Free Die of Shame by Mark Billingham

takes Diana a few moments to get it.
    ‘Have you known him longer than everyone else then?’ Caroline asks. ‘I mean, it sounds like you have.’
    ‘A bit longer,’ Heather says. ‘Not a lot. I think I understand him a bit better though.’ She turns to look again and Chris notices that they are all watching him. He pulls a face, sticks up two fingers at them. It’s camp and comical.
    ‘I understand him perfectly well,’ Diana says. ‘He’s self-destructive and immature.’
    ‘Well, he is that bit younger.’
    ‘He just doesn’t know when to shut up.’
    ‘Look, I’m not arguing.’
    ‘If he didn’t say such nasty things he wouldn’t have to say sorry quite as much as he does.’
    Heather holds up a hand. ‘You should tell him all this, not me.’
    ‘I will,’ Diana says. ‘I do…’
    She watches as Chris ambles back to the table. Heather shuffles along to make room for him and he sits down next to her.
    ‘I wish pubs still had those quiz machines,’ he says. ‘I used to make a fortune out of them. Go from pub to pub, emptying the bastards.’
    ‘What was the scam?’ Heather asks.
    ‘No scam. The truth is, I am just shockingly intelligent.’
    ‘Well I’m certainly shocked,’ Diana says.
    Heather laughs and Chris pulls a face and then the others join in. Chris seems relaxed and happy, the tense exchanges of an hour or so before at the session seemingly forgotten. It’s not the first time Caroline has been struck by how quickly his temperament can change. She had said as much to Heather the previous week.
    ‘He’s quite… mercurial, isn’t he?’
    Heather had looked at her. ‘Is that a clever word for moody?’
    ‘I suppose.’
    ‘Well, yeah then, he is.’
    Chris is telling a story about some friend of a friend who tried to fake a urine sample by strapping a water bottle to the inside of his leg, but forgot that he’d filled it with orange juice. He’s a great storyteller, doing the voices, acting out each part perfectly and clearly relishing the reaction he gets.
    When he’s finished, and before he has a chance to start another routine, Caroline says, ‘So, what’s the story with Robin’s son?’
    Heather and Diana turn to look at her. Chris rolls his eyes and says, ‘Oh please, let’s not go there.’
    ‘I’m just curious, that’s all.’ She pulls her tomato juice towards her. Her mouth hovers at the tip of the straw. ‘He’s dead, yeah?’
    Diana nods. ‘That’s about all we know, though.’
    ‘I think he killed himself,’ Heather says.
    ‘Really?’
    ‘Well, it must be something bad. I mean, worse than just some illness or something.’
    ‘Robin will tell us when he’s ready,’ Diana says.
    Caroline says, ‘Yeah,’ and sucks at her drink.
    ‘I’m sure there’s plenty of things the rest of us haven’t opened up about yet.’
    Caroline grunts her agreement, sucking until the juice has all gone. She straightens up as a barman stops at the table to collect the empties. She half smiles at him, but he doesn’t respond.
    ‘Maybe he topped himself because of Robin,’ Chris says, when the barman has gone.
    ‘You’re an arse,’ Heather says.
    Chris yawns extravagantly, stretching his arms out so that one snakes across the back of Heather’s neck and laughing as she cringes from it. ‘Maybe Robin just bored him to death.’
    ‘Oh,’ Caroline says.
    ‘What?’
    She nods towards the door through which Robin has just entered and they all turn to look. He waves and hurries over, breathing heavily. His silver hair, usually carefully styled and lacquered, is all over the place. It looks as though he’s been running.
    ‘I thought you couldn’t come,’ Diana says.
    ‘I put my appointment back.’ Still panting, he takes off his coat and folds it across his arm. ‘Couldn’t miss this, could I?’
    Diana gives a small cheer.
    ‘We’re a group, aren’t we?’
    ‘Right,’ Heather says, looking around. ‘We just need to find another chair…’
    Robin