by Lenny Brando
Cole felt the need to do something. To take control. But there was little he could do. He considered another tweet about Alice Madsen, but he wasn’t getting much reaction. It would be much better if she were to engage. How could he engineer that? Perhaps he should learn more about her? As he had her address from the TV, why not have a look in person? He opened an app on his phone where he mapped a route to Portobello Road and saw he could walk it in half an hour.
Aware of the forecast for scattered summer showers with a risk of thunder, he glanced up to the sky. It didn't look like rain, so he put his phone away and began to walk. As he passed the Pavilion pub on the corner of Wood Lane and North Pole Road, he felt the spatter of several heavy rain drops, and he upped his pace. Before long, the spatters increased, and he ran to shelter beneath the railway bridge ahead. A low rumble of thunder sounded, and hail clattered on cars with a tinny noise.
Several people jostled on the pavement beneath the bridge and encroached on Cole’s space. Liable to mouth off to anyone at best, or smack someone at worst, Cole looked down the street for somewhere else to go. There was a small cafe by the bridge, and he pushed his way past a couple who brushed hail from their clothes.
A bell jingled when he opened the door and customers looked up to check him out before returning to their food. Cole sat at a vacant table by the wall and picked up a menu, although he already knew he would order the all-day breakfast. Yesterday’s full English had done the trick with his hangover, and while he didn't have a hangover today, he figured the all-day breakfast offered the best value for money.
He waited for several minutes, but no-one came to him. The girl sitting on a stool behind the counter thumbed on her phone and ignored him. She had unusually long fingernails painted bright red that contrasted with her dark skin, and Cole wondered how her nails didn't interfere with her phone tapping. Cole stared at her hoping to attract her attention, but a mass of curly black hair hid her eyes, although every so often, he could see the blinking of elongated eyelashes.
When Cole noticed one of the two guys in overalls at the next table had turned to stare at him, he returned the stare and spread his hands. The guy spoke through a mouthful of something that might have been sausage. “You order at the counter, mate. This ain't no Dorchester, that’s for sure.”
The other guy looked up and pointed his fork at Cole with a paint stained hand. “Don't worry, mate. Most of us survive the food in here. It shouldn't kill you.”
Several people laughed and the girl behind the counter called out, “I heard that Nicky.” She never took her eyes off her phone.
Cole got to his feet. “Cheers mate.” He approached the counter and the girl looked up. “Yes?” she asked.
“I’ll have the all-day breakfast with tea.”
“£4.90.”
Cole handed her a fiver. “Keep the change.” He eyed her up as she leaned forward to reach for the note. It gave Cole a lovely view down her chest, and he wondered if she did it on purpose. He smiled at her when their glances met, and she batted her false eyelashes at him without returning the smile. The message was clear from her down curled lips, and Cole returned to his table to wait.
The heavy shower had passed by the time Cole finished his food, so he nodded to the two guys beside him and left. Before he got to Portobello Close, Cole bought a baseball cap and a cheap pair of sunglasses and put them on. The ‘For Sale’ sign marked out her house, and Cole stopped short of it on the opposite side of the street. He leaned against a wall and lit a cigarette while he surveyed the area. It was a quiet road, with few houses and fewer pedestrians. As he smoked the cigarette and studied the house, an idea formed. Would he have the bottle? It was time to find the nearest pub.
34
Mark Flanagan and his girlfriend got out of the taxi on Wymering Road and walked to the entrance with the Beauchamps Estates ‘For Rent’ sign outside. Hannah blew a kiss at him as he opened the main entrance to the apartment block. They hurried up to the second floor where Flanagan rapped on the apartment door.
“Just making sure,” he said to Hannah.
She giggled at him. “You know what this does to me, don't you Marky?”
He put his fingers to his lips, listened, then unlocked the door. Once inside, he called out, “Hello? Anyone at home? This is Mark from the agency.”
Hannah poked him in the ribs. “It’s vacant, right? So there’s no-one here.”
He grabbed her and pulled her close. “The things I do to keep you satisfied.”
“Doing it in these places turns me on.”
He kissed her on the mouth, then broke away. “I’d never have guessed.”
“Where will we do it?”
“Where do you want? The beds have duvet covers, but no sheets.”
She walked down the hall. “How many bedrooms in this one?”
“Three.”
She turned, raised her eyebrows and fluttered her lashes at him.
He laughed. “Ain't got time for all three.”
“What happened to Stud Boy?”
“He’s still here.” He thrust his pelvis at her. “Horny little minx.”
She pulled him into the first bedroom and peeled off her top. As Flanagan finished undressing, his phone rang. He reached into his trousers and pulled it out.
“Leave it, Marky.” She stepped out of her skirt and wiggled her hips at him.
He brushed her off. “Client. Gotta take this.” He lay back on the bed and took the call. “Hi. This is Mark from Beauchamps.”
“Mark, it’s Ian Morgan. Portobello Close.”
“Hi Ian. All good?” He waved a hand at Hannah as she slipped off her panties and ran her fingers through her lush pubic hair.
“Yes. Yes. Listen, Alice and I will be away until Monday.”
“Somewhere nice?”
“I wish. Alice is going home to Copenhagen. I've a conference in Frankfurt.”
“Oh.” His hard on sprung to life as Hannah ran her hands up his legs and giggled.
Ian’s voice sounded distant. “It’s fine to have viewings while we’re gone.”
“Great. Great.” Flanagan shifted on the bed to get away from Hannah, but she grabbed his hard on and took it in her mouth. Before he could stop himself, he let out a low groan.
“You okay there?” Ian asked.
“Yeah. Yeah. You, like, still looking yourself? Have you found anything yet?” He clenched his teeth so he wouldn't gasp.
“Not yet. Keep looking for us. It would be good to view several places when we get back.”
He rolled his eyes as Hannah continued. “Will do, Ian. Look, er, I’ve got another call.”
“Sure. Oh, by the way, your dad said to say hello.”
“Oh yeah? He couldn't tell me himself, huh? Thanks anyway.”
The call disconnected and he let the phone drop. “Jeez, Han. What are you doing to me…?”
35
Alice stared out the window of the taxi as it sped from Copenhagen Airport along Amagerbrogade. She smiled at the returning familiarity of her home city. Her smile broadened when she heard the sound the taxi’s tyres made as they drove across the Knippelsbro to Børsgade. No matter the past, the present or even the future, Copenhagen would always be home. She resolved to fix as much as she could over the next few days. Perhaps then, she could return without being haunted by memories from the past.
Despite the road works on Rådhusstræde, the taxi made good time. She considered getting out at Frue Plads and walking to the front of the University building but decided against it.
In her hotel room, she showered and did her makeup. It took several changes of outfit before she decided on her Ralph Lauren jersey style dress. She stood in front of the mirror, turned sideways and shook her hips. Satisfied with her reflection, she smoothed out a few wrinkles in the metallic material and strapped on a matching pair of heels.
She pulled her phone from her handbag and frowned when she saw she had three missed calls from Connie. The damn ph
one was still on silent. Connie had left a text message too, and Alice groaned aloud as she read. Arrgh!! Truly sorry. Emergency client issue. Suicidal. But shh!! Go ahead and eat without me. Will call as soon as able!! Sorry xx.
For a moment Alice thought she should change into her jeans and mope with room service and a bottle of wine, but her determination won out, and she sent a reply to Connie. Meet you in the bar at the Petri. Hurry if you want me sober!!
An hour later, Alice finished a delicate pan-fried turbot accompanied by caviar and potato with a restrained glass of Chablis. She surveyed the restaurant from her table in the corner, watching couples and business people. She avoided eye contact with the single men, lest they consider it an invitation. As she drained her glass and signalled for the bill, she resolved not to take any crap from anyone. There had been several sneaky male glances in her direction already.
The bar was busy, and people occupied all the corner tables. She headed towards a vacant four seat table, and as she passed a middle-aged man reading a newspaper, he looked up and smiled at her, but she pretended not to notice and kept going. She sat with her back to the wall and draped her jacket a chair opposite her. A waiter took her order for a bottle of Chablis and two glasses and returned shortly after.
Alice swung her eyes around the bar and assessed the other customers. When she looked down to her glass, she surprised herself by letting a long breath out, as if unaware she had been holding it in. She took out her phone and checked it again for a text from Connie, but she had to assume that Connie was still dealing with her suicidal patient. It occurred to Alice that Connie could have her client committed to a suitable institution in a short time and then come to the Petri, but that thought sparked a guilty feeling. No, it was right that Connie’s suicidal patient’s welfare took preference over hers.
To occupy herself she tapped on her phone. The Twitter icon on her screen showed 47 notifications, but she swiped onto the next screen. She took a sip of wine and swiped back. 47 notifications? She went to nibble on her lip with her teeth but stopped. Connie said not to look. But that when I was in London. This is Copenhagen. One peek? She stared at the icon. It called to her. She took another sip of wine, then another, larger sip, that was more of a gulp.
She tapped the icon and read. Her eyes blinked at an increased rate. Her grip on the phone tightened. She forced herself to slow her breathing, alarmed at how the words cut through her resolve, palpable evidence as to just how flimsy her defences were. A guy with the username @StalkingAlice had posted several tweets. He, too, had put her real name alongside the now familiar hash tag of #ChampagneTerrorist and new tags of #guiltybitch and #AliceMadsenGuiltyBitch. Worse, people agreed with him and were including #lockherup in some. It was clear many thought she was guilty even though the police released her.
Alice kept reading despite Connie’s words thundering in her head. She brought her hand to her mouth and bit the skin on her knuckle as she scrolled through the #champagneterrorist tweets. Several tweets supported her, but the majority didn’t.
Has #champagneterrorist @TVGirlAlice been fired from her new show yet? Please update #lockherup #guiltybitch
#guiltybitch #alicemadsen needs to be raped with my throbbing cock #champagneterrorist
the #champagneterrorist girl from #SthKensington no longer a suspect #innocent.
Someone should drive van over #champagneterrorist #alicemadsen and kill her too #guiltybitch
#champagneterrorist looks hot!! I will fuck #alicemadsen before I #lockherup #guiltybitch
Hey! @TVGirlAlice is no longer the #champagneterrorist then? #eggonface.
#champagneterrorist innocent? Who cares? Guilty of something. Else wouldnt of been arrested!!!
She aint hot bro. She ugly slut #champagneterrorist #alicemadsen
LOL #alicemadsen will NEVER work in TV again after this!!! #lockherup #champagneterrorist
@TVGirlAlice Fuck off back to mecca u cunt! #champagneterrorist
She dropped her hand and stared at the phone with her mouth agape. Her feed flashed with a new tweet alert and she scrolled back to the top. @StalkingAlice had posted again.
Gonna slut choke #guiltybitch #alicemadsen and RAPE her til she cums #champagneterrorist
It was like he was talking to her. As if he could see her. It seemed all too real. Then someone replied.
@StalkingAlice U do it bro!! #guiltybitch @TVGirlAlice deserves ur cock!! LOLOLOL #champagneterrorist
She set the phone down on the table with a loud clunk that made people nearby look up. Her hands shook so much she was reluctant to lift her glass for fear it would spill. She tried to tell herself that Twitter wasn’t real. Then she beat herself up for ignoring Connie’s words. Why did she look? Would they really come after her? Were those idle threats? Or just keyboard warriors taking delight in terrorising women?
Alice grabbed the edge of the table and took several deep breaths. The man at the next table leaned over. “Are you okay?”
She nodded. “Y… Yes.”
“Sure?”
She waved a dismissive hand at him and he returned to his companion. She swallowed hard and flexed her hand. The trembling subsided, and she drained her glass without spilling any. A shadow fell on the table and she looked up.
A man grinned at her. “Oh hi, Astrid. My apologies for keeping you.” Without waiting for her reply, he pulled at the free chair opposite her.
Alice kept her voice steady. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“My meeting ran late.” He leaned in closer and she caught the subtle scent of deodorant or body spray. “It’s okay, I’m well versed in these situations.” His voice was low. “We’ll get the business out of the way in a discreet manner first, then we can have a drink before we leave.”
“What are you talking about?”
A look of confusion crossed his face. “We spoke earlier.”
“No, we didn't. And I’m not Astrid.”
The confusion disappeared and his confident grin returned. “My apologies. There appears to have been a misunderstanding on my part.” He stood, ran his eyes over her and shook his head. “Terrible shame. For a moment I thought I’d struck gold. Solid gold.”
Alice watched him walk to a table in the corner, where another girl drank alone. He pulled out a chair and the girl smiled at him. They spoke for a moment, then the girl looked at Alice and laughed. When Alice caught her eye, the girl waved her fingers and smirked.
As Alice realised what had occurred, a surge of anger rose in her and she grabbed her phone to post something about it. But as she thumbed the screen into life she saw @StalkingAlice kept the hate conversation going.
Will give her ONE for u m8. Slut choke her and up the arris an all!!! #guiltybitch #alicemadsen #champagneterrorist
What did he mean by slut choke? She rubbed her neck as the understanding grew. She narrowed her eyes and took four deep breaths to calm her racing pulse. It didn't work. Alice lifted her glass and swallowed an oversized mouthful of wine. She ignored the dribble that trickled down her chin, tapped on @StalkingAlice’s tweet and began to type.
36
Ian knocked once on the door to Jo’s apartment. She let him in with a smile. “Hey lover. How are you doing?”
“Glad to be here. Shit few days. Like, really shit.”
“Need an oasis of calm, huh?”
“Prefer a reservoir of filthy sex.”
She took him by the hand into the kitchen. “You know, you might have come to the right place.”
He handed her a bottle of wine. “It’s red. A decent Burgundy.”
“Thanks, but I’ll stick to the Monkey.” She placed the wine alongside the bottle of gin on the table. “You want one?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
She turned to him and put her arms around his neck. “What’s wrong with you tonight?”
He sighed. “I’ll be fine later.”
Jo let her hands drop. “I wish we could be friends too.”
“We are.�
�
“I’m just a fuck buddy to you.”
“That’s what you want, isn't it?”
She shrugged and picked up her glass. “Sometimes I need more.”
“You almost spilled your drink when I asked if you wanted me to leave Alice.”
She sipped her gin and leaned against the counter. “Can you pretend? You know, just for tonight.”
“Pretend?”
“Yeah. Pretend that you love me.”
Ian raised his eyebrows. “Seriously?”
Jo nodded. “I need to feel there’s more to us than sex.”
“Um. Okay.” He opened a cupboard and took out two wine glasses. “I can do that.” She said nothing while he opened the drawer with the corkscrew and popped the wine. He poured himself a glass and glanced to her with the bottle poised over the other glass. She nodded, and he filled her glass. They looked at each other for a minute, and he grinned. Then he sipped on his wine while she sipped on her gin. “I love you,” he said.
Jo laughed. “Not sure I’m convinced.”
He set the wine down and held her in his arms. They kissed. She thrust her hips into him, and he responded in kind. “Not only do I love you,” he whispered. “I want you.”
“I want your love. I need it. Let me feel it.”
“What do I get?”
“Everything you don't get at home.” She nuzzled into his neck. “Everything you want.”
“Tell me more.”
She undid his belt and slid her hand down. “I bet Alice doesn’t do this.”
“That’s for sure. Don't think she’d know what to do with it.”
“What does she do then?”
“Come on, Jo. Let’s not talk about her.”
She withdrew her hand. “I feel like she’s between us.”
Ian sighed. “She’s in Denmark. Forget about her. I want you.”
