When would that be? Months, years, probably never. And ITV wouldn’t be the only door slammed in her face. The abrupt end of such a high-profile show would be around town in a matter of days. Through the office window, she saw Willow rise from her desk, and, then seeing her, she sat down again.
Laura sat in silence as the true scale of her loss started to sink in. The production fee, the repeats, the second, third, fourth series. The international sales, the DVDs. The hoped-for accolades.Her reputation. Her company. Her career. All gone. She felt a sudden surge of rage.How dare she!Laura grabbed her bag and, tight-lipped, strode out of the office.
* * *
Laura’s anger didn’t subside in the cab, rather it smoldered into red-hot embers that would reignite the minute they were aggravated. She felt herself tense as they got nearer Daniel’s flat . . . and then she saw her. Walking along, as happy as you like, in her skinny pants, designer jacket and heels, expensive bag held over her shoulder with stylish, glove-clad hands. She was casting benevolent smiles around as she might, seeing as she’d wormed her way into the biggest scam she could. Laura thrust some cash at the driver, then got out and marched up behind her. When she was within touching distance, she clamped a hand on her shoulder and Cherry reeled around. Pushed her glasses onto the top of her head.
“Laura! You scared me.”
“What thefuckdo you think you’re playing at?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Oh, cut the act. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”
Cherry cast an eye sideways at the curious glances they were getting from passing shoppers. “Has something happened?”
“You get a kick out of posting dead animals to random strangers? Do you know what this has cost me?”
“I really don’t know what you mean, Laura, but I don’t like your tone.”
“The show is canceled andyou . . .” She was shaking with anger and jabbed her finger at Cherry’s face—
Suddenly she stopped. She was going to shout at her more, threaten her, but Cherry didn’t look scared, not even unnerved. Her eyes were cold. A ripple of unease went through Laura. She took a deep breath. “Whatever it is you’re doing, whatever vendetta you’re on, I’d like it to stop. This has gone too far. What you’ve done . . . it’s completely unreasonable. You’re angry with me, and I understand that, but this is . . . well, completely disproportionate.”
Cherry was quietly watching her.Maybe,thought Laura,maybe I’m getting through.The silence went on for longer. And longer.
“Boo!” Cherry was right up in her face.
Laura gasped out a strangled scream, staggered back.
“You know I had a bit of bad luck recently. Someone hacked into my account, sent a tweet that my boss thought was from me. Got me fired.”
Laura’s eyes flickered with guilt and she quickly looked away.
“What does it feel like to lose your job, Laura?”
“You’re insane,” she whispered.
“Sounds like you’re having a run of bad luck too. The divorce, the show . . . You know, they say it comes in threes. I really hope that’s not true.”
Laura stared at her, outraged, but at the same time, a primeval fear swept over her. “Are you threatening me?”
“You really do have a habit of reading the most fanciful things into what I say.”
“I know it was you.”
“You know nothing. And you should think very carefully before saying that again. Remember, Laura, threes. Or fours. Or . . . well, let’s not get too ahead of ourselves.”
Cherry turned and walked away, and Laura could do nothing but watch, rapidly being overtaken by a terrifying sense of disempowerment.
* * *
Laura sat in her living room opposite two officers from the Metropolitan Police Department. She’d put off calling. It signaled a seriousness to the situation that she’d been avoiding. And there was Cherry’s reaction . . . for it would mean she’d find out. But she had no one else to turn to.
The first time they’d come to the house, a few days after her run in with Cherry, she’d told them everything, like some great dam bursting, and the relief of sharing the burden had been so sweet. Then, as per police procedure, they’d gone away and done their investigations. Laura had been more jittery than everbefore, waiting, praying they’d get back to her soon so she could stop looking over her shoulder.
Now they were back and Laura knew systems and processes would be put in place. Soon this would all come to an end. They’d recapped the facts with reassuring clarity and the tea had been drunk, the biscuits eaten. One lone Florentine was left on the china plate and the male officer would longingly look at it every so often. The policewoman looked down at her notebook.
