“But what if it happens again?”
“Put this number in your phone. It’s the station. Call us if you’ve any problems.” He glanced at Moore, and while she seemed to shake her head, Ian couldn’t be certain. McNulty turned back to Ian. “This is likely a one off. It shouldn’t happen again.”
After the police left, Ian went to bed, but he tossed and turned with his ears alert for any sound. Thoughts crowded his head. The one thing he could be thankful for was that he had declined Jo’s persistent pleas to spend the night at hers. He decided not to tell Alice about the window. The less she knew the better.
40
Ian changed the booking on the flight to Frankfurt, rescheduled the cab to bring him to Heathrow and fobbed off the office with the truth. Now he paced the kitchen as he waited for the glaziers to finish. The fear of another brick through the window while the house was empty bothered him, but there was little he could do. He comforted himself with the thought perhaps the police were right, the smashed window would be a once off.
When the glaziers left, he called Alice.
“Hey. Just calling to see how you're getting on?”
“Fine,” she said. “Didn’t go out last night. Connie had an emergency and had to cancel. I’m meeting her later.”
“How’s the hotel?”
“It’s nice. Ate in the restaurant, then had a drink at the bar. But I got bored and I, um, looked at Twitter in the room.”
He walked into the lounge and over to the window. “Not a good idea if you’re drinking.”
“I wasn't drinking. And so what if I was?”
“Jeez, Alice. Didn't mean it like that. I meant you shouldn't look at the tweets.”
“But I couldn't help it. Some of the stuff they wrote? I let it get to me, so I deactivated my account, that way I can't look. It’s better not to know.”
“True.”
“Yeah. But still…” She sounded annoyed. “And I had a lot of followers.”
“Where was their support?”
“There wasn't much.”
“The threats still bother you, don't they?” He studied the new window and ran his finger along the ledge. The glaziers had cleaned up well, and without close inspection of the new paint on the putty, no-one would notice.
She let out a long breath. “Of course they do. It’s difficult not to take threats personally.”
“They might give up now you’ve deactivated your account. I think it’s petering out already.”
“I hope.”
“Glad I use a pseudonym on Twitter, else they'd be after me too.”
“It’s different for men. No-one would threaten to rape you.”
“Fair enough.” He ran his eyes over the carpet for any elusive slivers of glass but couldn’t find any. “But you won't access Twitter, will you?”
Alice grunted over the phone, “I told you already. I deactivated it.”
The doorbell rang. “Hang on.” Ian went to the front door, careful to avoid the wet patch on the carpet. He gave the driver the thumbs up.
“You’re at the house?” Alice asked. “I thought you had an early flight?”
“Had to change it. Something came up at the office. Worked from home. Look, I got to go. I’ll call you from the hotel when I get a chance. Say hi to Connie and Lucas.”
*
Ian fiddled with his phone as the taxi crawled towards Hammersmith. He kept thinking about the empty house and the possibility someone would break the window again. But what could he do? At least he hadn’t told Alice. She had enough to be dealing with and being in Copenhagen away from all the crap would do her good. If Alice was off Twitter, then perhaps he could tweet something that would deter wannabe window breakers?
He explored several options in his head and by the time the taxi hit the M4, he formed a suitable tweet. Secure in the knowledge he could hide behind his pseudonym account, he typed:
LOL #champagneterrorist deletes account and flees UK after Twitter pressure!! #SouthKen
41
Later that afternoon, Alice took the Metro to Christianshavn. She walked up the steps and onto the still familiar cobblestones. Her instinct was to turn and run back to the Metro, but she forced herself to keep going, and she walked along the narrow street, taking two left turns onto Prinsessegade.
Her legs trembled as she stood at the intersection. Squinting in the midday sun, she looked down the street. The bar looked the same. But no longer innocent or welcoming. Her pulse quickened, and she took a sharp breath.
She focused her mind and kept walking until she stood outside. It had been over twelve years. The phone told her what she had already known, the bar didn’t open for another 40 minutes. She crossed the street and took a photograph with a trembling hand. Perhaps it would serve as a trophy of progress.
While the bar was one thing, Ved Volden was another. She walked to Torvegade and stood at the crossing. For over a minute she stared across the wide street, over to Ved Volden. When the green pedestrian lit, she ignored it. People brushed by. A woman flashed a scornful look. Still Alice stared. The lights changed and Alice stepped out onto the street. Three cyclists shouted obscenities, and she jumped back.
She grabbed on to the traffic light pole for fear she would stumble and fall.
An elderly man stopped on the pavement. “Are you all right?”
Alice put her free hand up. “Yes. Yes.”
He shrugged and walked off.
Alice felt her heart pounding. Whispers from the past echoed in her ears. The street spun around her. She struggled to breathe. Images from that night 12 years ago flooded back.
My words. “See something you like, Jesper?” My fault.
Thorsten’s words. “You got what you wanted.” My fault.
I didn't say
