Page 68 of Crocodile Tears

“Yes, sir.” The two policemen exchanged glances. “We were on guard all night. Nobody could have gone in or out without us seeing them.”

“Okay. Right.”

“Is there a problem, sir?”

“No. Not at all.” Josiah strode back to his duck, feeling unsettled. Maybe he was wrong about the absent holopic. All the same, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was missing something both vital and obvious – and that somehow it related to those flickering images in Elliot Dacre’s living room.

Chapter Twelve

SEPTEMBER 2086

Alex

It was a boiling hot day. Whenever Alex looked out of the window, he saw the little huddle of paparazzi, their cameras pointed unrelentingly at his flat.

“Bastards. I can’t do anything or go anywhere without them following me,” he fumed, taking a long drag on his cigarette.

Neil glanced up from the sofa, where he was reading. “It’s only for a couple of weeks. When the Paralympics are over, they’ll go away.”

“Two weeks holed up in this place with you? Might as well be two years.” He kicked the edge of the sofa.

“You should be proud of your brother for turning his life around to the point where he’s competing at international level again,” Neil said primly.

“You sound like the hacks. Every time I set foot outside the door it’s ‘Alex, tell us how you feel about your brother. Do you feel guilty, Alex? Proud? Do you feel sad, happy, or fucking delirious with joy? Is your heart bursting? Do you want to cry? Vomit? Laugh?’ Why the fuck are they so obsessed with how Ifeel? Who cares how I bloody well feel?”

“Apparently, most of the world’s press. You have to admit, it’s a story.” Neil flashed him a spiteful grin. “Our plucky national hero isparalysed in an accident caused by his no-good, drugged-up brother. But does he let that defeat him? Hell no! He pulls himself back up, gets himself into shape, and – defying all medical predictions – he goes back out there to compete for his country again. Fanfare! Trumpets! Violins!”

“Oh, fuck off. I’m sick to death of it.”

“It’s news, so of course the press is interested in a quote from you. Every good fairy tale needs a villain, after all.” Neil’s eyes sparkled maliciously.

Alex had done a good job of avoiding him since graduation. He’d made the most of his new-found freedom to sleep his way around Oxford, taking great pleasure in bringing his conquests home and flaunting them.

Neil was like a spider stuck in a web of his own making, alternating between shooting wounded looks and slinging bitchy comments at him.

He didn’t give a damn what Neil told his father; he was done playing that game. Unfortunately, right now he was stuck in the flat with his unwanted flatmate, and he resented it bitterly. These were his last days of freedom before he started work at Lytton AV, and he wanted to enjoy them – not spend two swelteringly hot weeks holed up with his least favourite person.

There was a commotion outside, followed by a knock on the door. He opened it to find Solange standing there in a pair of tight denim shorts that showed off her shapely legs and a teeny-tiny white vest top that clung to her small pert breasts.

“Hey,” she said cheerily. He grunted and stood aside to let her in.

“Hello, Solange,” Neil said pointedly, in contrast to Alex’s brusque welcome. Neil didn’t like Solange, but he’d been scrupulously polite to her since Alex had started inviting her over. “Don’t mind Grumpy here,” said Neil, waving at him. “He’s just upset that his heroic brother has overcome adversity to bring hope to the nation.”

“Again,” Alex muttered.

“Well, he’s a hero, isn’t he?” Solange said brightly. “Everyone loves Charles.”

“Yup. Story of my life.” Alex dumped his cigarette viciously in his half-drunk pint of lager.

“I was worried about you.” Solange flung her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. “I kept phoning you last night, but you didn’t answer.”

“I was out clubbing,” he said, keeping his arms stiffly by his sides. “With Bax. He managed to distract the press while I sneaked out.”

“Did you have a good time?” she asked, drawing back, her face falling at his cool welcome.

“I suppose so.” He shrugged moodily. “I fucked a guy in the toilets, and then some girl sucked me off in the alleyway outside. It was good.”

He glanced at Neil, and then Solange, hoping to have wounded at least one of them. Solange, who had always been so easy-going, had become increasingly clingy of late, which made him want to curl up into a ball like a hedgehog, all spikes.

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