Suddenly, catching Rose off-guard, Lorraine charged into the fray, pedalling through a narrowing gap between the front of a bus and the rear of a removal lorry.
Desperate not to lose her, Rose powered forward as the gap narrowed even further. Shit. She felt the glare of the bus’s headlights, the heat from its radiator — was the stupid bastard driver trying to crush her? Then she was out, swung left into the gap between a taxi and the lorry, and saw Lorraine, a short distance ahead, slalom in front of another bus as she rounded the corner, then headed up towards the Lanesborough Hotel and the left turn into Knightsbridge. She was riding like a lunatic. Good. Rose followed. The traffic was moving faster here, but it took little effort to catch her quarry again.
And she had to make her move fast now. The move she had been planning since Lorraine had mentioned bringing in the police. At the top of the incline, Lorraine would be turning left, heading across six lanes of traffic towards the slip-road entrance into the park, just by Apsley House. This was the most dangerous part of her ride, where traffic entered at speed from the left, from Knightsbridge. Visibility was lousy tonight, which was perfect. Drivers of buses, taxis, everything, had to contend with blurry windscreens, dazzling lights, reflections on the wet tarmac, the approaching traffic from the right and trying to make the smart choice about which of the multiple lanes to be in.
Rose watched her boss hesitate, left arm sticking out, not that anyone was going to see it or take much notice even if they did. There was a bus — followed by another — thundering in from Knightsbridge at quite a speed. Was she going to try to beat it across?
Yes!
Just one tap. That was all she needed. Her heavy e-bike’s sturdy front wheel would send her flying. Right into the path of the bus.
She could see Lorraine was hesitating — and now she was about to make a mad dash for it, right across the front of the first bus. Perfect! Her heart thumping, Rose accelerated, her front wheel now halfway alongside Lorraine McKnight’s rear wheel.
Then, just as she braced, gripping her handlebars tightly, about to turn into that rear wheel, Rose felt a massive thump from behind. An instant later and she was launched helplessly over the handlebars of her e-bike. In the same instant it seemed the shiny black surface of the road was tumbling upwards towards her.
74
Monday 27 November 2023
Rose heard a massive bang. It sounded like a clap of thunder inside her head. Simultaneously she felt an agonizing jolt to her neck and a jarring thump in every bone in her body, like she’d belly-flopped from a great height onto concrete.
Dazed and winded, she lay still, with the smell of wet tarmac in her nostrils. She was dimly aware of vehicles all around, slithering tyres, brakes. An angry horn. Another. Aware she might be run over herself now — but beyond caring.
She heard the sound of a car door opening. Then another. Another.
Footsteps. Running. Splashing through water.
A female voice. Elderly. ‘My dear, my dear, oh God I’m so sorry — I didn’t see you. I just didn’t see you.’
Another voice. Male. ‘She’s moving.’
Another. Female. Younger. ‘I’m a nurse, let me check her. Can someone call for an ambulance?’
Another voice. Male. ‘Yes, I have done it, just this second, an ambulance is coming.’
‘I’m — I’m OK, I think,’ Rose gasped.
‘Don’t move,’ the nurse’s voice said. ‘I saw it, you landed on your head. Your helmet has split open. Let me check you.’
Rose struggled to get up onto her knees, the weight of her backpack making it even harder. ‘I’ve got to — I’ve got—’ she gasped, a sharp pain searing through the left side of her chest. A rib, she knew, bruised or busted — she’d done that before.
‘Please don’t move, wait for the ambulance. The traffic’s stopped, you are safe here.’
Rose heard the faint doppler wail of a siren. Then another from a different direction. Both getting louder.
‘Can you move your toes?’ a voice asked, female, the nurse?
‘I’ve... I’ve got... go to... get—’
Where was Lorraine? Rose knelt, shaking, pressing her right hand against her left rib cage. She was swaying. Giddy. The rucksack was pulling her over. She fought against it. The sirens were getting louder. There were people standing all around her. Concerned, chiaroscuro faces in the torrential rain and the glare of lights and the darkness. All looking down at her. Like she was some fucking Tracey Emin artwork. Or Damien Hirst, perhaps. Roadkill!
‘I’m a doctor!’ a woman said, pushing through. ‘Are you OK?’
Do I look OK?
‘I’m OK.’
‘There’s an ambulance coming.’
Anger was roiling inside her now. Fuelled by her failure. Lorraine McKnight had gone, pedalled on, oblivious, towards her home, her kids — and her threat to call the police tomorrow.
She pushed herself up onto her feet and stood unsteadily, wobbling, and almost fell over. Someone grabbed her shoulder, steadying her. ‘Here, let me get this rucksack off you.’
She spun. Face to face with a man in his sixties, well-spoken, well-dressed, well-meaning, grey hair matted to his head by the rain. ‘Don’t touch my rucksack.’
She turned, looking for her bike. Saw it just a few feet away. It looked fine. She took a few, staggering steps towards it, still in shock. She knelt and lifted up the bike.
‘Lady!’ a male American voice called out. ‘There’s a paramedic just here...’
She rounded on the voice — on the sea of faces and semicircle of people — and retorted, ‘I was a soldier. I survived three tours in Afghanistan. I just fell off my bike, it’s no big deal.’
Then she wheeled the machine through a space in the stopped traffic and mounted it. She turned the power to maximum, found a gap in the traffic streaming in from Knightsbridge and raced over towards the slip road. Seconds later she winced, as she jolted over the incline, then headed on into the darkness of Hyde Park, cursing the fact that she should have perhaps got Smoke to deal with McKnight but had thought she had it under control.
Now there was just darkness and the relentless rain. The occasional torch or bicycle headlamp. Hurting her more than the accident was her sense of failure.
75
Monday 27 November 2023
‘I think I’ve got it!’ Cleo called out in excitement, waking Roy, who had fallen asleep in front of the television. The news was on. She was sitting at the kitchen table, sheets of notepaper littering the surface, and balls of it on the floor either side of her.
‘Got it?’ He looked at her groggily, wondering for a moment what she was talking about.
‘The puzzle — the first one! I think I may have solved it — well — at least — I have something that sort of makes sense. Possibly.’
‘Amazing! Tell me?’ He jumped up, excited, and walked over to her,
‘I’m not one hundred per cent sure, but I think the encryption might be something that was used by Centurions to create a substituted alphabet — like a cipher. I’ve been on it for hours — most people would have given up by now. But I’ve got something that feels right.’ She showed him a row of letters: A R B T T.
Grace looked at them, then said them aloud. ‘A R B T T.’ He thought for a moment, then said, ‘Am I being thick? I’m none the wiser!’
‘You’re not being thick at all.’
‘So what does ARBTT give us, my love?’