Scaredy Cat by Mark Billingham Read Free Book Online

Then he'd smiled and grabbed his clothes from off the floor while everybody whistled and cheered. Helen had whistled and
    cheered too, but she wished she'd been a bit more pissed. 'Big enough!'
    'More than a mouthful's a waste.'
    Helen leaned across to Linzi. 'How's work?'
    She was probably closest to Linzi, but they hadn't spoken properly al night.
    'Shit. I'm going to chuck it in... do some temping or
    something.'
    'Right.'
    Helen loved her job. The money was poor, but the people were nice and even though she had to give her mum and dad a bit, it was stil cheap living at home. She couldn't see the sense in moving out, not until she met someone. What was the point in renting a grotty flat like Jo or Nita? Andrea stil lived at home anyway. God knows where she was having al that sex she was always on about...
    'Let Me Entertain You' came on the jukebox. It was one of her favourite songs. She nodded her head to the rhythm and sang the words quietly to herself. She remembered a fifth-form disco, and a boy with an earring and sad brown eyes and cider on his breath. When the chorus came, the rest of the girls joined in and Helen shut up.
    The bel rang and the barman shouted something
    48 MARK BILLINGHAM
    incomprehensible. Andrea and Jo were al for another round. Helen grinned but she knew she should be getting back. She would feel bad in the morning and her dad would be waiting up for her. She was starting to feel woozy and knew that she should have gone home and had her tea before she came out. She could have changed too. She felt frumpy and self-conscious in her black work skirt and sensible blouse. She'd grab a bag of chips on the way home. And a piece of fish for her dad.
    Andrea stood up and announced that they'd al put in for one more. Helen cheered along with the rest of them, drained the bottle and reached into her purse for a couple of pound coins.
    Thorne sat with his eyes shut listening to Johnny Cash. He rol ed his head around on his neck, enjoying every crack of cartilage. Now the Man in Black with the dark, dangerous voice was insisting that he was going to break out of his rusty cage. Thorne opened his eyes and looked around at his neat, comfortable flat - not a cage, exactly, but he knew what Johnny was talking about.
    The one-bedroom garden flat was undeniably smal , but easily maintained and close enough to the busy Kentish Town Road to ensure that he never ran out of milk or tea. Or wine. The couple in the flat upstairs were quiet and never bothered him. He'd lived here less than six months after final y sel ing the house in Highbury, but he already knew every inch of the place.
    He'd furnished the entire flat during one wretched Sunday at IKEA, spent the next three weeks putting the stuff together and the succeeding four months wishing he hadn't bothered.
    He couldn't say he'd been unhappy since Jan had left.
    SLEEPYHEAD 49
    Christ, they'd been divorced for three years and she'd been gone nearly five, but stil , everything just felt.., out of kilter. He'd thought that moving out of the house they'd shared and into this bright new flat would change things. He'd been optimistic. However close to him the objects around him were, he had no real.., connection to any of them. It was functional. He could be out of his chair and in his bed in a matter of seconds but the bed was too new and, tragical y, as yet unchristened.
    He felt like a faceless businessman in a numberless hotel room.

    Perhaps it would have been better if Jan had gone because of the job. He'd seen it often enough and it was the stuff of interminable TV cop shows - copper's wife can't stand playing second fiddle to the job, blah blah blah. Jan had never been an ordinary copper's wife and she'd left for her own reasons. The only job involved in the whole messy business was the one she'd been on every Wednesday afternoon with the lecturer from her creative-writing course.
    Until he'd caught them at it. In the middle of the day with the curtains