SEVEN DEADLY THINGS (Henry & Sparrow Book 3) by A FOX (best value ebook reader TXT) 📗

just as she found the mic back in her sweaty palm and was singing, ‘OH NO! HE’S NOT THE ONE!’

And that was the truth. The very LAST person she should be picturing at this quasi-horny moment was Lucas bloody Henry.

Which was when she glanced to the end of the bar and saw Lucas bloody Henry.

She didn’t actually drop the mic, but near as dammit. Bill was pulling her and Talia into a spin with him as the number rolled towards its finish, and Talia grabbed the mic and carried on singing. When Kate looked back at the bar there was no sign of Lucas. Christ, how drunk was she, conjuring that up out of nowhere? Must have been someone who just looked like him. She was relieved to get off the stage and leave it to Bill and Talia, who were now segueing into I Got You Babe.

She wiped her hair off her face and walked, a little unsteadily in those high heels that she wasn’t used to, back to Francis, Craig and Nikki. She drained her gin and tonic and considered getting a pint of soda water. She probably shouldn’t get much drunker. She was already getting mirages of Lucas Henry at the bar. What would her sozzled brain conjure up next? No. Time to sober up a bit. She swiped up her shoulder bag, rolled over to the bar and ordered the water, resting her forehead briefly on her folded arms.

Nikki joined her. ‘Your brother’s been telling me all about his sexy new car.’

‘Oh god, just humour him,’ said Kate. ‘It’ll make him very happy.’

‘He’s lush, your little bro. Have you got change of a fiver? I fancy another go on the karaoke.’

‘No… I’m all out. Sorry. Nearly done for the night,’ said Kate, picking up her pint glass.

Craig arrived between them. ‘You’re never calling it a night now!’ he protested. ‘It’s not even ten! What are you — a pensioner?’

Kate laughed. ‘Yeah — I hit middle age last autumn and I’m just sliding into my dotage this spring. That’s what happens in the police!’

‘You were just the same seven years ago,’ scoffed Craig. ‘Couldn’t take the pace. Way too soft.’

‘I just need my sleep!’ she said, and took a long gulp of water. ‘And I could only stand so many hours a day of you bunch of pissheads.’

‘You were just as bad as us,’ said Nikki. ‘God, remember the things we did?! Remember throwing up in the kids’ play area and covering it with sandcastles, Craig? And the time when you got up on the pavilion roof and drew a massive dick and balls with white chalk, for passing aircraft to spot?’

They fell about, clutching at each other.

‘It washed away in the morning rain,’ mourned Craig, wiping his eyes. ‘What about those days off on the beach, trying to get a tan and then giving up and doing graffiti in the old concrete World War Two bunkers? I bet the cliffs have fallen on them and buried them by now. Entombing all our empty cans of Stella and Dry Blackthorn.’

‘It all sounds very Famous Five,’ said Francis, drily.

‘It was,’ said Craig. ‘All we needed was a dog and a missing scientist.’

Bill and Talia left the stage, handing the microphone over to someone with an urge to perform My Way, and joined in the reminiscing. ‘Oh god — remember that ginger girl who got fixated on you, Craig?’ said Bill, with a snort of laughter. ‘The fat one with the nylon trousers from the special needs group?’

Craig choked on his rum and Coke and wafted his hands frantically, calling attention as he got his voice back. ‘Red Ruthie! She used to sniff my hair!’ he squeaked. ‘Actually creep up and sniff me like a dog.’

Everyone just about lost bladder control at this, remembering the pink-faced girl who’d imagined Craig was her prince charming because he’d done a duty dance around the ballroom with her. It would have been one of many duty dances every Bluecoat undertook in the low season weeks when the old and the vulnerable came to holiday.

Kate felt a familiar wince. This was something she’d struggled with seven years ago. There was something about having to be professionally nice to people, for twelve hours straight, six and a half days a week, that would sort of tip them all over at the end of their shifts, into something quite horrible. The things that came out of their mouths; the horrendous, bitchy, shallow, insensitive things. She couldn’t claim to have never joined in. Maybe not as much as the rest, and she had definitely always been the first to try to reign it in, earning herself a five-star goody two-shoes rating, but she was guilty of it, too.

She had since met all kinds of wonderful people who worked like heroes, supporting down and outs, addicts, rape victims and abused children. One or two of them had admitted to her how they sometimes went off on a rant with a trusted colleague or friend, making the most appalling jokes about the very worst things imaginable and howling with laughter. Afterwards they felt both ashamed and tremendously relieved, as if they just had to puke up all that vileness to stay sane. She knew this was a normal coping mechanism… and she knew the Blues had needed some of that, too, on a much lesser scale, of course… but it was still uncomfortable.

‘Little Mickey,’ choked Bill, fighting for breath through gales of laughter. ‘And the Six-Fingered Sister!’

Talia screamed and bit on her knuckle, weeping with mirth. ‘God… all the east coast inbreds we had to entertain. Martin was always trying to stop them pissing in the pool… Didn’t one of them start following us around when we were doing the bunkers on our days off? When she wasn’t stalking poor Martin in the pool. I think Handy Bendy Julie had to give her a talking-to in the end. Where the hell is Handy Bendy?’ Talia reached for