‘Oh yeah,’ she said. ‘Let’s see Tyburn do something like that.’
*
Beverley’s euphoria lasted long enough for us to get our German family to the nearest ambulance. As far as I could tell from looking around while we walked out, Beverley’s wave of water had started somewhere near the centre of the covered market and rolled outwards to flood the Piazza to a depth of ten centimetres. I reckoned that at a stroke Beverley had quadrupled the amount of property damage done that night, but I kept that thought to myself. She hadn’t managed to extinguish the fire on the roof, but even as we sidled away, the London Fire Brigade were moving in to finish it off.
Beverley got strangely agitated when she saw the firemen, and practically dragged me up James Street and away from the market. The riot seemed to be all over bar the media witch hunt, and TSG officers in full riot gear stood around in groups discussing baton technique and reattaching their ID numbers.
We sat down on the plinth of the sundial column at Seven Dials and watched the emergency vehicles roaring past, Beverley flinching every time a fire engine went by. Still soaking wet, we were beginning to chill despite the warm evening. Beverley took my hand and squeezed it. ‘I’m in so much trouble,’ she said.
I put my arm around her and she took the opportunity to slip one of her cold hands under my shirt and warm it against my ribs. ‘Thanks a lot,’ I said.
‘Just shut up and think warm thoughts,’ she said, as if that were hard with her breasts brushing up against my side.
‘So you burst a few pipes,’ I said. ‘How much trouble can you be in?’
‘Those were fire hydrants I messed with, which means the cult of Neptune’s going to be pissed,’ she said.
‘Cult of Neptune?’
‘London Fire Brigade,’ she said.
‘The London Fire Brigade are worshippers of the god Neptune?’
‘Not officially, no,’ she said. ‘But you know – sailors, Neptune, it’s a natural fit.’
‘The Fire Brigade are sailors?’
‘Not now,’ she said. ‘But in the old days when they were looking for disciplined guys who knew about water, ropes, ladders and didn’t freak out at altitude. On the other hand, you had a lot of sailors looking for a nice steady career on dry land – marriage made in heaven.’
‘Still, Neptune,’ I said. ‘Roman god of the sea?’
Beverley laid her head on my shoulder. Her hair was wet, but I wasn’t complaining. ‘Sailors are superstitious,’ she said. ‘Even the religious ones know you got to have a little respect for the King of the Deeps.’
‘Have you met Neptune?’
‘Don’t be silly,’ she said. ‘There’s no such person. Anyway, I feel bad about the hydrants, but it’s Thames Water I’m worried about.’
‘Don’t tell me,’I said. ‘Worshippers of dread Cthulhu.’
‘I don’t think they’re very religious at all, but you don’t piss off people who can release raw sewage into your headwaters,’ she said.
‘You know,’ I said, ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen your river.’
Beverley turned and made herself comfortable against my chest. ‘I’ve got a place off the Kingston bypass,’ she said. ‘It’s just a semi, but my garden goes all the way down to the water.’ She lifted her head until her lips were brushing mine. ‘We could go swimming.’
We kissed. She tasted of strawberries and cream and chewing gum. God knows where we might have gone after that, except a Range Rover screeched to a stop right by us and Beverley disengaged so fast I got lip burn.
A stocky woman in jeans got out of the Range Rover and marched over. She was dark-skinned with a round expressive face that was, on this occasion, expressing a high degree of annoyance. ‘Beverley,’ she said, barely registering my presence. ‘You are in so much trouble – get in the car.’
Beverley sighed, kissed me on the cheek and got up to meet her sister. I scrambled up myself, ignoring the pain from my bruised back.
‘Peter,’ said Beverley, ‘this is my sister, Fleet.’
Fleet gave me a critical once-over. She looked to be in her early thirties, built like a sprinter – broad-shouldered and narrow-waisted with big muscular thighs. She wore a tweed jacket over a black polo neck, her hair trimmed down to a thick stubble. Looking at her gave me a weird sense of familiarity, like you get when you meet a minor celebrity whose name you can’t remember.