The newspaper representatives surveyed the pictures; naked Claire in her pool, drinking, taking drugs and then the final few of her when she had collapsed. The empty bottles and the remnants of the drug taking sessions. Finally, there were two in the hospital.
They exhaled deeply. “So guys, still think I ain't really got anything.”
“Well …”
“Do you want the sex tape too. Select the Video application. Oh, and I have Emit on tape recounting all of this.”
“And Emit is … where?”
“He’s … otherwise engaged.” Lars said, with a smile. The tattooed gentleman nodded, acknowledging the truth of the matter. “And I have Claire’s smartphone. You can get all you need from that right?”
“Yeah. We better get Francis to see this,” the journalist said.
Lars’s shaky nervousness multiplied as he was led through the glass fronted complex of the newspaper and onto a top floor to the Editor's office. The editor’s personal assistant showed them into a large office with a long table and with panoramic views over London.
“Wow!” Lars cried. “I can see all of the city from here.”
The editor, a bespectacled man in his late fifties, growled as his two crummy subordinates had brought him an excited man to admire the view and little explanation other than he would want to hear what they had to say. “What is it?”
“This man has photos and videos from when Claire Baynes collapsed.”
Lars reached forward to shake Francis's hand. “Hi, I'm Emit's representative here. Emit can’t be here today but he met Claire on a dating app. They had a couple of dates, sex and then went on some epic binges. The last of which put her in hospital. We have photos and proof of the events I mention as well as access to the full story.”
Lars's tablet was passed to the editor who swiped through the pictures, stopping at a couple and zooming into the image.
“Well well. I see the story. But we can't show half of these without pixelating it out. And Claire's story is powerful but it's not going to shift millions more copies.”
“But are you interested?”
“Yeah, I'm interested. But only to a point.”
“Eh?”
He rubbed his chin. “You see. Claire's a popular girl but she ain't Mother Theresa. If you had a paragon of virtue doing drugs then I'd be saying you had a big story. So it ain't a big story. But then you've got her collapsing and going to hospital with the rumours that it was a suicide attempt. And that is interesting. Especially with her ex-partner in the news too. I'd offer you a little sum. Do I get an interview with Emit?”
“Alas, no. Emit is … unavailable … for a personal interview.”
The editor grunted and raised a small smile. “Do I get her phone?”
“Of course.” Lars pulled Claire's iPhone and slid it across the table. “Here, hack into her voicemails too. You do that, don't you?”
No-one spoke for a moment as all eyes turned to the editor. He broke into a smile, passing it to his subordinate. “Get that down to Pete. He'll get what we need off that. And I get an exclusive on this. No one else spoken to or seen those pictures.”
“Course not.”
He gave a wry smile. “Then I would say I could offer five thousand pounds for it.”
“Five thousand?” Lars squealed. “Wow! If you make it six I could sign now.”
The editor smiled. “Five thousand, five hundred then.”
“Deal!” Lars squealed.
“We’ll have a contract for you to sign. Who should we make the cheque payable to?”
“Lars Persson.” Finally, he had a way to pay off all of his debts, although it had cost him a friendship.
Chapter XLVI
Claire
The rain lashed against the window but the din never truly woke the sleeping woman. She was in a snoozing haze; too awake to be asleep but not aware of the surroundings of her room. There was a calm patter to the window frames and an eerie stillness to the world.
Nature had given up on the morning; the birds and insects sheltering from the magnificence of the named storm; Abigail, Barney, Clodagh, Desmond, Eva, and so on. They were artificial constructs created by mankind to understand and personify the destructive weather systems.
The animals needed no such system, hiding from the epic forces of nature. Only a handful of brave or foolish creatures ventured into the storm. The roads swamped with surface water and the drains overflowing as the 21st Century city was deluged by the unrelenting power of Gaia.
Claire was at one with the birds and insects; coiled in her warm bed and sheltering from the thunderous power that swirled around her magnificent house. Her mind took her places, away from the ferocious weather and along meadows interspersed with babbling brooks. Unicorns joined her, monkeys too and for some reason Paige was wrestling with Peter Moran. They merged into one, taking on the form of conjoined twins and fighting as a combined entity.
It was an odd metaphor: her best friend and their most vehement critic, becoming one. She floated across the unicorns, eating rainbow-flavoured pastilles and coming between them before a loud noise made her wake with a start.
Thunder.
The warm shower made her feel slightly more awake; the three missed calls from Andre made her feel worse. She ignored them, and the two subsequent attempts to call her, and the three texts which she ignored. It was only when Jack text her, telling her to ring Andre urgently that she reluctantly dialled her ex-fiancé.
“You wanted me.” Her voice was intentionally cold; Andre responded with a delightfully warm tone.
“Hiya, did you know that the Herald is publishing photos of you when you collapsed?”
“What?”
Andre gulped. “Did you know the Herald is running a big exposé on you tomorrow? They have photos of when you are unconscious and everything.”
Claire groaned, and slumped onto her bed. “They must have been taken by the paramedics. They can't print those, can they?”
“If they are procured through illegal methods then no, but can you prove that? My reputational management company got wind of it and I tried to ring. They flagged it up to me this morning. Two hours ago, they came to your agent, well ex-agent, well manager, well … me … for a statement. But you aren't signed up to anyone else right now, are you?”
Claire grunted. “No. I was looking but I don’t think I …”
“Do you want me to put out a statement for you? Or I can ask Hazel to have a word with you. She’s away with Big Riot and not answering her phone, but I’ve left a voicemail for her to ring me.”
“I can manage,” she snapped, too proud to ask for help. There was silence for a moment. “What do I need to say, again? I can ask Paige. Her public apologies were pretty natural.”
“'Cause she was like Clarkson and always having to make them! She's 'ad the practice! I'll ping something across via e-mail to you. You will need to be quick as they say the publishing deadline is in ninety minutes and you want to get something over to them if they are doing a big feature.”
Claire gulped. “I don't suppose I'd be able to get an super-injunction, would I?”
Andre hummed. “We can try. Sorry, you can try. Well we can try if you want, but I … well we …”
“In your professional opinion, is it a good idea for anyone to try and get an injunction to stop them from publishing these photographs or story?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I'm not convinced that they would succeed. Super-injunctions are hard to get, despite the lies the media tells, and there is no spouse or children to be embarrassed by these stories. That's the usual route: don't publish the stories of my adulterous antics as my children will get bullied. And for some reason the judges always agree. And anyway, this story is mostly out and the rest of the details will come out eventually. Social media will see the story get leaked so these pictures and this story will come out. Let 'em have their pound of flesh now and deal with the conse
quences. Rock star took drugs is hardly going to flog loads of papers, and then this is old news.”
Claire giggled. “I'm a rock star now?”
“Guitarist. Most definitely!” There was an awkward silence; Claire realised that she had unintentionally softened her voice and had been trying to maintain an anger towards her ex.
“OK thanks. I'll look at your statement and I'll send something. I better go.”
“Claire,” he called out. “Take care.”
“Yeah,” she muttered.
“And Claire, I do know what you are going through. It was only a few weeks ago that I had all my private indiscretions publicised to the world. It’s horrible. It’s humiliating and horrible. So please, if you need anything, please ring. Ring me, or Hazel, or whoever.”
“Yeah, will do.” She replied. “And thanks Andre.”
She put the thoughts of her ex-partner from her mind and loaded the laptop on her bed; her e-mail was full of unread messages.
She loaded Andre's measured statement that she tweaked before sending it to the editor of the Herald.
Claire Baynes was frontpage news. Again. For all the wrong reasons.
Chapter XLVII
Hazel
She sat by the small lake; her partner was in the recording studio in the Elizabethan country home recording his latest music video and he had sent her outside as she was a “distraction.”
Hazel, wrapped up in warm, fleecy clothing, watched two squirrels dart across the manicured lawn. They were rare to spot during the wintery months, and she looked up from her phone to witness the creatures bounding towards the safety of their drey.
She had been sat outside for almost an hour; her husband, who had been initially unenthusiastic about her joining him for the recording of his video had changed his mind after Paige’s photos had been leaked.
Ricky had sought them on the message boards; the same person, hacker_i_am, who had released his photographs had hacked into Paige’s phone and he had seen the private intimate photos of his sister-in-law.
He was angry when he saw the naked photo of Hazel on the London bike ride, alongside other unclothed people daubed with slogans. His hands screwed into fists as he shouted at her, towering over his young wife as his powerful voice smashed into her eardrums.
Hazel shuddered at the memory of that evening; his words were hurtful and spiteful. Angry at disobedience from Hazel after he had expressly forbidden her from going on the ride. Nothing Hazel had said, especially that Paige had insisted, made any difference.
Ricky deployed emotional abuse against his spouse. The weekly gathering with his friends at his apartment was used to humiliate Hazel; the naked picture of the smiling fiancée with Paige and Lucinda was displayed on Ricky’s huge television and four drunken misogynists traded insults over Hazel’s bare body. He forcibly stripped his wife in front of his friends so they could compare a pre-wedding and post-wedding body and laughed at the nasty comments his mates took it in turn to voice.
Ricky copied the pictures onto USB memory sticks for his friends, admitted he had been playing with himself while looking at his sister-in-law.
Hazel cried; her tears added to her humiliation and were fuel to Ricky’s baiting. He savoured the degradation and embarrassment, and a week later forced her to cancel her plans with work so could come with him to the large country house.
She “couldn’t be trusted” to be away from him.
On arrival, he had banished her from the set, citing her distracting influence on his support staff, and she had come to watch the ducks and the squirrels enjoy the freedom of the immaculate grass and clean lake in the late November air.
Hazel was bored; her phone could only entertain her for so long, and after a short conversation with Andre about some recent newspaper revelations, she spent half-an-hour playing a game on her phone.
“Hi,” a young voice called from behind her. She turned to see a spotty-faced young man, holding a supermarket carrier bag. The wary expression was of uncertainty rather than fear and was etched upon his features as he hesitantly engaged in conversation.
Hazel smiled; she glanced at him, looking at his garish gaming T-Shirt and faded jeans. His black hair was combed but lacked a definitive style. “Hi,” Hazel replied. “What's up?”
“Ummm … I just thought if you are out here you might want to feed the ducks.” His voice wavered. “I usually do it.”
She smiled, genuinely. The anxious nervousness wavered in her conversational partner. “You are?”
“Freddy,” he spluttered. “I'm here on a work placement.”
“Well Freddy,” Hazel charmed. “Perhaps you'd like to join me.” The young lad glanced towards the towering building behind him. Rain clouds gathered overhead.
He passed the talent manager the supermarket bag and Hazel opened it to find two full loaves. “My mum and dad run the bakery. This is the stale bread from yesterday.” Hazel nodded. “I had two full bags yesterday and they ate the lot. There's a lot of ducks on the island and they flocked towards me the moment I offered them some bread.”
Dozens of birds gathered around the two feeders sat on the bench, venturing closer and closer to the bread-laden humans. They were brave; squawking at the large loaf of food Hazel held in her hand. She broke off the first chunk of bread and tossed it into the air, that initiated a scrap a few feet away. “They’re hungry!”
“They're friendly enough,” Freddy mused, splitting his large loaf into two and started scooping out the insides. Hazel copied him. “Any sight of my husband, by the way? He said he'd be fifteen minutes.” The teenager shook his head.
“Sorry,” he muttered. “Never saw him.”
“What do you want to do?” She asked. “I mean, when you grow up?” She thought for a moment; she was only four years older than the boy throwing bread with her. “That sounds so patronising. What are you wanting to do for a career?”
“Nuclear Physics.”
“OK. Sounds exciting.”
“Working at Nuclear power plants and stuff. It does. I have a paper in Junior Physics Journal being published next month about the harnessing the free energy of spent rod pools.”
“Then why are you here?” She asked, not meaning to sound derogatory, but not quite succeeding. “Shouldn't you be doing work experience in Sellafield?”
“Couldn't do it. My school has a work experience week and we had to do something at one of the companies they work with. And this was one.” He smiled, and then swore as a duck, impatient by the speed of his bread distribution technique, pecked him when it tried to steal the food from his fingers.
Hazel knelt beside him and turned his hand over, examining the wound. “That'll be fine,” she said. “Just put a plaster on it.” She smiled, noticing a striding figure, dressed as a Tudor gentleman, coming across the lawn. Scores of scantily-clad wenches and support staff spilled onto the garden behind him as he advanced on the lake. “Hiya,” she cried warmly. Her husband ignored his wife, grabbing hold of Freddy and pulling him onto the floor.
“Ya t’ink it's a good idea t’ chat up my missus?” He asked. Hazel screamed.
“Ricky! Ricky! He wasn't. We were just …”
“Shut it!” He shouted and pressed his hands into Freddy’s shoulder. “Ya tryin’ to fuck my bitch an’ all.” His fist smashed into the scared face of Freddy before anyone could reach him, and Hazel was barely able to pull her husband away from the blood-spattered, crying sixteen year-old.
“Leave him alone!” Hazel yelled. Ricky paused for a split second and waved his finger into her face.
“An’ I’ll fuckin’ deal with you slut later.” Ricky stormed away from the grounds towards the hotel, leaving Hazel to check on the condition of poor Freddie.
Ricky had gone too far this time.
Chapter XLVIII
Andre
Andre sat nervously. It was a silly joke from Jack but he laughed politely. All three members of the Bare Necessities seated themselves around his dinin
g room table in his Thames-side flat that he used to share with the guitarist.
“Are you all OK for drinks?” He asked, and put a plate of warm rhubarb scones from the kitchen on the table. Claire twitched and looked at Paige before succumbing to the freshly baked scones.
“This doesn’t mean I like you, just that I’m hungry,” Claire told him firmly and then groaned as she bit into the floury texture of the sweet treat. “Oooh! They're so good!”
“He knows your Kryptonite,” Jack teased.
Andre smiled. “To business. Since we've spoke, I've spent the last four days tracking down the people behind the accounts being hacked.” He held an A4 envelope in his hand and put it on the table, looking at Jack. “I don't know I'm right but inside that envelope is who I think the hacker is.”
“This is just like Cluedo,” Paige giggled. “OK. Who is the fuckwit and we can go and beat the slimy arsehole to within an inch of his fucking life. I don’t mind using the lead piping or doing it in the Library. I think Leah might help me if we have to do it in the library as …”
“Ssssh!” Jack interrupted. “Andre, continue.”
“Thanks. The hacker that released the photos on the 'net had the handle 'hacker_i_am. My first thought was that this was a reference to will.i.am, but there was another angle too. Hacker I am?”
Jack and Paige looked at each other, blankly.
“C’mon, popular culture. OK. What if I said, 'wisdom said I?' or 'clever, you are' and said it in a little high pitched voice that …”
“Yoda,” Claire cried, scattering scone crumbs over the table.
“Yeah, Yoda. The other posts on the messageboard were quite revealing. He has quite a thing for the Bare Necessities, and other naked women. He likes Star Wars as he made similar references, and indeed all sci-fi. He normally posts between 9pm and 3am British Time.”
“So you think he's American?” Jack asked. “East Coast maybe?”
Bare Necessities 2 (The Bare Necessities) Page 20
