“What am I meant to do?” Alice asked as she clung to Kristin. “I only wanted to celebrate. Nothing bad. And now? The Police? The TV? This Twitter lort? I did nothing wrong.”
The front door opened, and footsteps sounded in the hall. Ian walked in. “Oh, er, hello.”
Alice disentangled from Kristin and scowled at Ian. “I called you several times and you didn't answer.”
“Sorry. Got delayed at work. Then joined the team for a quick one. I, er, had the phone on silent.”
Alice pointed the remote at the TV and rewound the live view. “Yeah? You need to see this.”
8
Ian remained on his feet and watched the interview with his hands in his pockets. “Oh shit. What…”
Alice picked up the remote and upped the volume. “Shh. Listen.”
“Maybe a look-out for him. He was angry with her.”
“How could you tell if they were talking in Arabic?”
“I could hear the anger in his voice. He was shouting.”
“See?” Alice waved the remote at the TV. “That’s a lie. It’s not like we had a conversation. I only said hello.”
Ian stroked his chin as he thought about the interview. “Are you sure it’s you they are talking about?”
“Come on, Ian. What do you see? Huh? The description that man gave?”
“Yeah.” Ian looked at the bottle of wine and fetched a glass before he continued, “Did you know the guy driving the van?”
Alice nodded. “A driver on the job last year.”
Kristin stepped back. “Um, guys? Do you want me to leave?”
“No,” Alice said. “Stay.” She drank from her glass and placed it on the counter. Then she stood tall and folded her arms tight against herself. “This is all daft. It’s bullshit. I landed something I’ve been working towards for ages. I want to celebrate the contract. No terrorist will stop me. We are going out. End of.”
Ian frowned and rolled his eyes. “Are you mad, Alice? Call the damn police.”
“Don’t you understand? I did nothing wrong. They’ve arrested the terrorist. What more can I do?”
Ian waved at the TV. “Hang on, Alice. The guy in the interview said he told the police the terrorist spoke with you.”
Kristin moved closer to Alice. “We can celebrate another time.”
Alice sighed and her shoulders slumped. She looked from Ian to Kristin. “Maybe you’re right.” She plonked down on a stool and held her head in her hands. “I’m not thinking straight. God, I’m sorry.”
Ian set down his glass, went over to her and cradled her head against his chest. “It’s okay.” He felt her tremble in his arms, and he pulled her closer until he could feel her breathing. “It’ll be all right,” he said.
He saw Kristin shuffle her feet and when their eyes met, she said, “Guys, I don't want to intrude on this...”
Alice pulled away from Ian. “You’re not intruding. And you’re right. I better call the police. It’s just…”
Ian stepped back. “Let’s get it over with.” He picked up his glass and pointed at the TV. “Did they give a number to call?”
Alice shrugged.
“Guys,” Kristin said. “I’m gonna use your bathroom, okay?”
As he waited for Kristin to leave, Ian swirled his wine about, then stuck his nose into the glass. I ought to hide the good stuff from her, he thought.
“You know I don't like the police,” Alice said.
“This is different. They’re British.”
Alice rolled her eyes at him. “If it happened again, would the police in London be any different than Copenhagen?”
“I don't know. Maybe things are different now. Anyway, it was a long time ago.”
“What are you implying? That I should just forget about it?”
Ian looked away and shook his head. “No. No.” He raised his glass to his mouth and peered over the rim at her. “I’m sorry, okay?”
Alice burst into sudden tears. “Nobody understands. Nobody.” Then she grabbed her phone and ran from the room.
9
When Lewis Cole got off the District Line tube at Whitechapel, he stopped outside the nearest pub and made a call.
“Birdy?”
“Hey Lewis. You all right, mate?”
“You seen what happened in South Ken?”
“Yeah. I seen it. Seen you on TV and all. Proper hero, in’ya?”
“Daz got hurt. Leg’s broken, and he was moaning about a sore head. They took him to the hospital in Hammersmith.”
“You said he’s gonna be okay on the TV. You go to the hospital?”
“No. They wouldn't let me. Said no visitors allowed until tomorrow unless he’s dying, which he ain’t. The ambulance crew said he would be fine. Hospital congestion or some bullshit.”
“How come he got done, and you didn’t?”
“Getting the beer in at the bar. It don't matter though. I got the bastard. Gave him a good bashing and all. The old bill took him away. I gotta talk to them tomorrow.”
“I’d have done him proper.”
“Too many bleeding hearts, mate. They were whining at me to let the police handle it, know what I mean?”
“Shame that.”
“Yeah. But he had a helper. A bird. I fucking spoke to her and all.”
“You did? You know who she is?”
“Not yet. Gonna find out though. Listen, you still selling burners?”
“Yeah. How many do you need?”
“Just the one. Can I get it tonight?”
“No. Not tonight, mate. Something on.”
“All right. Tomorrow morning then. I’ll text you after I see the old bill. Gotta give a formal statement.”
“Good luck, mate. Those bastards make me nervous.”
“Not me, Birdy. I’m a hero now.”
Inside, the bar hummed with a standing room only crowd, and he struggled to get to the counter. Attracting the barman took longer. There was no TV and Cole couldn't tell whether the punters knew about the terror attack. Maybe
