“What do you mean you’ve lost the dogs?”
“Base, the old butler dude turned up with, like, I swear, maybe two hundred cooked sausages. He threw them to the dogs, and, well, have you ever met a beagle? They’ve scoffed the lot, and they’re all passed out across the bridle trail, we can’t even get around them on the bike.”
Indira shook her head. “Are the dogs OK, Unit Two?”
“Base, I’d say the dogs have never been happier. But they won’t be bounding up this hill any time soon.”
Indira turned to me. “How do you find and cook two hundred sausages in ninety minutes?” She squinted. “Are you sure you didn’t let anything slip last night while you were shucked up in your love turret?”
“I promise. This isn’t my fault.” Somehow it felt like my fault, but I literally could not be blamed for this.
Indira inhaled on her cigarette like an asthmatic on a Ventolin puffer.
“Unit Two, can you get around the dogs?”
The walkie-talkie popped and squeaked. “That’s a negative for the bike. The horses can pick a route through the trees.”
“OK, Unit Two, you stay with the dogs. Send the cast up to Unit Three. Unit Three, are you reading?”
“I gotchyu, Base.”
“Jameelah, is there any sign of any trouble up there?”
“We ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”
It was a tense ten minutes while our “hunt” rode up Buckford Hill in the pouring rain to the stone circle, where Indira hadplanned for a stunning drone shot that would show the cast on horseback, in their hunting clobber, looking out over the estate—Buckford Hall glittering in the sunshine. Except we’d lucked a storm instead.
“Base, we got a problem, innit.”
“What is it, Jameelah?”
“We got two old women—come out of nowhere—running around the stone circle with their tits out.”
Indira’s head landed with a thud on the desk. “The mad fucking mother.”
The walkie-talkie crackled again.
“Base, Derek’s trying to catch one of them.” Crackle. “Oop, nearly.” Crackle. “Oh shit?—”
Indira sat up and grabbed the walkie-talkie, holding it between us.
“Come in, Unit Three. Are you OK?”
Ten, fifteen, maybe twenty seconds passed before the walkie-talkie fizzed back into life.
“Base, we got a situation, innit?”
We could hear screaming in the background. For the first time, I saw genuine worry on Indira’s face. “Go ahead, Unit Three.”
“Derek slipped and went arse up. I think he’s broken his arm.”
Indira turned and shouted “Medic!” The sound of it echoed down the Old Coach House. My pulse was racing, but Jameelah wasn’t finished.
“That ain’t even it, though,” her voice came again. “Only when he fell his duck slipped out of its baby sling.”
Indira’s head was in her hands. “Is the duck OK, Unit Three?” she asked wearily.
The walkie-talkie crackled.
