Green dust clinging to the inner walls of the bottle, sinking down through the water.
‘Have you said that so many times you’re even starting to believe it yourself?’ Nat asked him.
Pip swirled the water inside the bottle, picking up the dregs. Gently. A small splashing sound of water crashing on water.
‘Look, I really don’t have time for this.’
Pip froze.
She couldn’t see beyond the sofa. Was it over? Was Max shutting the door? Would he catch her right here, crouched on his rug, his water bottle in her hands?
A sound. Shuffling. And then something harder, like wood crashing up against something.
‘But I’m not finished,’ Nat said, louder now. Much louder. Was it a signal to Pip? Get out of there, she couldn’t keep him any longer.
Pip gave the bottle one last shake. The powder was dissolving, cloudy in the water, but Max wouldn’t be able to tell, not through the dark blue plastic. She picked up the top and screwed it back on.
‘What are you doing?’ Max said, his voice rising too. Pip flinched. But, no, he wasn’t talking to her. He was still over there, talking to Nat. ‘What do you want?’
Nat coughed, a harsh, unnatural sound. That was a signal, Pip was sure.
She placed the bottle back on the coffee table, exactly where she’d found it, and she turned. Crawling back the way she’d come.
‘I wanted to tell you…’
‘Yes?’ Max snapped, impatient.
Past the edge of the sofa, and Pip straightened up. She looked at them, Nat’s foot over the threshold, blocking the front door.
‘That if you take it to trial, this libel case against Pip, I will be there, every day.’
Pip crept, one foot in front of the other, bag shuffling against her shoulders. Too loud. She looked across, her eyes meeting Nat’s over Max’s shoulder.
‘I will testify against you. So will the others, I’m sure.’
Pip shifted her gaze, focusing on the closed door into the dining room ahead of her. Max wouldn’t go in there, she was sure. She could wait him out in there, or outside.
‘You won’t get away a second time, I promise. We will get you.’
More scuffling. Fabric on fabric. Then a thump.
Someone roared.
Max.
Pip wouldn’t make it. Too far. She darted right instead, to a slatted door fitted under the grand staircase. She opened it and swung herself inside, falling back into the small space, between a Hoover and a mop. She leaned up and pulled the cupboard door closed.
It slammed. Loudly.
No, that wasn’t her door.
That was the front door.
The slam echoing down the polished hall.
No, that wasn’t an echo, those were feet.
Max’s.
Slapping against the wooden floorboards, a person-shaped blur passing through the slats in front of her.
He stopped, right outside, and Pip didn’t breathe.
Pip still didn’t breathe.
She pushed her eyes up against the cupboard door, adjusting to the checkerboard view beyond.
Outside, Max swayed on his feet for a moment. Then he stumbled past her, holding one hand to his face. Up to his eye.
Pip exhaled, carefully, breath bouncing back into her face. Nat must have hit him. That was the thump Pip heard. Not part of the plan, but it had worked. Bought Pip enough time to hide in this cupboard.
Max hadn’t seen her; he didn’t know anyone was inside. The drugs were in place, dissolved in his blue water bottle. She’d made it. The part where Ravi was scared it would all fall apart. She’d just about held it together.
And now, Pip waited.
Max moved away from her, past the living room, towards an archway into the kitchen. Pip heard clattering, Max swearing to himself under his breath, and another slamming door. He returned a minute later, clutching something up to his eye.
Pip shifted to get a better view as Max padded over to the sofa. Something green and plastic; maybe a pack of frozen peas. Good. Pip hoped Nat hadn’t held back. Although, now Max would have a black eye to explain, to fit into the narrative. But maybe that wasn’t a bad thing, maybe that worked even better. A fight, between Max and Jason Bell. Jason punched him and Max walked away, returned with a hammer, sneaking up behind him. Yes, the bruise blossoming on Max’s face could bend, fit right into the story Pip was creating for that not-yet dead man ten miles away.
Max slumped down into his place on the sofa. Pip could no longer see his face, just a striped view of the back of his head. A grunt, a shuffling sound as he must have rearranged the peas. His head moved as he leaned forward.