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Kris’s office, Meadows Police Station, Nottingham
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Kris’s office building always made Sian feel transported back to the 1970s with its cord carpet tiles and scruffy magnolia walls. It was a low-key station, though, which meant her presence wouldn’t attract the kind of attention it might have elsewhere. Sian swung on the black office chair, using the button under the seat to move it up and down. Kris came through the door holding two Styrofoam cups of coffee. ‘Here you go,’ he said. ‘Medders station’s finest.’ He was doing his best Nottingham impression again.
Kris handed her sugars and sweeteners. ‘You might find these make the mudwater vaguely drinkable,’ he said. Sian pulled a face at the idea, and then at the taste of the overheated, bitter coffee, which burn
