Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

Mercury Morrison opened his eyes. The light seemed to mainline straight into his brain making him wince. Gingerly, he moved. Every muscle cried out in protest.

"Don't," his best friend, Lotty, cried out. "My stomach can't cope with you rocking the bed like that."

She emerged from under the duvet, her platinum blonde hair sticking out all over the place.

"Shit, you look bad," Mercury said.

"What about me?"

Their friend, Bobby, lay on Mercury's other side. He looked marginally better but only because he had much shorter hair than Lotty.

"I don't think we're winning any glamour prizes this morning."

Mercury sat back on his pillows. Lotty snuggled into his side.

"Happy birthday, bestie," she said, squeezing his arm.

"Happy birthday," Bobby echoed.

"Thanks, guys, and thank you for staying."

"Hey," Lotty said. "It's a tradition."

Bobby wriggled up so he was facing them both. "Even when we're married and ancient, we should still do this. It's fun."

They had huge houses at their disposal but Lotty and Bobby had always made sure Mercury had someone to wake up with on his special day.

"Although I don't know why I don't get this treatment on my birthday," Bobby continued.

Lotty reached across and swatted his head.

"Because your mummy wakes you up with fresh coffee and a bacon sandwich in bed."

"Oh yeah. Where is Madeline this time?"

Mercury reached over Bobby to grab his phone from the nightstand.

"I've forgotten," he said.

He clicked onto the app for his mother's schedule.

"On a PR tour of Japan. Love Explosion Two is out," Mercury replied. "Not that she's spent a birthday with me for ten years. Her schedule is the number one priority in this house."

He held up the phone before throwing it down on the duvet.

"Only a few years until your thirtieth," Lotty said. "Maybe she'll make up for it then."

Mercury nudged her. "Less of that number, thank you. I don't mind really. I'd rather be with you two."

"What did she get you?" Bobby asked.

Mercury shifted. "The usual. She transferred some money into my account."

Lotty cuddled him. "How about I help you spend it later? I fancy a trip to Harvey Nichols. We've not been there for ages."

Mercury could always be persuaded to visit London's major designer clothes stores.

"Where are we going tonight?"

Mercury groaned. The session the night before had not been strictly diarised.

"Do we have to?" he moaned. "I don't think I can face any booze today."

Bobby dug him in the ribs, making him yell.

"Yes. Lotty will have something up her sleeve. I can sense it."

"As a matter of fact, I do," Lotty said.

Mercury turned sharply. She did look very proud of herself. Despite his hangover, he was intrigued.

"Go on," he urged.

"I've got us a VIP table at Sin."

"No way," Bobby exclaimed. "How have you managed that?"

Lotty shrugged. "Contacts."

As leading online influencers, Mercury and Lotty had London pretty sewn up in terms of access to places. However, even he had failed to get into the VIP area of the capital's newest and hippest gay club.

"Can't wait to get that on the gram," Bobby said. "Everyone's going to be so jealous."

Mercury ignored him and kissed Lotty on the cheek. "Thank you, darling."

"But before that, you and I are going to see some art."

"Without me?" Bobby cried out.

"Sorry, love. Just us two. We'll meet you after."

Mercury sank his head on the pillow. "There's never any peace, is there? Even on my birthday."

The vast white space of the Tate Modern gallery had been temporarily dominated by a black wooden structure, a huge rectangular box that looked as if it would hold about twenty people.

Mercury walked around it, sipping a glass of wine. After the amount of booze he'd had the night before, he wasn't sure he could keep it down. Still, he'd always sworn by hair of the dog and that evening was no exception.

"Have the aliens finally come for us?" he asked.

"It's a tunnel of focus, apparently," Lotty said, squinting at the brochure.

The great and the good of the London art scene were filing in and out of the tunnel like worker ants. In high fashion, of course.

"We should have a go," Lotty said.

"Do we have to?" Mercury sighed.

The wine was sitting heavy on his stomach and they had places to be.

Lotty grabbed him by the arm. "Of course we do. That's the deal. What's the artist called again?"

They walked past a large sign written in red. "Grim." Mercury frowned. "That's quite the brand. One sec."

He scuttled over to the huge billboard and got his phone out. After a quick check that his hair was fine, he pressed Record.

"Hi, guys. Mercury here at the Tate Modern. Here to see…Grim," he said into the camera, revealing the sign with a flourish. "Let me read about him. Grim is a northern artist who wrestles with the unfairness of society through his art. He displays rage in a style never before seen in the art world."

Mercury panned the camera over to the black structure. "He's even brought his own tunnel of focus," Mercury continued. "I wonder if you get one per purchase or if you have to collect the set."

He switched the camera toward himself.

"Also, how shit is the art if you need to see it in a darkened room? Stay tuned—Mercury is doing this so you don't have to."

Mercury chuckled to himself as he finished recording and posted it onto his socials.

"You're mean," Lotty said. "You haven't even seen it yet."

"Call it a premonition." Mercury put his phone in his back pocket.

"Come on, we're meeting Bobby in an hour. It's all go today."

Mercury slung his arm over her shoulder. "The life of an influencer, eh? I think I might need another drink before we do this."

"You've recovered well from last night."

Mercury winked at her. "I always do. You know that."

Luckily, a handsome waiter stood behind a table full of wine. Mercury drained his glass and approached.

"Red or white?" the waiter asked.

"Oh, red, I think," Mercury replied. He placed his glass on a nearby table. "Lotty?"

"White for me. I only drink red in the winter," Lotty said.

Mercury took a glass from the waiter. "Here's to crap art."

They wandered over to the entrance to the tunnel. Mercury nodded at a few people he had seen before. He'd grown up as the son of one of the country's leading film stars—a lot of people made the effort to get to know him.

Some happy individual had decorated the entrance to the tunnel with black leaves. A young man with greasy black hair and a scowl stared at his phone. A sweating woman with a clipboard stood next to him.

"Mercury Morrison and Lotty Hampton."

As the woman checked her list, the man stared up. "Are you the dickhead who thinks my art is shit?"

Mercury took a step away. "I don't think I said that. I presume you're Grim."

"Fucking right I am."

He appeared fit to burst.

"I haven't even seen it yet," Mercury said. "Calm yourself."

"Fucking rich kids. You think you're so superior, don't you?"

Mercury burst into laughter. It echoed around the room, causing people to stare.

"Take a look around you, Grim. This is the Tate Modern, for fuck's sake. Everyone is rich."

The clipboard woman ushered them in.

"What a dick," Mercury said.

"Let's do a quick circuit and go," Lotty replied. "He must be constantly checking his own name on insta. You only just posted it, for goodness' sake."

Mercury shrugged. "Imagine being so touchy you're vanity scrolling instead of enjoying the big moment. Weird."

They approached the first canvas. It was brilliant white with a thin blue line down the centre.

"This is called Orgasm," Mercury said.

He and Lotty stared.

"I don't get it," Lotty said immediately.

An impossibly chic woman in Chanel glided past. She glanced at them. "Is there any food?"

"I think so," Lotty replied.

"Might as well make the trip worthwhile."

She left them to it. In fact, the tunnel of focus had become one of emptiness. Most people had aborted mission.

"I'm following her," Lotty said. "That crowd will strip the buffet in minutes. You coming?"

Mercury shook his head. "I'll catch you up. I want to get a few shots."

Lotty grinned. "Play nice."

"Always."

He wandered farther into the tunnel. Each canvas was a variation on a theme, brilliant white with a different coloured line daubed down the centre.

Love

War

Net Zero

Mercury snapped away.

Who the fuck is going to buy these?

His mother had an art collection to rival a minor royal's, meaning Mercury had grown up around true talent. Somehow he didn't think Madeline and her cronies would be scrambling to buy this utter crap anytime soon.

At the end hung Poverty. This time a brown line bisected the white.

"I hope that's paint," Mercury muttered to himself.

Perhaps it was time to check out the food. It was evident the "art" wouldn't get any better.

He turned to see the hulking figure of Grim standing between him and the exit. Alarmingly, it appeared they were the only ones in the tunnel. And Grim certainly had his focus on Mercury.

"What are you going to do?" Mercury asked. "Beat me up because I said something nasty?"

"You've made everyone think I'm a right twat," Grim said, approaching Mercury, who involuntarily took another step away.

"I've done nothing of the sort. If you hadn't pounced literally seconds after I posted it, you wouldn't have looked so ridiculous."

Grim clenched and unclenched his fists.

For a split second, Mercury feared he was going to be murdered in the Tate Modern.

Typical of my luck that they'd find my body next to some really terrible art.

People were standing close to the tunnel entrance and evidently unaware or unconcerned that Mercury was trapped.

"How about I give you a glowing review on my channel?" Mercury asked.

"You think I give a fuck what stuck-up wankers like you have to say?"

Mercury raised an eyebrow. "Well, something's got you riled up."

"I'll show you riled up, you posh twat."

In a split second, Grim grabbed the half-drunk glass of red from Mercury's hand and threw the contents at Poverty.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Mercury yelped.

Grim dropped the glass at Mercury's feet. Suddenly his leering face transformed into one of devastation. He backed away, his hands up.

"You…you made it clear you didn't like my art. You didn't have to ruin it."

"Wait—"

It was pointless. Grim had reached the entrance to the tunnel. Mercury chased after him. When he got to the exit, a group of people huddled around Grim.

"What's the matter?" a particularly snide art critic asked.

"That man," Grim roared, pointing at Mercury. "He's destroyed my work!"

Suddenly, all eyes were on Mercury.

"I'm calling the police," someone with a name badge said.

"The police?" Mercury cried. His legs wobbled as he clutched the side of the stupid tunnel of focus.

What am I going to do?