When Cole got his beer, he wormed his way into a corner, set his pint on a convenient ledge and took out his phone. With a frown, he saw it trembled in his hands. He squinted as if the problem was with his vision, and he flexed each hand. Then he reached for his pint, and it too, shook as he brought it to his lips. Thinking more beer would help, he took a deep breath and downed a quarter of the pint in one go. He kicked out at the wall. Pain jolted through his toe and he kicked out again. The thump got lost in the general hubbub, but the pain lingered. It helped stop the shakes.
He gripped the glass tight, took another big gulp and wished he’d bought two beers so he wouldn't have to fight his way back to the bar. An image of Daz lying on the ground came to mind, and he couldn't shift it. He should have brained the terrorist. With no one else there, Cole would have battered the bastard to a bloody pulp.
His thoughts switched to the Danish bird. The one who acted as look-out. The police may have the Arab, but they didn't have her yet. He let out a breath and unclenched his fist. His shoulders loosened. Better.
On his phone, he scrolled through Twitter. He searched the hashtag #SthKensington and saw the usual snowflake bullshit. But several tweets caught his eye, and he followed the #champagneTVgirl thread. He soon connected @TVGirlAlice and the #champagneterrorist. Then other possibilities occurred to him.
He finished his beer, battled to the bar and ordered two pints. Back in his corner, he tapped and swiped until he found @TVGirlAlice’s Twitter profile. He studied her profile picture and grinned. As he hoped, TV Girl Alice looked familiar. His mind went back to the tables outside the Provence earlier. He nodded to himself. Alice Madsen with the username @TVGirlAlice was the spotter for the terrorist. She was the champagne terrorist. A smile spread across his face and he added his voice to the Twitter conversation.
You selfish #bitch! People died!! And all u care about is ur #champagne? #SthKen @TVGirlAlice #champagneterrorist #AliceMadsen
Cole raised his glass and drank to social media and people’s ignorance of privacy settings. This would be easier than he expected.
10
Kristin hurried up the stairs and knocked on Alice’s bedroom door. “Alice? You okay?”
A mumbled reply came from within. It may have been an invitation to enter, or an order to go away, but Kristin didn't pause. She opened the door and entered.
Alice sat on the edge of her bed and looked up to Kristin with smudged eyes. “Sorry, Kris. I’m a mess.”
“That’s allowed,” Kristin said. “It’s been, um, traumatic.”
Alice sniffled and stood. “I better get it together to talk to these police.” She winced and opened her mouth as if she was about to say something else, but she gave a small shake of head.
“What?” Kristin asked.
“Nothing. It’s just...” She put her hands up. “Forget it.”
“Is it Ian?”
Alice laughed, but there was a cold edge to the sound, and it contained no trace of humour. “How about the police? Twitter? The terrorist? People dying? Talking about me on TV?” She looked at Kristin, but Kristin saw the pain behind the neutral expression.
Kristin went to her. “Shit. Sorry. I didn't mean it like that. Come here. Let me hold you.”
They embraced and Kristin held her tight, pressing into her. Alice pulled back and laughed, this time with a hint of amusement in her voice. “Hey. I’m not Olivia.”
“Sorry. Didn't mean it like that.”
“Stop apologising, Kris,” Alice smiled at her. “And don't give me the sad face.”
Kristin attempted to return the smile and hoped Alice wouldn't see through its weakness. “Just trying to help.”
“Good. Because I don’t need sympathy. I need control.”
“Can I suggest something?”
Alice nodded. “Go on.”
“First you need to sort Twitter and the champagne tweet.”
“Like how?”
“Delete the original. Post a tweet saying how awful the whole thing is and the champagne comment was a misunderstanding. Then ignore every response. Don't use Twitter.”
Alice reached for her phone. “Until when?”
“Give it a few days. These frenzies blow over once they’re not fed.”
“A few days?” Alice shook her head and swiped on her phone. “But then they win.”
Kristin nodded. “Do it now.”
Alice let out a long groan and shook her head. “Look what these people are saying. That’s not true. They’re lying.”
“Jesus, Alice,” Kristin said. “Don't read them. Just do what I said.”
They sat on the bed while Alice tapped on her phone. “There. It’s done. Almost pointless deleting it. Too many retweets.”
Kristin laid a hand on Alice’s wrist. “But it won’t be in your account.”
Alice glanced down, and Kristin pulled her hand away. “I suppose,” Alice said. Then she typed. She showed the draft to Kristin. “What do you think?”
Apologies for earlier #champagne tweet. Didn’t know about #SthKen #terrorattack. Truly sorry. #innocent.
“Get rid of the #innocent. It’s doesn't gel with the rest.”
“But it’s true.”
“They won't see it that way. In fact, #guilty might be better. Or #naive.”
Alice raised both eyebrows. “Naive?”
Kristin raised her hands. “#humbled then? Or #pray4SthKen. It doesn't matter if you don't believe it. It’s all about the perception you create.”
Alice sighed. “But I do believe it. #pray4SthKen it is. I hope this works.”
“Do you want me to stay?”
“What about Olivia?”
“Um...” Kristin stood and intertwined her fingers, pulling her hands together in a pulsing rhythm. “I’ll call her.”
“Everything all right there?”
Kristin sighed and shook her head. “No.
