Mind filled with oppressive clouds of black and grey, Lucy moved away from the Underground’s entrance. Walked along Piccadilly. Past Waterstones. Cafés, sushi bars. She couldn’t go back to the office. Not yet. She meandered up and down streets with no thought as to where she was going. She spotted a pub. One of those old ones that had been around since medieval times. She suddenly felt like getting drunk. Absolutely falling-down drunk so she wouldn’t have to think, and wouldn’t have to see her father’s twinkling eyes, her mother’s tears falling.
She wanted to put back the clock and never to have asked to work this case. She wanted things to be the way they used to be.
Too late for that, a little voice sneered.
She pushed open the door. Dark wood décor and cask ale. British pub grub upstairs.
‘Vodka,’ she told the barman. ‘Double.’
She drank standing at the bar. Then she ordered another. Drank that. Drank another. She settled on a bar stool. Drank some more. Outside, it started to rain. She could hear it pattering against the windows. People came in with dripping umbrellas. Lots of laughter, shaking clothes dry.
‘Lucy?’
She turned her blurred gaze to the tall figure standing at her side and said thickly, ‘Go away.’
‘No.’ Dan folded his arms.
‘How’dja findme?’
He brought out his phone and waved it at her. ‘Location sharing, remember?’
‘But I only… have it wiv Mac.’
‘He talked me here.’
‘Fuck.’
She stared hazily at the rows of bottles shining cheerfully behind the bar. She’d forgotten Mac installing the app after she’d been kidnapped. It had seemed a good idea at the time, his being able to see her real-time location using GPS tracking, but right now she wished she’d disabled the goddamn thing.
‘We were worried. You haven’t been answering your phone.’
‘Don’ care.’
‘What happened?’
She squinted up at him. ‘Nuffin.’
He sighed. ‘Let me take you home.’
‘No home.’
‘I mean to your mum’s.’
‘No.’ She reached for the rest of her vodka but Dan scooped it out of reach.
‘My place then.’
She gazed up at him owlishly. ‘Wales?’
‘No, Ravenscourt Park.’
‘Lundun.’
‘Yes, London.’
‘You got drink there?’
‘Yes, there’s drink there.’
‘Lessgo.’
He took her elbow and guided her to the door, people parting like fish to let them through. Outside, it was still raining. She raised her head to the rain and opened her mouth, trying to drink it. Dan hailed a cab. Shovelled her inside.
‘Sorry.’ She sighed. ‘I’m pished.’
‘As if I hadn’t noticed.’ His voice was dry.
She made it to Dan’s pad without mishap. The last thing she remembered was asking where the bathroom was and praying she wasn’t going to throw up on the carpet.
40
Lucy’s consciousness staggered awake. She was sweating but she was cold. Her head was a red throbbing balloon of pain and her mouth like a camel’s armpit. She realised she was fully dressed and that she was lying on a bed. There was a duvet but it lay on the floor. It looked as though she’d kicked it off. At first, she had no clue where she was and felt a moment’s panic. She forced herself to look around. Modern. White walls. Beige carpet. Bedside table, wardrobe, en suite bathroom dead ahead.
She recognised nothing.
She rolled to one side and what felt like a knife stabbed through both eyes and lodged itself in the back of her brain. She took in the bucket that had been placed strategically by the bed and as she looked at it, the urge to vomit rose.
She made it to the bathroom just in time, where she stayed for another half an hour. A box of paracetamol had been left prominently on the sink, along with a glass and a travel pack of toothpaste and toothbrush. Two fluffy white towels. A brand-new pack of M&S knickers.
Finally, dosed with painkillers, showered and smelling of toothpaste, she stepped gingerly out of the bedroom. Walked through a small sitting room into a kitchen.
‘Thanks,’ she said to the figure at the kitchen table, who was working on his laptop.
‘It’s okay,’ said Dan. He pushed the laptop away. Looked at her. ‘Oh, dear.’
She poured herself a glass of water, then another.
‘Coffee?’ he asked.
She looked at the machine and decided she wouldn’t be able to stand the noise. ‘No, thanks.’ She went and stood at the window. A grass strip stretched between the building they were in and their neighbours. A blackbird was hopping across it, looking for worms.
‘What’s going on, Lucy?’
She turned and looked into his eyes, as grey as the ocean, and felt so ill, so emotionally wrecked, that she could sleep for the rest of the year.
‘Sorry.’ It was all she could manage.
‘Okay.’ He gave several small nods. ‘Will you call Mac? He’s worried.’
‘Later.’
She walked carefully to the sink and poured herself another glass of water.
‘Is it to do with the case?’
Her insides turned greasy. She licked her lips.
Dan held up both hands. ‘Okay. No questions. Not until you’re ready.’
‘I think I’ll go now.’
‘Where to?’
She didn’t know. She wasn’t strong enough to face her mother. She certainly didn’t want to see Mac, who would drag the story out of her by her fingernails. Her throat began to close. Although she willed them not to, tears rose.
‘Lucy.’ His voice was gentle. ‘Stay here. It’s no problem, okay? I’ll go and get some newspapers, maybe some eggs and bacon. It’s Sunday, remember? And Monday’s another day.’
He sat quietly, waiting for her to decide.
‘I’ll stay,’ she said. ‘Thanks.’
‘I’ll go out now. If you fancy a change of clothes, Max’s girlfriend keeps some stuff in the wardrobe. She won’t mind.’
Lucy spent the rest of the day nursing her hangover and it was only when Dan produced a home-made coffee and walnut cake he’d bought from the local deli, seemingly like a rabbit from a hat, that she felt as though she might get through this.
‘It’s your favourite.’ A crease appeared between his brows. ‘Isn’t it?’
‘Yes, it’s my favourite.’
Dear God, she was lucky to have such good friends.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said for what felt like the thousandth time.
‘You’ll tell me, one day?’
She
