She was at the focal point of the universe; where the crosshairs met. ‘Inside. How are you grouped?’ ‘He’s watching. I have to go back. He says he’ll use the gun.’ He was handing her something through the railings: a very normal-looking Nokia. ‘My number’s the only one on this. How are you grouped?’ ‘Against the wall. He’s in the middle of the room. Or was. The children –’ ‘The twins, right?’ ‘Twins,’ she said stupidly. Then: ‘I have to go back.’ ‘You’re a brave woman. We’ll get you out of there. All of you.’ Yes. Will we be walking or carried? Because suddenly, thirty-two or not, she noticed that she was human – a collection of soft parts wrapped around bone, which could warp and damage if struck bluntly enough. A piano, dropped from a height; an unremarked streetlight, walked into. A bullet from a gun not far from here. He said: ‘He’ll come out or we’ll come in. We’re good at this.’ ‘I hope so.’ ‘Be brave, Louise. Take that to him.’ She wrapped her hand round the mobile phone, as if it were a crucifix or a magic wand, and headed back into the annexe.
