“Quit moaning, Ricky,” Laura said. “Just run.”
*
As the van worked its way through the streets of London, Laura rehearsed what she’d say in front of the camera, but the persistent doubt she’d arrive at the house after the arrest distracted her.
She glanced at her watch. The text from her contact told her the police were still waiting on paperwork. She reckoned that gave her an hour at least, but if the traffic was bad, she’d need every minute, if not more.
“How long, Simon?” she asked.
“How the fuck do I know? This traffic? Christ, Laura.”
She muttered a curse and turned to Ricky behind her. Ricky’s quick-fire phone conversation with the team back at HQ was on-going. She gestured at him to hurry, but he had the temerity to wave her away. She rolled her eyes at him. “I don't have enough. I need background. Context.”
Nafeez leaned into the front. “He’s on to Stephanie. Give him a minute.”
“I know what he’s doing,” Laura said. “I want him to hurry.”
“Chill Laura. You’ll know when he does.” Nafeez waved his phone at her. “In the meantime, check out the latest on Twitter.”
Her phone beeped and she saw contact details for Alice Madsen with address and phone numbers. She saved the information and scoured Twitter as the van slowed in traffic. Perhaps Naz was right, if she read the comments it might help reduce her anxiety.
Tweets relating to the attack varied in tone. Most were unsympathetic. Many were hostile. Several made overt threats and accused Alice Madsen of being a terrorist supporter. People questioned the sincerity of her apology for her original tweet, and both #TVGirlAlice and #ChampagneTerrorist still trended. Laura winced, and she almost hoped Madsen was guilty of some offence to justify the vitriol.
She flinched when Ricky tapped her on the shoulder. “Not much new,” he said. “Madsen’s been out of work since last year, but she’s landed a contract as a producer with FMP Film and TV Productions.”
“A producer?” Laura adjusted her collar. “FMP?”
“Yeah. That’s what I said. Why?”
“Doesn't matter.” She put the phone away and stared ahead. Ricky’s arm still rested on the top of her seat, and she shifted away from him. She felt him watching her. “What Ricky?”
“Think you could do it?” he asked.
“Do what?” She focused on the windscreen and saw his ghostly reflection. The bastard was grinning now.
“Madsen’s new job?”
Laura scowled out the window and shook her head. “I’m not just a journalist you know.”
Ricky leaned in closer. “Should have pitched for it then, eh?”
“Fuck you, Ricky.”
He laughed and she felt him leave her space. But anxiety loves a void, and negative thoughts rushed to fill her mind. She closed her eyes and concentrated on her breathing. Several minutes later, she calmed and the shape of her on the scene report formed in her head.
21
When Alice shut her front door on the outside world, she turned to Ian and said, “Now I want to relax.”
“Sure,” Ian said. “We can watch a movie?”
“Anything as long as it’s not the news. I’ve had enough of news.”
“I’ll set it up.”
“Ok. I’m gonna change into jeans and T shirt first.”
Ten minutes later Alice sank into the sofa and Ian handed her the remote. “Your choice,” he said. “You earned it.”
“Romcom?”
He grimaced, but his eyes smiled. “I said your choice.”
“All right. Let’s see what’s there.”
While Alice scrolled through the movies, Ian thumbed on his phone. He tapped her arm after a while. “Do you want to do something about Twitter? They’re still being nasty.”
“I stopped reading them. It will blow over.”
“You could delete the account?”
“What? Why? I’ve got over 3k followers.”
“So? What do they do for you?”
She stopped pressing on the remote and put it down. “Does it matter?”
“Yes. It does. If the only thing you get from it is abuse, then why put up with it?”
“It’s useful for work.”
“How?”
“I don’t know Ian.” She scratched her eyelid and blinked. “Just leave it. I don't want to think about it right now.”
“If you want my advice, I’d say delete it. Get them out of your life.”
Alice sighed. “I don't want solutions. I want sympathy. Support. That’s what friends are for.”
Ian shrugged. “Only trying to help. Sorry. I’ll change the subject then. What was wrong with Kristin earlier? She and Olivia have a tiff?”
Alice picked up the remote and continued to scroll through the movies. “Something like that, yeah.”
He pushed against her with his shoulder. “I think Kristin would prefer you.”
“Don't do that.”
“What? Say Kristin has a thing for you?”
“No. Well yes. That too. But don't push me. Okay?”
He put his hands up. “Jeez. Sorry. I was only playing.”
Alice grunted and pressed play on a film she selected. “This is your penance, mister.”
“Don't take offence if I fall asleep.”
“Better not snore.”
Around thirty minutes into a passable romcom, the doorbell rang. Alice looked to Ian. “We’ve no viewings or anything this evening?”
“No. I told them to hold them all for a few days.” He pushed himself to his feet. “I’ll get it.”
Before Ian had got to the lounge door, someone banged on the front door. Alice felt her pulse quicken and she too, got off the sofa. She went to follow Ian, but he turned to her with a look of concern and motioned at her to stay. She heard him open the front door and someone shouted “Police”. Then the detective with the rough face from the night before barged into the lounge. Uniformed officers followed close behind him and took hold of Alice. They pulled her arms
