puff of displaced air on his cheek as a shot whistled past his head only an inch away, whilst another glanced off the wall just behind his head.
‘Okay, screw this,’ he muttered, getting to his feet and scrambling down the stairwell after Derry. He fired another un-aimed burst into the air to deter them from following too closely, hopefully buying them a few more precious seconds.
Call-sign Whisky were reunited at the bottom of the stairs, in a small, rubbish-filled opening that led out on to a three-foot wide rat-run, strewn with a mélange of discarded furniture and bric-à-brac, rotting vegetation and a central sewage gully down which a clotted stream of faeces flowed.
‘This way, I think,’ said Carter pointing upwards.
‘Yeah,’ Andy replied, gasping and breathless, ‘right or wrong though, we had better fucking run.’
CHAPTER 36
7.40 p.m. GMT Shepherd’s Bush, London
‘This is it,’ said Leona, ‘turn left here.’
Dan swung his van out of the almost static river of traffic on Uxbridge Road into St Stephen’s Avenue, a narrow tree-lined road, flanked on either side by a row of comfortable-looking Edwardian terraced houses.
‘Home!’ cheered Jacob from the back of the van.
Leona twisted in her seat. ‘Jake, we’re going to be staying at Jill’s place.’
‘Uh?’
Dan looked at her, ‘Yeah . . . uh? I thought I was taking you home?’
‘She lives three doors down from our place, she’s a good friend of the family.’
‘Why aren’t we going home?’ asked Jacob
To be entirely honest she had no idea why, only that Dad had been really insistent that they go to Jill’s and not home. There had been the sound of fear in his voice, implied danger. And deep down, she knew it had something to do with the man she saw. None of this was going to make sense to Dan or Jacob, nor to Jill of course.
‘Dad said for us to go there, so Jill can mind us until Mum or he can get home.’
‘Aren’t you a bit big for a babysitter?’ said Dan.
‘You saw what it was like in Hammersmith.’
Dan nodded. ‘Yeah, I see what you mean.’
They drove slowly down the narrow avenue, squeezing around the large family vehicles parked half on, half off the pavement. Passing number twenty-five on their left, Leona looked out at their home. None of the lights were on. It looked lifeless.
‘We live there,’ Jacob informed Dan as they drove slowly past.
Leona pointed to a house ahead of them, on the right. ‘Number thirty. That’s Jill’s house.’
Her car, a Lexus RX, was parked on the pavement outside, but there were no lights on. Dan parked up next to her car, and Leona quickly climbed out. She opened the garden gate and headed up the short path through her front yard - little more than a few square yards of shrivelled potted plants embedded in gravel - to the front door. She could see junk mail was piling up in the post-box, and knew that Jill must be abroad on one of her conferences.
‘Damn!’
‘What’s up?’ said Dan, joining her with several shopping bags in each hand.
‘She’s gone away.’
‘Ah.’
Jacob staggered up the path with a solitary bag full of tins. ‘Heavy,’ he grunted like a martyr.
‘So, back to yours then?’ said Dan.
Leona looked over her shoulder at their house, thirty yards away on the other side of the avenue. ‘I suppose we’ve got no choice, if Jill’s gone on one of her visits.’
Dan nodded, ‘Okay.’ He turned and headed down the path.
Do NOT go home . . . it’s not safe.
There was no mistaking the urgency in Dad’s voice. There was something he knew - didn’t have time to tell her. The limited time he had on the phone was taken up with one thing; making sure she understood not to go home. That was it, explanations would no doubt come later.
‘Wait!’ she called out. Dan and Jacob stopped.
She looked around uncomfortably before picking up a stone from the front yard and quickly smashing the frosted narrow glass panel in the middle of the front door. The glass clattered down inside, as she reached through and fumbled with the latch.
‘Oh boy,’ said Jacob, ‘that’s against the law.’
Jill never double-locked her front door, even when she was going away. Instead she relied on the timed lights in her house, and the always-on radio in the kitchen to convince would-be burglars that elsewhere would be a better prospect. She was a little ditzy that way.
The door cracked open and she pushed it wide, spreading the junk mail across the wooden floor