Chapter 41
I’m sorry to be vague at this point, but about four events happen and I can’t work out the order. Everything just sort of congregates on a single point in time. Here they are. You’re welcome to put them whichever way up you like.
She’s up ahead, crumpled on the ground beside a domed figure in a stupid T-shirt. Oh, shit.
‘OK. Up we come.’ The girls are on either side of Jonny, and I lend a hand to get him to his feet. I can’t see exactly what’s wrong, but his shirt is wet.
‘Hospital?’
‘We’re five minutes from St Catherine’s,’ says Elle. ‘They have an A there are no particular grounds for arrest in my old pants.
We leave the little cairn of our belongings on the pavement as the Uber accelerates away.
Em clearly did a good job explaining the situation to the driver, because we’re at the entrance of A&E in two minutes forty-five seconds.
Em is up front. Jonny’s back left. Elle’s back right.
I’m in the middle, wedging Jonny upright.
I can hardly read his T-shirt any more. Maybe it’s just the bad light in the cab. That must be it. That must be it.
Elle phoned ahead as we went, and there’s a little welcome party waiting for us on the ramp up to the doors.
At least we did this on a quiet Tuesday night, because even in this light, I can see that Jonny’s face has turned grey, and he topples out of the cab.
He would have cracked his head on the ground if there hadn’t been two paramedics waiting to scoop him up.
I try to pay the driver from my dwindling roll of banknotes, but he refuses point-blank. God bless you, Ibrahim, wherever you are now. May your back seat never be so insulted again.
And then we’re inside, as a team of doctors gather around Jonny, agree he’s suffered an abdominal gunshot wound, and consider what they’re going to do about it.
As someone who’s only ever arrived at A&E after micro-accidents and quasi-emergencies, I’ve never witnessed a full crash entrance before, and how they handle it. God, it’s impressive. You’d think there would be a lot of shouting, but there’s none. It’s more … controlled urgency.
The doctors come and go like bees. They’re talking, assessing, throwing comments to colleagues, catching them without even making eye contact, fitting drips, removing personal effects, scanning, pressing, assessing. They’re like one consciousness divided between eight bodies.
A theatre is being prepared for Jonny, someone says.
He won’t like that, I think, he hates the theatre.
I remember him saying that on one of our car journeys.
He says it’s an ‘imperfect rendition of human behaviour’ and, like most other art forms, ‘struggles to faithfully replicate to the audience the complexities of navigating the decision matrices the world presents to us’. Plus, he finds the seats uncomfortable.
Christ, I hope he lives.
And then they’re wheeling him away. The three of us trail behind the trolley like lost children, until we reach a doorway where it’s made clear to us: this far, and no further.
Jonny shrinks away from us as they pull him along the corridor.
His eyes are closed, there’s an oxygen mask over his mouth, and his stupid geeky T-shirt has been cut off him and binned.
Then they swing him round a corner, and that’s it.
Because this isn’t a US daytime TV drama, there is no observation room from which we can watch the surgery while looking nervous.
And now we’re alone, we are no longer the devoted friends of a seriously injured young man.
We are just three more obstacles to a clear corridor.
We find an empty bench, facing one of the hospital’s main stairwells, and sit watching as all human life walks, paces, shuffles, or wheels past us.
After ten minutes of silence, I go and get a few cones of water from the machine. As I arrive back, a young doctor is in my spot, speaking to Elle and Em. He’s about my age, dressed in scrubs, and irritatingly handsome.
He’s saying: ‘… do of course need to ask you some questions.’
‘Of course,’ says Elle, and Em gives me a nervous look.
I’ve stopped next to them now, and the doctor takes me in too.
‘What sort of questions?’ I ask.
‘Well, we’ll have to contact the police.’
‘Don’t do that,’ I say, a bit too fast.
‘Why not?’
What do I say? If I say Jonny was shot by someone we know, they’ll say it’s vital we talk.
If I say he was shot by a stranger, they might be quite interested in tracking the gunman who’s been shooting random passers-by.
I can’t think of anything. I’ve completely run out of lies.
I open my mouth, close it again, look at the girls for help. Em saves me.
‘Because we are the police.’
The doctor’s face is a mask. (Given that we’re both in a hospital and post-Covid, that is a confusing sentence in two separate ways. To be clear, he’s not wearing a mask, he just keeps his expression blank.) ‘Are you? With the Met, or a different department?’
‘The Met. This was a plain-clothes operation. He shouldn’t have been anywhere near it, but it went wrong. We’ve notified our colleagues.’
‘Do you have your ID?’
Em pulls rank. ‘Mate, do we look like we gathered our stuff properly? Our colleague’s been shot.’
He nods. ‘Oh. Well. You’ll be following your procedures. I won’t disturb you any further.’ He stands, and stretches his arms. ‘Can I help with anything else?’
‘Is our friend going to be all right?’
The doctor looks at me. ‘I hope so. But I’m afraid it’s not really my department.’ He saunters off, looking just a bit too cool. I am a diehard supporter of the NHS, but I would cheerfully see that guy struck off.
Once he’s out of sight, Elle says, ‘Nice one, Em.’
‘All right,’ I say. ‘So the guy who shot Jonny was clearly the associate of whoever was in the house. That must mean—’
Elle interrupts me, and I think it’s the first time I’ve ever heard her interrupt anyone. ‘Al. Seriously. Stop. Just stop for a second. We talked when you were getting the water, and we’ve decided something.’
‘Decided what?’
‘If we get out of the hospital without being arrested, we’re just going to go to ground.’
I’m genuinely confused. ‘You’re suggesting we give up?’
‘Al, we have just – between the three of us – killed someone who turns out to be a British spy. And Jonny’s being cut open right now. You really think we’re getting out of this with one more deduction?’
‘Yes, I—’
She does it again. ‘Just stop. You’re being ridiculous.’
‘Ridiculous would be quitting after everything we’ve been through.
We are so close to working it out. I mean, this is huge, it’s …
’ I gesture expansively, then tail off, because both Em and Elle have their arms folded and are giving me the same look.
Em will back me up, surely. ‘Em, you must see what I’m saying here.
We are so close to finding out who killed Davy. And where he left the money. And then—’
‘Al, have things got better for us since we started all this?’ Em gestures at the corridor.
‘We’ve got nothing. We have a vague hunch about who might have killed Davy, a few conflicting theories, and not much evidence.
The whole thing has been a catastrophe. You were right, we should have got the ferry to France in the first place. ’
‘Yes, but—’
‘Oh, just shut up. I wish I hadn’t suggested we even start along this stupid path. I wish I’d let you go when you were trying to run that first night. All you’ve done is lie, and make things worse.’
‘Em, that’s not fair. I haven’t lied. We have to trust each other.’
‘Trust? You haven’t told us who you are, nor where you come from. Nothing. We don’t even know your name.’
‘I did tell you who I am.’
‘You gave Elle a version of your life that was clearly bollocks. You told me you had a brother, and I only know that’s true because you stole his passport from him.
That’s the one fact you’ve given away. You don’t believe in us.
You don’t seem to believe in people. You don’t know why you’re doing this either.
You just want to stay outsmarting your marks, for ever. Some of us want more than that.’
‘I want more than that.’ As I say it, I realise I really do, and the thing I want more than anything is to stay with these guys. But I stumble over the words, and they clearly don’t believe me. They’re wrong, wrong. I must make them see it. ‘If we give up now, it was all for nothing.’
‘I’d rather be arrested and maybe get some police protection than be hunted down by whoever killed Davy.’
‘Hang on, it was an actual spy who shot Jonny. You think we’re safe from anybody from now on?’
‘Obviously not. But if we do get out of here, we can go to ground, find somewhere quiet, and then just live. We’ll take Jonny back to France, do a bit of piscining there until he’s properly better, settle down.
And if we’re arrested, we’ll take that. Don’t try to change our minds, Al. Or whatever your name is.’
Em has the look on her face of someone who’s run out of patience. I remember that look from about a decade ago. I’ve worked quite hard to avoid anyone knowing me well enough to look at me like that again, and yet here we are.
‘Why can’t you see …’ Oh, shit. I stop, because I’ve just seen something much more important.
There’s a uniformed police officer standing at the other end of the corridor. And the clean-cut young doctor who was talking to us before is at his side, pointing our way. That viper.
‘We have to go. Police.’
Em looks round, sees the officer – who is now walking our way – and shrugs. ‘No, Al. We’re staying here, with Jonny.’
The copper is about fifty feet away. ‘Please. We can get away. I know it.’
Neither of them moves. The copper’s moving faster.
‘Please.’ He’ll be here in fifteen seconds. They do not move.
I swear, pitch out of my seat, and hurl myself at the stairwell.