Lasting Scars

by Lenny Brando

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. I think she’s seeing someone else.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “I don't know. Intuition?” Kristin shrugged. “Coupled with serious insecurity, I guess.”

  “Then spend the night with her. Make things right.”

  “If only it was that easy.”

  “Tell me about it. Takes work, right?”

  “What are you saying?”

  Alice looked away. “Nothing. Saying nothing at all.”

  “You’re right. I’ll call her.”

  Alice nodded. “She’s probably worried about you.”

  “She better be. Although she hasn't called yet.”

  “That works both ways.”

  “You’ve got Ian. He’s a good guy. And we all deserve someone good.”

  “Deserve doesn’t matter...” She paused for a moment. “I guess most of us end up with who we settle for, not who we deserve.”

  “You and Ian got problems too?”

  Alice laughed. “Everybody’s got problems. It’s normal.”

  Kristin frowned. “Jesus, Alice. That’s like, dismal. Never mind cynical.”

  “Yeah, well. I’ve more to worry about than Ian.”

  “Then I’ll stay with you.”

  “No. Fix things with Olivia. The four of us can celebrate tomorrow instead.”

  “I suppose. Then let’s go downstairs. Ian might wonder what we’re doing.”

  “I doubt he’s too bothered.” She got to her feet and walked towards the bedroom door. She stopped and looked to Kristin. “You ever feel you’re just hanging on?”

  “How do you mean? In life?”

  Alice shook her head. “Forget it. I’ll survive. I always do.”

  “You sure you don’t want me to stay?”

  “Ian will understand if I snipe at him.” Alice cocked her head at Kristin. “You mightn’t.”

  “Give me some credit. This situation would unsettle anybody. If you weren't, I’d think there was something wrong with you.”

  “You mean I’m human after all?”

  Kristin raised an eyebrow. “Not sure I’d go that far.
..” Then she laughed, just in case Alice didn’t get it.

  “This will blow over soon. No need to worry.” She squeezed Kristin’s hand. “Let’s go.”

  11

  As she walked down the stairs, Alice mulled over what she should say to the police. She had nothing to hide, therefore she had nothing to worry about. The fact she knew the terrorist was a coincidence, nothing more. Lots of people knew him. Everybody on the production crew would have known him too. The more she thought about it, the more she realised why Samir had chosen Thurloe Place.

  When she entered the kitchen with Kristin, Ian turned from the TV. “You okay?”

  Alice nodded. “Yes. It’s just, you know...”

  Ian stood and went to her. “It’s okay. I understand.”

  “Let’s do this after I say goodbye to Kris.”

  Kristin gave Ian a hug and a peck on the cheek. “Good luck. And mind her, okay?”

  “Don't worry,” Ian said. “She’s in good hands.”

  Alice took Kristin by the arm. “Come on. I’ll walk you out.”

  At the front door, they embraced for several moments, as if each was reluctant to break the hug, until Alice disentangled herself. “Go on, Kris. Go to Olivia.”

  “Call me later, okay? Let me know how it goes.”

  Back in the kitchen, Ian filled a glass with wine and handed it to her. “Here. This might help,” he said.

  “Thanks.” She put her arm around him and pulled him close. “I had a moment earlier. Sorry. It’s not your fault.”

  “Don't worry. You’re forgiven.” He had the grace to smile. “The phone?”

  “Give me a moment.”

  They watched the TV in silence for several minutes. Footage of the scene played, then the channel re-ran an abridged version of the interview with Lewis Cole. Alice shook her head at his words ‘...A blonde girl drinking champagne...’

  She took a sip of wine, then another. “This is weird.” She pointed at the screen. “I mean, that’s me they’re talking about. Me. Like I’m some kind of terrorist. Worse, they’re calling me the champagne terrorist. What bullshit.”

  “It’s got all the elements of a great story. You know, a catchy soundbite, a Twitter trend, a developing meme.”

  “We need to stop it.”

  Ian clicked his tongue. “It’s too late.”

  “Thanks for that.”

  “Just telling it as it is. I say you call the police.” He pushed over a scrap of paper to her. “This is the number they gave to call. Then ‘twere well it were done quickly and all that.”

  “Huh?”

  “Macbeth.”

  “Jesus Ian. Now?”

  “Sorry.”

  “I get the impression you're enjoying this... this drama, aren't you?” Alice shook her head and pursed her lips.

  “No.” Ian pulled at his ear as he brought the glass to his mouth. “Not at all.”

  She grunted and picked up the note with the telephone number. She studied it for a while, but nothing altered the fact she had to make the call. Despite telling herself there was no rational reason to fear the police, she felt her pulse quicken and when she looked at the note, she saw it trembled in her hand. “What do I say?”

  Ian set down his glass and came closer. “Tell them the truth.”

  “Should we get a lawyer?”

  “No need. You’re a witness, not a suspect.” He put his arm around her and kissed her cheek. “I know it’s scary, but you’ll be fine.”

  Alice nodded, then she tapped the number into her mobile and took a deep breath before she hit the call icon.

  “South Kensington Information Line. Who is calling?”

  “My name is Alice Madsen. I’m the woman they were talking about on TV, outside the Provence Wine Bar. I spoke, er, said hello to the terrorist. I knew him.”

  “Hold on while I transfer you.”

  After a short pause, a crabby voice asked, “This is DS Barry Gilmore. Your name, please?”

  “Alice Madsen.”

  “Thank you. Now, Alice, tell me why you’re calling?”

  12

  Kristin paused outside Olivia’s apartment block in Putney. She considered using the key but decided on the intercom. As she pressed the bell, she wondered whether Olivia would ask for the key back.

  “Hello?”

  “Uh, hi. It’s me.”

  The buzzer sounded, and as Kristin took the lift to Olivia’s floor, she thought about asking for her own key back from Olivia, but that would be seen as a relationship ending move. Whatever difficulties they had, she didn’t think things had gone that far. Unless Olivia had slept with someone else. What then? Kristin still had no answer by the time the lift opened on Olivia’s floor.

  The door to the apartment was open and Kristin walked in, letting the door shut behind her with a clunk. “Olivia?”

  “In the lounge. Watching terror on TV.”

  Kristin stood behind the couch and let her bag fall to the floor. She reached over the back of the couch and squeezed Olivia’s shoulders. “Hey.”

  “Hey you. This is bad, huh? Alice okay?”

  “Yeah. She’s fine.” Kristin let go of Olivia, then flopped beside her on the couch. She thought she saw a flicker of annoyance cross Olivia’s face, but couldn't be certain. They watched the TV for several minutes, but the silence between them threatened to fester and rather than let it grow, Kristin leaned into Olivia and asked, “You okay?”

  Olivia nodded. “Yeah, why?”

  “I don’t know for sure. Intuition?”

  “What do you mean intuition?”

  Kristin took Olivia’s hand in hers. “Us. You know. Something’s not right. Is it me?”

  “No. It’s just this terrorist thing. You should have called earlier than you did.”

  “Sorry. I went to Alice’s. I mean, she was, like, there. She knew the terrorist...”

  “You already told me. And I saw the TV.” She turned to face Kristin. “But I was worried about you.”

  “You could have called me first.”

  “Supposing there was no answer? What would I think? I thought you’d call and when you didn't, I got worried. I hoped you would be thinking about me.”

  “I was.”

  Olivia pulled a face. “Yeah. But Alice was more important?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Olivia looked back to the TV. “Nothing. Forget it.”

  “Alice is with Ian.”

  “You told me she was thinking of leaving him.”

  Kristin shrugged. “I don't know.”

  “Do you want her, huh?”

  “Gosh no, Olivia. No. I want you.” Kristin pressed her fingers into her thigh until she felt it hurt. “Question is do you still want me?”

  “About as much as you want me, I guess.” Olivia got to her feet. “I’m going to open a bottle of wine. You want a glass?”

  “If you don't mind.”

  Olivia looked straight at Kristin. “Don't be bitchy. It doesn't suit you.”

  When Olivia left, Kristin winced and told herself to lay off. She sighed and let her eyes wander to Olivia’s bag on the coffee table in front of her. The bag was open, and she glimpsed the edge of something unfamiliar in amongst the contents. Was it Tampax? She tried to remember where Olivia was on her cycle and if that would explain her mood. When she heard a cork squeak in the kitchen, she leaned over and peered into the bag while she fingered through it. She pulled on the packet by the edge and she swallowed hard before she pushed it back down. What was Olivia doing with a packet of condoms?

  13

  Ian sat with Alice in the lounge watching the ongoing news coverage. Reports shifted focus from victims to perpetrators. A round table discussion debated the impact of government policy on terrorism and what actions could prevent attacks like the one in South Kensington.

  As Ian’s attention wandered between the TV and the imminent arrival of the police to question Alice, the channel interrupted the debate and cut to a pol
ice press conference. A chief constable spoke in sombre tones. He assured the public there was no known imminent threat. The sole suspect was in custody. To Ian, it sounded identical to the speech they gave after the previous terror attack. The same careful words designed to sooth public fear. Keep calm and carry on. Our way of life will prevail.

  Alice said nothing, she sat on the sofa beside him, looking lost in thought. Then the screen cut to CCTV footage of a girl sitting at an outdoor table. In the grainy footage, she drank from a glass and tapped on her phone. When the girl on screen paused, she looked up at the camera.

  “Oh no,” Alice said.

  Ian sat upright. His mouth opened, and he stared at the TV.

  Alice buried her face in her hands. “I can’t believe this.”

  Ian upped the volume.

  “...keen to contact this woman. Staff at the Provence Wine Bar have told us she is from Copenhagen. We have reason to believe she spoke to the suspect prior to the incident. We are appealing to her to come forward. She may have vital information for us....”

  The scene cut back to the press conference. Reporters fired questions all at once.

  “Jesus. Why are they showing this?” he asked. “We’ve been in touch already. There’s no need to broadcast it.” He turned to look at her and touched her arm. “Do you want me to turn it off?”

  She dropped her hands and reached for her wine. “No. I need to see what I’m up against.”

  On the TV, reporters hurled questions at the police, most of which they batted away, but one question cut through the noise.

  “Was she drinking champagne? If so, do you think she was celebrating the attack?”

  Ian shook his head and cursed journalists.

  On screen, the chief constable paused. “I’m not prepared to speculate. No further questions. Thank you. That’s all. Thank you.”

  The picture cut back to the studio debate where the panel discussed the latest development. Then they re-ran the witness interview from earlier. Ian put his arm around Alice and pulled her close.

  “.... A blonde girl drinking champagne. Short black dress. White jacket draped on a chair. Didn't look like a Muslim. But I reckon they knew each other....”