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‘That’s enough, Poe,’ Flynn cut in. ‘And, Tilly, stop winding him up.’
‘Where are the crisps?’ Poe had said, the moment Bradshaw left the room. ‘The cheap sausage rolls, the fizzy sweets, the meat with the weird little tubes inside?’
‘We’ll go to the shop when she’s asleep,’ Flynn said.
‘She doesn’t sleep and we’re in the middle of a bloody housing estate. The only shop within walking distance is a newsagent and we can’t leave a strange car nearby in case it spooks Barnetson.’
Flynn had sighed.
‘We’ll manage, Poe.’
Bradshaw had returned with a brown paper bag. Poe glared at it – it didn’t even have the decency to be grease-stained.
‘Would you like a wasabi-coated mung bean, Poe?’ she said. ‘They’re organic.’
As Poe went off into yet another rant, Flynn muttered to herself, ‘There has to be an easier way to earn a living.’
