Not Dead Yet

Switching on the torch again, he pulled the door shut behind him. His whole body was pounding. He was shorting out with excitement.
    Oh yes, baby, oh yes!
    He could safely keep the torch on now. He crawled forward, up several more steps, then on to a wooden platform. The interior of the dome mirrored the exterior, like a second skin. The exterior was rendered in carved stone, but the interior frame was constructed from wooden slats, like a concave ladder.
    There was no point in climbing it now, he knew from his previous recce, because it just got progressively steeper. He would be more comfortable staying here, on this platform.
    If the production stuck to its schedule tomorrow, after the Royal Pavilion closed to the public, Brooker Brody Productions would start filming one of the key scenes in the movie. His movie . King George IV and Mrs Fitzherbert sitting at the banqueting table, directly beneath the massive chandelier that His Majesty was so nervous of.
    The fixings supporting the chandelier were directly above him. A two-minute climb. From the top he could look down, through a tiny crack, at the top of the chandelier, and almost the whole of the room.
    With luck if he got his timings right, Gaia Lafayette and Judd Halpern would be pulped.
    That would put an end to the ridiculous travesty that Brooker Brody Productions had written into the script, about Maria Fitzherbert committing suicide after being dumped by the king.
    Much better for her to die like this.

83
    At 1.30 a.m. Roy Grace, snuggled up against Cleo, was woken by a solid kick in his ribs.
    ‘Ouch!’ he said, for an instant thinking it was Cleo giving him a dig with her elbow, which she did on the rare occasions when he snored. But she seemed to be sound asleep. Then he felt another kick.
    It was the baby.
    Then another kick.
    Without moving, Cleo murmured, ‘I think Bump’s practising for the London Marathon. He hasn’t stopped.’
    Grace felt another sudden movement but gentler this time. He said quietly, ‘Hey, Bump, do you mind, I need some sleep! We all need to get some sleep, okay?’
    ‘Not sure I can remember what sleep is any more,’ Cleo said. ‘I’ve got terrible heartburn and I’ve been to the loo four times.’
    ‘I didn’t hear you.’
    ‘You were well away.’
    ‘I was? It didn’t feel like it. I don’t feel like I’ve slept a wink, either.’ He kissed her on the cheek.
    ‘I’m wired,’ she said. ‘I’m so wide awake I could do some studying.’
    ‘Don’t, try to rest.’
    ‘I can’t take sleeping pills. I can’t have a drink. God, you’re so lucky you’re a man!’ Then she felt the baby move again, and she smiled. She placed Roy’s hand on her abdomen. ‘It’s amazing, isn’t it? That’s a mini us in there! I definitely think it’s a boy. Everyone’s telling me I look like I’m carrying a boy. You’d prefer a boy, wouldn’t you?’
    ‘All I want is for you and our child to be healthy. I’ll love it just as much whether it’s a boy or a girl.’
    She slipped out of bed and padded to the loo. He lay there, hismind a tangle of thoughts suddenly. The enormity of what it meant to bring a child into the world. And tragic Myles Royce – an example of what could happen to a child.
    He closed his eyes and concentrated on the case. With every major enquiry, he always fretted that he might be overlooking something vital and obvious. What was he overlooking here?
    ‘I’ve found several baby car seats on the internet,’ Cleo said, returning from the loo.
    ‘Car seats?’
    ‘We need one.’
    ‘Of course.’ Yet another thing to add to the never-ending list of stuff they had to have. And never-ending cost.
    ‘Do you think we should get a new one, or buy one on eBay – be a fraction of the cost.’
    He squeezed her hand. ‘What are we talking about in potential savings?’
    ‘One hundred and fifty pounds, maybe.’
    ‘That’s a lot of money.’
    ‘It is.’
    Back in his days in uniform he had attended some terrible car crashes. One he had never forgotten, where a baby, strapped into a car seat that had sheared from its mountings in a head-on collision, smashed into the back of his mother’s head, breaking her neck and killing her instantly and then hitting the front windscreen.
    ‘Let me ask you a question, darling,’ he said. ‘If you were going to jump out of an aeroplane, wearing a parachute, would you rather know that the parachute you had on your back had been bought because it was