Before he left, Cole popped another Xanax. The hospital said it was to help with the grief, and the more he took, the more it helped him forget. Daz? Daz? Who the fuck was Daz?
For the final few minutes of the taxi journey, he rehearsed answers to imaginary questions from Laura Bowfield. She wasn’t a bad piece herself, and his rehearsal for the interview wilted as he fantasied about Laura. But his mind soon turned to Alice.
When he thought of Alice, he closed his eyes. Nobody else could do it for him. He needed her. He rubbed his eyes at the thought of the mace, and his smile disappeared. Anger bubbled up in him. His setback at the hands of Alice rankled, and he clenched his fists. Bitch. He considered sending a tweet with a link to the video clips of Alice in her bedroom but decided to keep them in reserve. She’d know they were coming, and the best part would be she’d never know when. Cole was in control of that.
He scowled as he paid the driver. For a moment, he thought about not giving a tip, then he changed his mind and spoke to the driver. “Do us a favour, mate? Here’s an extra couple of quid. Give us a blank receipt?”
The driver counted the money Cole had given him and tore off a blank receipt. Cole grabbed it. “Cheers. Can I borrow your pen?”
“Bloody hell, mate. Here.” The cabbie shook his head and handed Cole a pen. “Hurry up. And don’t be stupid about it neither. Like making it for a ton.”
“Do I look stupid eh?” Cole wrote out a receipt for £26.50. “Gonna be on TV. That ain't stupid, eh?”
The driver held out his hand and nodded. “Yeah. I can see you got it, mate. Star quality all over. You’ll go far.”
Cole smiled. “Thanks.” Before he could add another comment, the cab sped off. As Cole walked towards the Xtra News van, he could see Laura talking to the crew. She looked up at him as he neared. Definitely would and all, Cole thought. She kind of reminded him of Alice, too. He blinked away the fantasy vision of Alice tied to the bed.
“Lewis,” Laura said. “Thanks for coming.”
“No problem. Here's the receipt for the taxi.”
She took it from him and passed it on to one her guys. “Okay. Several pointers.”
“Like the fee?”
“We’ll get to that. First...”
“£426.50 plus a tip for the cab of £3. Call it £430.” He held out his hand. “Cash I believe you said?”
Laura pursed her lips, then called out to the guys by the van. “Simon. Would you pay Lewis please? £430.”
A guy in his late thirties, with receding hair and goatee tinged with premature grey came over. He glanced at Laura and frowned. “Jeez, Laura. You said £400.”
“It’s kosher, mate,” Cole said. “Agreed expenses.”
Simon counted out the money and Cole slipped it into his pocket. He liked the feel of the crisp new notes in his hand. Straight out of the machine and unused. That kind of note smelled good too.
“This is Ricky, our cameraman. That’s Nafeez, he’s doing sound and Simon does other stuff.” She looked over at him and forced a smile. “Like driving the van.”
“Okay. What questions will you ask?”
“I’ll do an introduction. We’ll have the mosque in the background, and we’ll take it as it comes. Conversational style. It’s not live, so don't worry. We’ll edit it after.”
“Yeah,” Simon said. “The van driver is also the technical specialist for audio and comms. Note the distinction between that and the technical specialist does the van driving.”
Cole scratched his head. “Not my problem, mate. All the same to me.”
Simon stomped off, climbed into the van and slammed the door. Cole laughed. “He got his period or what?”
“Forget him,” Laura said. She leaned in closer to Cole. “He’s a real jerk.”
“Whatever. What sort of questions?”
“Casual questions. You don't have to worry. We’ll edit later. Now power off your phone.”
Cole powered off his phone as Laura beckoned to Ricky. “You ready?” she asked.
“All set,” Ricky said. “Lewis, stand back a little.”
Laura ran her hands through her hair. “How am I looking, Ricky?”
“Good, Laura. Very good. Just fix your collar and we’re rolling.”
Cole raised his hands. “Hey, Rick, mate? How about me? Everything okay?”
Ricky gave a thumbs up and a red light on the camera blinked, then steadied. Cole had no idea whether the thumbs up was for him or Laura, so he too, ran his hands through his hair.
“You got the mosque in shot, Ricky?” asked Laura.
The camera’s red light blinked off and Ricky looked up. “Mosque? What mosque?” He put his hand to his forehead as if shading his eyes and looked about. “Oh. You mean that big building behind you with the minarets, the police activity and crime scene tape? The mosque beside the London Muslim Centre that’s whole point of the location interview? The one I had perfectly framed to your right? Or is your mosque somewhere else?”
“Up yours, Ricky.”
“Yeah. Sure. Believe it or not, Laura, I know what I’m doing.”
Laura ignored him and turned to Cole. “Remember, Lewis. Look at me, not the camera.”
Cole nodded and swallowed. His mouth was dry, and he thought he should have drunk something before he started.
