Chapter 24 #2
‘He’s not being quiet anymore,’ Charlie put in grimly. ‘There’s no way to prepare you for this, so I’m just going to show you. OK? Deep breath . . .’
She pulled her phone from her bag, clicked the button on the side to turn the volume up full, then hit play on a TikTok post. It was a professionally shot, black-and-white video featuring a moody-looking Marc, and Jude felt himself scowling at it.
The man had a uniquely punchable face, even if you could ignore the exaggerated expression of hopelessness he was wearing on it.
Soft piano chords played beneath footage of Marc strolling through rainy Manchester streets. Drums and guitars joined the musical mix: a bittersweet melody in a minor key. Then he opened his mouth and started singing.
Three minutes and forty-two seconds after it began, the song ended with a crescendo of overblown strings.
Hannah was open-mouthed, aghast, and there were tears in her eyes.
Jude didn’t know what to do. Uselessly, he put a hand on her shoulder, feeling a little gratified when she reached up to clutch at it.
‘He’s called it “Never The Bride”,’ Charlie explained. ‘It’s a new song, his first in thirteen years. That’s what he’s been teasing on his socials.’
‘It’s about me,’ Hannah said. ‘It’s so obviously about me. Oh god . . . Where did I put my phone?’
Jude grabbed it from the other end of the counter.
‘Shit, I’m almost out of battery,’ she said.
‘But . . . Christ. I’ve got comments on my work Instagram – on my business account – asking if I’m the woman who broke Marc Mills’s heart.
I’ve got a DM from a journalist at MailOnline asking me to comment on a story they’re running tomorrow .
. .’ She dropped the phone like it had burned her.
It landed loudly, clattering onto the varnished wood surface below.
‘How can all this be happening, based on one song?’ Jude asked. ‘Did he name you in the post? And why the hell would a newspaper even be interested?’
‘It’s sidebar-of-shame stuff, isn’t it?’ Charlie put in.
‘He’s got a decent online profile, he’s a former pop star turned reality TV contestant .
. . not to mention a relentless attention-seeker who’s never been able to accept he’s no longer “famous”.
He – or maybe his record company – will have gone around actively touting this story.
And I bet he’s absolutely loving the exposure. ’
‘She’s right,’ Hannah said shakily.
‘And she isn’t named, but that doesn’t matter,’ Charlie went on, her face red with rage.
‘The lyrics are savage – and transparent enough that anyone inclined to bother can join the dots and work out they’re about Hannah.
Marc can claim innocence because he hasn’t referred to her directly, but she’ll be pilloried anyway – and long before anyone sensible steps in to question whether his story stacks up or they’re sure they’ve got the right person.
This is why I hate the internet: when enough people believe something, you hit critical mass – you can’t stop it.
The snowball starts rolling down the hill, totally out of control, not arsed about who it might squash. ’
‘You were right about all this from the start,’ Hannah groaned, her head in her hands. ‘I should have . . . I don’t know. What should I have done?’
‘I don’t think there’s anything you could have done,’ Charlie said, stroking a hand over her hair. ‘But something needs to be done now, probably. The trouble is, I’ve no idea what.’
Hannah’s phone began vibrating then, buzzing its way across the counter. It was face down, and she turned it over gingerly, like she was terrified to find out who was calling.
‘It’s Joe,’ she said in surprise, then picked it up. ‘Hey. Is everything OK?’
Jude couldn’t hear what his brother said, but quickly gathered it was something kind yet sarcastic. Something that made clear he already knew she was not OK, and that she was the priority right now.
‘Yeah,’ Hannah said into the handset, her voice thick with misery. ‘That’s right . . . For a while, now, but there was nothing I could . . . No. OK, yep. That makes sense. I won’t . . . I’ll wait to hear from her. And yes, I will. Bye.’
‘Well . . .?’ Charlie said, after Hannah hung up.
‘He says this is bad PR, but not terminal. He has his agent on the case – she’s going to call me.
I’m to do nothing for now – no answering texts or calls about this, or replying on socials.
No confirmations or denials. The most I can do is change my settings, turn off commenting on posts – but the view is, even that might make me look a bit . . . guilty.’
Jude felt a towering wave of fury rise inside him. ‘You’re supposed to just sit back and let this guy carry on hurting you? Leave him to continue spinning lies that affect you personally and professionally? That is Joe’s supposedly sage advice – do nothing?’
‘He said you’d say that,’ Hannah told him. ‘Somehow, he knew you’d be here.’
‘How the fuck . . .? It’s witchcraft. It’s the only explanation,’ Jude said, shaking his head.
‘He also reckons the worst possible thing that could happen now is any sort of “white-knighting” by you,’ Hannah said.
‘Those were his exact words. He told me to tell you that you cannot be anywhere near this story, or anywhere near me, over the next few days. If we’re seen together – photographed together – it’ll just confirm everything Marc’s ever implied about me being a cheating slapper. ’
‘For fuck’s sake,’ Jude groaned, irate that everything she’d just said made some degree of sense.
‘He said he’ll see you at your mum’s. That you should head back there now, before this gets any bigger. In case any local journos turn up.’
‘I don’t want to leave you,’ he said, meaning every word. He could easily have added, Not now, not ever.
‘I know,’ she told him, stretching up to kiss his face. ‘I believe it. And for the moment, that’s what matters.’