Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

As he stepped through the doors of Westminster Magistrates' Court, Mercury kept his head firmly down. The noise of camera shutters and the explosions of flashes greeted his exit.

"Mercury. Are you relieved you dodged prison?"

"Madeline, are you ashamed of your son?"

Mercury's mother, Madeline Morrison, walked in front of him, leaving Mercury to follow in her wake. She had dressed for the occasion in an exquisite fuchsia pink Diane Von Furstenberg suit, her mane of brown hair left to flow.

Mercury had opted for an ink blue Paul Smith suit. His solicitor had advised nothing too garish.

The reporters and photographers jostled him as he descended the steps. Thankfully, Madeline had hired a bodyguard to clear them a path to the waiting car. When she'd mentioned it, Mercury had dismissed it as a needless gesture. Now he was glad for the six-foot-five hulk who parted the sea like a modern-day Moses.

He walked as fast as possible through the gap, keeping his mouth shut. He wanted to rail at the unfairness of it all but that would make him look like the entitled brat they had painted him over the last few weeks.

At last, they got to the car and Mercury slumped onto the back seat. Madeline got in the other side.

"Let's get the fuck out of here," she said to the driver.

Slowly, the car crawled from the courts.

"Well, that went better than expected," Madeline said.

"You think?"

"I do and so should you. Did you want to go to prison?"

Thankfully, the car had picked up enough speed that the photographers had given up.

"Don't be so dramatic, Mother," Mercury said.

Madeline snapped to attention. "Dramatic? You've made me out to be an absolute fool as well as an unfit mother."

"I'm twenty-eight years old. It's not like you left me home alone."

They drove on in silence. Mercury had never been so mortified in his whole life. The newspapers had been their usual snippy selves. Madeline had been correct when she said the blame would be on her. How dare she be a working mother? Of a twenty-eight-year-old with his own income.

"Anyway, it's over now."

"For you, maybe. I'm the one with a tag and three hundred hours of bloody community service."

Rummaging in her favourite Chanel handbag, Madeline pulled out her phone. "You got off lightly."

"Who are you calling?"

"Jessica. We'll be all over the bloody internet."

She dialled her PR manager to get the media autopsy of the day. Mercury stared out of the window with every intention of ignoring the conversation. What was the point in listening? It would follow the lines of how badly Mercury had damaged his mother's public image.

Instead, he focused on the task in hand. The probation officer had explained that he had to report to somewhere called Bodhi House first thing in the morning. He would have to google it when he got home. His humiliation was far from complete.

As the car drew onto Queens Crescent, the curved row of Georgian houses where Mercury lived with his mother, he let out a sigh of relief.

"At least there aren't any photographers," he said.

"Apparently, that shouty TV presenter Amber Jade has been caught fiddling her taxes," Madeline replied. "You're no longer the highest-profile criminal in London."

Mercury frowned. "Didn't she host the programme Alexander went on?"

"I've no idea."

"Are you going to punish me forever?"

Madeline's stern expression faded and she took hold of Mercury's hand. "Darling, I'm not punishing you. The courts have done that. I'm just so…"

"If you say disappointed, I'll throw myself under the next bus."

"Fine, I'm annoyed that you would do this to yourself."

"For the millionth time, Mother, I didn't do it. That piece-of-shit artist set me up."

Madeline shook her head. "It doesn't matter now. You've been sentenced. You will do whatever is required of you with no complaints. Then we can close the door on this bloody nightmare you've inflicted on us."

His mind a whirl of all the nasty things he'd like to do to Grim, Mercury got out of the car. He needed to change his clothes and have a cocktail. In the last four weeks, he'd lost his taste for wine.

"Oh, fuck," Madeline said from the other side of the car.

"What now?"

Then Mercury's heart sank when he saw their elderly neighbour and self-appointed guardian of Queens Crescent, Mrs Wimpole, descending her steps.

"Ah, the Morrisons," she said.

Madeline and Mercury exited the car onto the pavement to await the final judgement. They lived at the opposite end of the street to Mrs Wimpole, yet that didn't stop her from knowing most things that went on with them.

"Hello, Mrs Wimpole," Madeline said.

"Good afternoon, dear," Mrs Wimpole replied, out of breath. She had closed the distance between their houses at an alarming rate. "I wanted to pledge my support to you. I saw on the internet that you got quite the tough sentence, young man."

"Thank you, Mrs Wimpole," Mercury muttered.

The whole thing reminded him of being a teenager. Mrs Wimpole would regularly interrogate him on his school progress. In fact, when he'd passed his exams, she had been the second person he'd wanted to tell.

"Mrs Wimpole," Madeline said. "We've had a very long day."

"Of course you have," Mrs Wimpole replied. "I expect you'll want to go and get into something a little comfier."

She gave Madeline's suit a hard stare.

"You did look marvellous on the television footage."

Mercury stifled a laugh. It had taken Madeline's stylist many tries to find her the best suit for the occasion.

"Thank you," Madeline said through gritted teeth.

"Now, Mercury," Mrs Wimpole said, taking hold of his hand. "This curfew. Is it within the boundaries of your property or the whole of Queens Crescent?"

"The house. But only at night. I can do what I like in the day. Within reason."

"Gosh, that is very harsh. I had intended on inviting you over one night for supper. I know a young man like you likes to be out and about. However, my photograph collection is in a terrible state and I thought I might seize the moment. So to speak."

Mercury frowned. "I'm not sure how I can help."

"Nonsense, you have a wonderful eye," Mrs Wimpole replied. "Your help refining things down to a more manageable level would be most appreciated. If you find yourself at a loose end, I'll be round with Parkin like a shot."

He knew what she was doing and was so very grateful. Mrs Wimpole would never approve of lawbreaking, yet she had thrown him an olive branch.

"Thank you, Mrs Wimpole," Mercury said. "Once I get settled into my community service, I'm sure we can arrange something."

Mrs Wimpole folded her arms. "Ah yes, what have they got you doing? I hope it's nothing dangerous."

"It's a youth project," Mercury replied.

In the car, his mother had made it clear she didn't want to talk so he'd started his research. It didn't seem all that bad.

"And where is this place?"

"Somewhere nearly Bromley."

Mrs Wimpole shuddered. "South London? Goodness.""

"We really have to go," Madeline said. "I don't want him to break his curfew on the first day."

"Ah yes," Mrs Wimpole said. "Have they fitted something to your ankle? The Professor said they would have done. I can't fathom how?"

Mercury nodded. "I'm afraid the Professor is right."

Mrs Wimpole's eyes widened. "May I see?"

Mercury raised his trouser leg to reveal the plastic manacle that would destroy his life for the next four weeks. Mrs Wimpole stooped to get a better look.

"Whatever next?"

For the hundredth time that day, shame burnt through Mercury's system. Mrs Wimpole might be forthright yet she had always been decent to him. Even if she and Madeline very rarely saw eye to eye.

"This time will fly by and you will have a very useful life experience to show for it," Mrs Wimpole said. "I'll let you go. I'm sure your mother wants to pamper you a little after the horrid day you've had."

Her stern glare at Madeline suggested she didn't believe a word of what she was saying.

"Thank you," Madeline said. "Have you got enough to tell the rest of the neighbours?"

"Ms Morrison, it is not the idle tongues of Queens Crescent you should be worrying about. Then I expect you have a team of people handling the impact this will have on you."

Madeline nodded and swept off toward their house. Mercury smiled at Mrs Wimpole.

"She's taken it quite badly."

"I've always been so admiring of how your mother never shies away from letting us all know how things affect her," Mrs Wimpole said with a glint in her eye. "Don't forget my offer. I think you'd rather enjoy it."

The prospect of digging through Mrs Wimpole's past did have its attractions.

"I would love it."

"Mercury," Madeline shouted. "Time is ticking."

"Off you pop," Mrs Wimpole said. "The last thing you need to finish today is a night in the cells. Now that is a terrible experience. So very dull."

Mercury's jaw dropped. "You?"

"My dear, I was around in the sixties. A stay in the Westminster police station was a badge of honour."

He didn't quite believe what he had heard.

"Best not share that one with your mother," Mrs Wimpole continued.

"I should go. Thank you, Mrs Wimpole."

Mercury left his surprising neighbour and ran up the steps to their house. Madeline stood in the doorway.

"She is such a nosey old biddy," Madeline muttered, slamming the door behind Mercury.

"She meant well."

"Pah," Madeline said, stalking through into the kitchen. "I need a drink before I get ready."

Mercury followed her. "Ready? Are you going out?"

"Dinner with my new director. Gorgeous too."

"Oh, right. I thought we might spend the evening together."

He didn't fancy a night on his own, avoiding the temptation to doomscroll on his social media to find out which sanctimonious commenters had slagged him off. He'd tried his best to ignore it but it was easier said than done. Surely his own mother would understand that.

But Madeline spun around, her eyes flashing. "Mercury. This incident has fucked my schedule. I am supposed to be in Cyprus right now. I'm lucky they rearranged the shoot for the London scenes instead. I can hardly tell him I have to miss dinner to tuck my twenty-eight-year-old criminal son into bed, can I?"

Mercury looked down. "No, of course not."

She sighed. "Darling, I'm sorry. I know I'm being hard on you. I can't help it. This has really worried me."

Every fibre in him wanted to scream in her face that he didn't do it. Yet, he'd tried that on so many occasions in the last month, he had run out of energy.

"I promise I'll do the time at Bodhi House without fuss."

Madeline stroked his cheek before tucking a stray strand of his raven brown hair behind his ear.

"I know you will. I think I've played the stonehearted mother enough now. How about I race through dinner and we can watch a movie together."

"Really?"

"Really. Now I've got to get changed."

Mercury watched her rush out of the room and up the stairs.

Would the real Madeline Morrison, one day, please stand up?

He needed to get out of the suit and tie. How did people wear these? Day in and day out?

Mercury made his way up the three flights of stairs. When he had turned thirteen, his mother had arranged for the two small bedrooms at the top of the house to be knocked into one. She recognised he needed some privacy.

His bedroom was a vast space with its own en-suite. When he had been going through his "nobody understands me" phase, it had been his sanctuary. He might spend less time in it these days but he still saw it as the place he went to escape the world.

Throwing off his suit jacket, he kicked his shoes into the corner of the room. Before he could continue the striptease, his phone rang.

"Hey, Lotty."

"Wait, Bobby and Jeannie are joining."

"Hello, London."

Bobby's unmistakable voice rang out. He and Mercury had met at school. They had one of those friendships where they drove each other mad most of the time yet they remained fiercely loyal. Most of the time.

"Bobby, you're in Mayfair."

"How do you know?"

"Because if you were anywhere else, you would have told me."

"Hi, guys."

"Hi, Jeannie."

Jeannie Butler was one of the leading models in the UK. She also lived on Queens Crescent. Although in the house on the corner, which had about half the square footage of those in the middle. A fact Madeline liked to remind people of when Jeannie cropped up in conversation.

He had met Jeannie on the London scene and, beyond miracles, formed a real friendship.

"I saw on the news what you got," Lotty said. "Bad luck."

Lotty had been the best thing about his university years. They'd graduated with every intention of taking the media world by storm. Then someone told them about influencing.

"Thanks. It's not too bad. At least I'm not in a cell."

"Ooh I don't know," Bobby said. "That's one of my top five fantasies."

"That you have in the comfort of your own home," Jeannie said.

"Anyway," Lotty said. "I can't talk long. There's a private screening of that new movie about the singer and the waiter."

Mercury frowned. Four weeks out of the game and films were being released that he hadn't even heard of. He had spent most of his adulthood keeping on top of new bars, trends and ways to be cool. His channel lay in tatters after this whole nightmare.

"Please don't regale me with stories of your social life," he wailed, flopping onto his bed. "I'm under house arrest, remember."

"Only at night," Jeannie said. "How about we do something tomorrow? I'm off."

"I have to report for duty."

"Already?" Bobby asked. "Don't they have to check that you're not an axe murderer or worse?"

Mercury wasn't sure what was worse than an axe murderer but chose not to ask Bobby. He would probably come up with something ridiculous. He would see wearing double denim as a far bigger crime than multiple murders.

"They rushed through my checks," Mercury replied. "Lucky me, eh?"

"Fuck, they hated you, didn't they?" Bobby replied.

"The judge was a fan of the Tate Modern apparently."

"Ugh," Lotty said. "She wouldn't have been if she'd seen the shit in that pathetic tunnel."

Mercury didn't want to talk. His plan for the evening was to order the greasiest takeaway he could find and sink at least one bottle of champagne from his mother's collection.

"Let's get together at the weekend, then," Jeannie said. "Make the most of me—I'm off to Milan in the week."

"Fine," Mercury said. "Let's compare hangovers in the morning and decide then."

They terminated the call. Mercury lay still on the bed, listening to his heartbeat. The prospect of going to a youth club where he knew nobody and in South London filled him with dread. What would they think of him?