No, don’t be daft. I land on top. Obviously. Which is why this book is not calledMy Time As an Elite International Assassin.
There’s acrackas we hit the ground. It’s organic. I roll off, and can tell as soon as I peel away from the guy that he’s dead. Not a bad way to go. Quick, certainly. What about me? I think I’ve fractured my wrist, which was partly beneath him, and took not only my weight but plenty of his. Even if it isn’t broken, it hurts like hell. And – oh,fuck– there’s blood coming from my mouth. I put my hand to it and examine it for a bit. I can’t quite make the connection between the two. There’s a word for when you’ve hit your head this hard. What is it again?
Em gets to me first, and makes the kind of comforting, sensitive comment she’s been trotting out since the day we met. ‘Al, you tit.’ She kneels and gingerly takes my functioning hand.
‘Yeah,’ I manage to say. I’m a bit winded.
‘Where’s this blood coming from?’
‘Don’t know.’ It feels as if the plates of my skull are sliding over each other. Thinking is a bit tricky. Where am I again?
Elle catches up, and takes over from her sister. She squeezesmy mouth open and looks inside with a phone torch. ‘It’s all right. You’ve just bitten your tongue. It’ll bleed for a bit but it’ll heal fast. And this … this isn’t even fractured as far as I can feel. Maybe a hairline.’ I wipe my mouth on my spare sleeve as she gently lowers my wrist, and glance sideways at the man who was trying to kill the three of us about a minute ago. I’m still a bit confused, and as I look at his body, I think,God, pal, what happened to you?before remembering that I did.
‘Can you move your other arm? OK, good. And your legs? All right. I think you’re OK to move. Uuuup we get.’
Em is looking at me with bafflement. ‘Al, we’d have thought of something else. Why did you do that?’
‘I’m sure …’ I pause to breathe. My thoughts are clearing a little. ‘Sherlock Holmes … did it once.’
‘You silly bastard.’ She’s still holding my hand, though, even though I’m on my feet. ‘You all right?’
‘I think so.’
‘Good. Don’t do that again.’
Elle has taken the dead man’s pulse at his neck – although his neck is at such a surprising angle that you wouldn’t think she’d need to – and gets her phone out of her pocket. ‘I’m ringing Claudia.’
‘Now? When someone has died and we were the ones who … when we were present? Are you insane?’
‘It’s Claudia, Em. We can trust her. I won’t tell her you’re here. If we do have any hostile powers after us, I’d like us toknow for sure.’ Elle gets out her phone, takes a picture of the guy’s face, and starts texting.
Em thinks of something else. ‘Shit.’
‘What?’
‘Jonny.’
She helps me up, and together we run and hobble to the door, which is still wide open, and look out into the dark front garden. ‘Jonny?’
A shape looms up before us – a tall, unruly shape, with none of the feline grace or poise of an international man of mystery. Its T-shirt readsDON’T BLAME ME, I TOOK THE BLUE PILLin neon green. The figure opens its mouth.
‘What’s up? Sorry. Gatepost cameras took a bit longer than I thought.’
‘Jesus, Jonny.’ Thank God. He’s absolutely fine.
He looks at me and frowns. ‘What’s going on in here?’
We pull him into the front hall and fill him in, although the corpse does most of the work for us. He nods. ‘Quick exit?’
‘Very quick.’
Jonny lumbers off to pack up his kit. We’re all ignoring the dead man, surrounded by fragments of chandelier, but Elle is on her phone, and looking worried. ‘Em.’
‘What?’
‘Claudia’s texted back already. She’s working late.’
‘And?’
