiting for the throb of nausea to subside. The migraine had repainted the hallway, set it at an angle hard to negotiate even with his hands holding on to the walls. Like crawling up a tunnel that got narrower the further he went.
‘… fuck with me, you little fucker!’ A stranger’s voice.
Noah stood listening. Hard to hear past the thundering in his head and he needed – God – he needed to lie down. The stranger’s voice came again, too low to hear but raging, anger like a solid object pushing at the wall between him and the sitting room.
‘Sol?’ His voice came out frayed.
Seven steps from the hall to the sitting room. He took five before his brother came out into the hall. ‘Shit. Shit . Come here, man.’
Noah held him off with a look. ‘Who’s in there?’
‘No one. A mate.’ Sol shook his head. ‘You look dead, bro. What’s up?’
‘Migraine. Who is he?’
‘No one. I told you. Come on.’ Sol took his arm, steering him away from the sitting room, towards the bedroom. ‘Shit, man. Haven’t seen you like this in years. ’
‘He was swearing at you.’ Noah lay on the bed, blocking the light with his arm while Sol drew the curtains. ‘Your mate. Called you a little fucker.’
‘Banter.’
Noah kept the crook of his elbow across his eyes. The migraine was an iron spike through his left temple. ‘Get rid of him.’
‘Yeah.’ Sol covered Noah with the side of the duvet he wasn’t lying on. ‘You gonna puke?’
‘Not if I can help it.’
Sol said something like, ‘Hang on.’ Noah couldn’t hear past the thundering in his skull. He badly wanted to pass out. It wasn’t nearly dark enough in the room. May Beswick …
He should be looking for May Beswick. No, for her killer. That was what he should be doing. Not lying here praying to pass out. He was meant to be looking for a killer.
‘Bucket.’ Sol put a hand on Noah’s elbow, an awkward, brotherly pressure. ‘In case you puke.’
It’d been years, but Sol hadn’t forgotten what to do when Noah was like this. Pure chance he was here to close curtains and fetch buckets, and who the hell was in the flat, calling him a fucker, threatening him? No good …
Noah had to sleep. He had to be unconscious. It was the only cure he knew, when the pain got this bad. ‘Tramadol,’ he begged his brother. ‘Bathroom cabinet.’
Sol said, ‘I’m on it.’
19
From the bedroom window in Taybridge Road, Marnie watched the vertical climb of the city, its high-rises topping out the trees in Battersea Park, dwarfing the sprawl of the Garrett estate.
Engineered exclusion: the higher the city climbed, the fewer people had access to it. It wasn’t just the penthouses at the power station that cost millions. The cloud-kissing office space was reserved for the elite. For the view from the Shard you needed a pricey ticket and a security scan. More and more of London was being fenced off for fewer and
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