Lasting Scars

by Lenny Brando

  “You think he’s watching the house?”

  “No...”

  “You certain?”

  “No. But I can't spend my life staying in hotels either. He’ll find me no matter where I am. I have to hope the police find him first. Anyway, I decided to go home to Copenhagen. Maybe spend a week or longer.”

  “What about Ian? If you like, I can stay with you tonight either in the hotel or Portobello?”

  Alice played with her lip and tapped her finger on the table. “I’ll see. Maybe.”

  When the call ended, Alice finished her coffee and watched the video again. What were they doing? She called Ian, but his phone rang out to voice mail as it often did. Doing nothing didn’t feel like the right thing, so she forwarded the video to him, figuring that would generate a reaction. For good measure, she also sent it to Olivia.

  Minutes later, Olivia called. Alice looked at the phone and flexed her fingers. She took a breath and answered. “Hi.”

  “What’s this Alice?”

  A shiver of anxiety caused Alice to regret sending the video to Olivia, but she fought it. “Kristin sent it to me. She thinks you're sleeping with Ian.”

  Olivia laughed. “Jesus Christ. I shouldn't laugh. Ian and I are working on a business proposal for one of his clients. That’s why we met. There were others at lunch, but Ian had a team meeting and some shit to sort out with his boss, and I had another appointment.”

  “What about Birmingham?”

  “What about it? It was a huge conference. I didn't see him.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. Really.” Olivia paused, all trace of laughter now gone. “You have a bit of a cheek, Alice. You know I don’t sleep with men. Ian and I are colleagues, and perhaps even friends, but we are not lovers. I’m disappointed you suspect me of that. Although now I think about it, I see something here.”

  “What?”

  “Don't you see it?”

  “No.”

  “In that case, I’ll let you figure it out for yourself. But whatever about that, you owe me an apology. And Ian too.” Olivia took a sharp intake of breath and Alice almost took the phone from her ear. Olivia’s voice rose. “The more I think about this, Alice... No. I’m going to stop right there. Best I go before I say something I regret.”

  105

  When the team meeting ended, Ian hurried back to his office. Paul had scowled throughout the afternoon, but Ian stood fast in his resolve. Mark Flanagan wasn't getting any favours. He’d made his proverbial bed and laid on it in the wrong house.

  He sat at his desk and set his phone’s sound back on. There were several missed calls, two from Alice, one from Olivia and another from a business contact. The WhatsApp notification showed a new message. It was from Alice and it made him frown. His frown deepened as he played the video. “What the hell?” he muttered. Then he tapped open the text from Olivia. Call me ASAP!!!

  He hit the call icon and spoke as soon as she answered. “Hey. You may have to think again about talking to Alice. She sent me a video. She must have seen us.”

  “It wasn't Alice.” Olivia’s voice was sharp. “It was Kristin.”

  Ian picked up a pen and doodled on a pad. “Christ.”

  “I spoke with Alice. I’m pissed off with both of them. What did they think was going on?”

  “I told you they were suspicious.” Ian drew emoji-like faces on the pad, but none conveyed suspicion.

  “You sure you said nothing?”

  “Yes.” He added question marks over the faces he had drawn.

  “I told her there was nothing going on. There’ll be nothing going on with Kristin after this either. Suspicious little bitch.”

  “Why? What did she do?”

  “Besides spying on me? Going through my handbag? Telling your girlfriend that I’m sleeping with you? Jesus.” Olivia took such a deep sounding breath she may as well have been standing beside him, then she let it out as a long sigh. “Don't you see? She wants you and Alice to break up so she can have Alice.”

  “What? Sounds like a conspiracy theory.” He tore off the sheet of paper from the pad and threw it at the wastepaper basket. It missed, and he got to his feet to retrieve it. “Anyway, Alice isn’t you know...”

  “Gay?” Olivia laughed. “You sure?”

  106

  As she approached the house on Portobello Close, Alice tugged on Kristin’s arm. “Hold up. Wait until that guy goes by.”

  “Why? You think...?”

  Alice shook her head. “Just in case.” A few moments later, Alice nudged Kristin. “Let’s go.” She hurried to her gate with Kristin close behind, and with a final look up and down the street, she opened the door and pulled Kristin inside.

  “Do you really need to do this?”

  “Yeah.”

  “No wonder you’re quiet.”

  Alice tapped in the alarm code and reset it to night mode. “Don’t open any windows.”

  “Fine. We’ll sweat it out, huh?” Kristin laughed, but her humour faded when Alice said nothing.

  “We need to talk,” Alice said. “Let’s go into the kitchen.”

  Kristin sat on a stool, and Alice leaned on the opposite side of the counter.

  “What’s the matter?” Kristin asked. “Is it the video? Ian and Olivia?”

  Alice stared at her and rubbed her knuckle over her lips several times.

  Kristin smiled and leaned forward. “You know how sexy that looks?”

  Alice dropped her hand and rolled her eyes. “What’s the matter with you Kris?” Her voice rose and cracked a little. “I mean, what the hell is going on in that head of yours?”

  Kristin jumped back. “I don’t understand.”

  “You think I haven’t got enough on my plate without this lort from you? The video? Have you spoken with Olivia?”

  “No. I thought it was obvious. You know, what was going on between them.”

  Alice took a deep breath and gripped the edge of the counter. “There’s nothing going on between them. Olivia rang after I sent her the video.” She shook her head. “Christ. You knew I’d do that. Or hoped I would, didn't you? Made me look like the bad guy. Thanks.”

  “No. That’s... that’s not what I meant.”

  “What did you mean?”

  Kristin folded her arms. “It made sense. That’s all.”

  “Christ Almighty. I need my friends right now. People accused me of helping a terrorist. I was arrested. Everyone suspected me. They vilified me on social media. Some bastard sexually assaulted me and now he’s stalking me. Nobody knows who he is or what he looks like. He’s clever and dangerous. I lost my TV show. Never mind the fact I have to find another place to live. Oh, and by the way, my mother’s dying too.” Her voice trembled and her shoulders shook. “So I need no more shit. Especially bullshit shit from you.”

  “But the condoms? The way they flirt? Secret meetings? Birmingham?”

  Alice turned her back. “Oh Christ. I might as well be talking to the wall.” She stared out the window into the garden. A movement distracted her, and she gave a start, but it was Kristin’s reflection in the window as she came around the counter.

  “I’m sorry, Alice. I didn't mean any harm.” She put her hand on Alice’s shoulder, but Alice brushed it off.

  Alice stepped aside. There were tears in Kristin's eyes, but Alice looked away. “It might be best if you leave.”

  “But what about your stalker?”

  Alice pursed her lips and looked to Kristin. “I’m thinking I have two.”

  107

  Ian marched around his office and called Alice again. This time she answered.

  “Ian, I’m sorry. I misinterpreted a lot. It was Kristin’s fault.”

  “She has pissed many people off, that’s for sure.”

  “I didn't think she’d be like that.”

  “Let’s not worry about it for now.” He stopped marching and sat on the edge of the desk. “Where are you?”

  “In the house.”


  “Alone?” He got back to his feet. “Alice?

  “Yeah. Kristin left. I told her to go.”

  “What about the hotel?”

  “I’ve had enough of that place. And I agreed to do a TV interview tonight at home.”

  “An interview?” He shook his fist at whoever persuaded Alice to go on camera.

  “It’s a follow up on South Ken with Laura Bowfield from Xtra News.”

  “And that’s a good idea?”

  Alice sounded hesitant. “Yes.”

  “Can I ask why?”

  “I want to tell my side of the story. I haven't been in control of the narrative. Others determined that for me.”

  “You’re taking back control, huh?”

  “Something like that, yeah.”

  “What will your stalker think?”

  “I don't know and I don't care. He is not in control of me.” She paused a beat. “Anyway, they’ll catch him soon.”

  Ian shook his head and rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “How do you know? Did you talk to the police? Have they found him?” He walked around his desk and slumped into his chair.

  “No. But they seemed to think I could go home if someone was with me.”

  “Really?” He clicked on the mouse and closed several apps. “All right then. I’ll get a taxi home straight away.” He shut down the computer and sighed long. “I guess I can call the hotel from the cab.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Are you all right? You sound shook.”

  “I’m sad. Kris was a friend.”

  “I think she wanted more than that.”

  “Yeah. I, we, um...”

  “What?”

  “Um. Nothing. It doesn't matter.”

  “Sure?”

  “Not important. Tell you some other time.”

  “Fair enough.” He bent down, picked up a ball of paper by the basket and placed it in. “You should put on the TV. There’s been another terror attack. A van drove into people outside the London Muslim Centre in Whitechapel. They’re saying it’s revenge for South Ken.”

  “Christ, no. When will all this end?”

  108

  Laura leaned against the van and took Tim Burnham’s call from the office.

  “What’s happening now, Laura? You get anyone in a burka to talk?”

  “No. They put their heads down and scattered like frightened kittens when we pointed the camera at them. Half of them don't speak proper English. Be a shit interview. Nobody would understand them.”

  “Look Laura, we need to show it’s an attack on a Muslim community. Get a guy then. Someone who looks like Osama, you know, the beard and the robe.”

  “What more do you want, Tim? We’ve shown the mosque, got close ups of the fucking minarets and sent an interview with a survivor. Okay, he was a normal bloke for an Asian, but that shows they’re just like us. Isn't that what we’re supposed to do?”

  “I know. I know. But a quote from an extremist looking type would be gold, Laura. Solid bloody gold.”

  “No way, Tim. It’s all gone quiet now. Show’s over.”

  “You don’t have enough yet.”

  Laura put a finger up at the phone. “What am I meant to do Tim? Everybody’s gone. How about Alice Madsen? I’m interviewing her at home this evening...”

  “Nah, I don't want a whining victim. Forget her. I need someone with more bite, more snarl. I was thinking...”

  Lara shook her head. “Yeah?”

  “Remember the guy you interviewed after South Ken? That was raw. His twin brother’s in a coma, right? Use him. Bring him to Whitechapel. Get police action and the mosque in the background. Get him emotional. Think you could make that happen?”

  “What? The guy in the coma? Great interview that.”

  “Hilarious, Laura. Now, come on. You know what I mean.”

  Laura glanced around. “Oh yeah?”

  “Get me that killer interview, Laura. Let’s put raw energy into every living room by 7pm.”

  “I’ll try, but I’ll need an update on the brother from the hospital first.”

  She heard him take an intake of breath. “Er... I’ll put someone on it. Now call that guy.”

  “But...”

  “I heard what you pitched for. This will help... Or not.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Just make it happen, Laura.” The line went dead.

  She slipped the phone back into her bag. “Fuck it.”

  Ricky sidled up to her. “What did he say? We good to get out of here?”

  “No. Bastard says we’re an interview short. Told us to cancel Madsen. Wants a Bin Laden lookalike shouting ‘Allah Akbar’ into the camera or a right-wing fascist chanting ‘to Mecca or death’ with the mosque in shot.”

  “Shit.” Ricky clicked his tongue. He nodded his head at Laura. “Be wicked TV though.”

  Laura ignored him. “He suggested that guy whose twin brother got caught up in South Ken.” She took a mirror from her bag and checked her look. “You know, the right-wing angle.”

  “Oh him. Didn’t you promise him £200?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Never paid him, right?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “So you think he’s gonna drop whatever he’s doing, come over here and do an interview after you messed him over?”

  “Let me think.” Laura ran her hand through her hair and pursed her lips. “I’ll have to pay him tonight then, won’t I?”

  Ricky folded his arms and stared at her. “No shit, Sherlock?”

  Laura’s phone interrupted her. It was a researcher from the office.

  “Yes, Gilbert?” She walked away from Ricky, who shrugged and leaned against the van.

  “Hi Laura. Tim asked me to give you an update on Darren Cole. You know, the guy injured in South Ken?”

  “I know who he is. Go on.”

  “He died earlier. The brother was there when they switched off the machine.”

  “Shit.” Laura raised her eyes to the sky and shook her head. “Great. Just great. I’m supposed to interview the brother now.”

  “Look, Laura. Maybe he’ll want the opportunity to vent?”

  “Yeah. More likely to tell me to shove it. Thanks anyway, Gilbert.”

  Laura stood by the van, flipped through her notebook and found Lewis Cole’s mobile number. She stared at it until Ricky came over and interrupted her. “Where are we at, Laura?”

  “The twin brother died. Turned off the machine.”

  “Burnham know that?”

  “Probably.”

  “Not known as the Bastard for nothing, eh?”

  Laura tapped her notebook with hand and shook her head. “I feel mean. You know, ringing the guy.”

  Ricky laughed. “You know what Burnham would say?”

  Laura waved her hand at him. “Go on. Tell me.”

  “You're a journalist, Laura. Don’t get a conscience. Get a story.”

  “Fuck it. You're right.” She looked at the others and put a finger to her lips. Then she tapped in Cole’s number and took a deep breath.

  “Hi Lewis.”

  “Who’s this?”

  “Laura Bowfield. Xtra News. You did an interview with us after South Ken. Remember?

  “Yeah. You still owe me £200.”

  “I know. I have it with me. Listen, Lewis...”

  “What?”

  “I’m really sorry to hear about your brother.”

  “Uh, yeah.”

  “Must have been awful.”

  “What do you want?”

  Laura winced and held her breath. “Did you, um, hear about the revenge attack near Whitechapel Mosque?”

  “Yeah. Nasty that. How many did they get?”

  “Not sure. Lewis.” Laura exhaled and couldn’t prevent a smile. “Say, could you come to Whitechapel and do another interview on live TV with me?”

  “About what?”

  “Maybe how sad it was to lose your brother and how these terror att
acks impact on people?”

  “How much?”

  “Um, we don't have much of a budget.”

  “Same as last time then. £200.”

  “I don't know about that.”

  “Yeah, well. I’m skint right now.”

  “Think about it, Lewis. You can tell people how much Darren meant to you.”

  “No money, no interview.”

  “But Lewis, you can honour Darren...” She counted to three in her head. Then she heard Cole scoff through the phone, and she gritted her teeth.

  “Yeah right,” Cole said. “What about my £200?”

  “I’m not in a position to offer you much.”

  “You did the last time and ducked outta paying me. So seems only fair to ask for the same amount. And you're the one phoning me and all.”

  Laura rolled her eyes. “Okay. Jeez, Lewis. Where did you learn to negotiate? You’re good. All right, you’ve got a deal.”

  “Plus the cab fare over.”

  “Yeah fine.”

  “And you pay me tonight. Cash.”

  “Yes. No problem. Can you come now? Where are you?”

  “Bethnal Green. It’s about ten minutes in a cab.”

  When she killed the call, she shivered and felt her pulse rise.

  109

  Cole’s Xanax fuelled grin widened as he set the phone down beside the keyboard. He hurried to the bathroom and checked his look in the mirror. The shirt wasn't great, so he pulled it off and took the best one left in the wardrobe, grateful he hadn't put everything into the laundry earlier. His complexion was perfect, no spots or blemishes. He opened his mouth wide. Excellent. Nothing stuck between his teeth. Satisfied with what he saw and how great he’d look on the screen, he set up his TV box to record the station all night.

  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.