Chapter Thirty-Seven Netta #2
Netta stepped in front of Mo, positioning herself between them, one hand behind her to keep Mo at bay.
‘I wish I could say the same about you, Mitch.’ She fought to remain calm and collected against the adrenalin as it built, dissolving her insides.
‘But it seems your looks are finally starting to match your personality.’
Mitch smirked and swiped his tongue over his chapped lips, his jaw clenching with the rhythmic grinding of his teeth. ‘I’m still getting plenty.’
Netta’s skin crawled. ‘You’re repellent, Mitch. The biggest mistake of my life.’ She was suddenly so grateful to be doing the interview. Charlie Tunbridge had done her a huge favour. He was right, it was time to make it rain shit on Mitch.
Mitch held her gaze unblinkingly, wavering on his coke-addled legs.
His tongue fidgeted at one of his teeth.
‘You used to love it, Annie. I still remember what you like, you know. Remember that time we did it in the kitchen?’ He lowered his gaze to her breasts and let it linger, before tracking back to her face and taking a step closer, his breath an assault of cigarettes and whiskey.
Netta took a step away, her back finding Mo’s chest as he stood solid and reassuring behind her, his hand on her hip.
‘Oh, you’ve gotten shy now, have you?’ Mitch said. ‘That’s new.’
‘Oh, no, Mitch. I’ve got plenty to say about you,’ said Netta. ‘You’ll see.’
A look of confusion flashed over Mitch’s face before he shrugged nonchalantly. ‘Whatever.’ He looked at Mo. ‘Have fun with that one, mate. I sure did.’
‘I know what you did to her, you fucking arsehole,’ Mo hissed.
Mitch rolled his eyes and grinned. ‘But has she told you what she used to do to me?’ He raised his hand, his fingers reaching for Netta’s jaw.
Mo instinctively lifted his hand to stop him but before he could, Netta grabbed Mitch’s wrist and pushed it away, repulsed to the core at the thought of being touched by him.
Mitch, whose upright stature was astonishing given the amount of cocaine it seemed he’d done, stumbled backwards, Netta’s shove helped along by the gentle downward slope of the aisle.
He landed crab-like on the rose-coloured carpet.
By now audience members were standing to gawk, waxed eyebrows arched sky high and whispers tucked behind manicured fingers. A disembodied voice shouted, ‘Someone’s finally done it!’ from deep within the theatre, setting off a ripple of hushed, through-the-nose laughter.
Mitch had lowered his bottom to the floor, making no attempt to get up, his dead eyes flicking between Netta and Mo like a challenge.
Mo bent down to him. ‘You’re a piece of shit, mate,’ he said quietly.
Netta felt something in her chest loosen and all the pieces of herself that had been dislodged by Mitch all those years ago dropped back into place like a game of Tetris.
She took Mo’s hand in hers and pulled, and he turned and caught her eye.
He’d probably never know the power of what had just happened.
She’d finally done what she hadn’t been able to do all those years ago when she was too young to know how completely and objectively wronged she’d been.
She looked down at Mitch one last time and then up to the sea of laser-focused eyes paying witness to their every move.
‘We should go.’
Mo squeezed her hand. ‘You okay?’
Netta nodded. ‘Yep.’
Mo stepped around Mitch, still splayed dramatically on the carpet, and led Netta away towards the exit.
Netta’s phone vibrated in her clutch as they hurried from the auditorium into the curved hallway. ‘Rhona?’
‘Meet me in the limo at the front.’ Rhona was puffing. ‘I’ve got a plan.’
Netta and Mo burst out through the foyer into the frosted night air—and straight into a blinding wall of cameras.
‘Fuck.’ Mo dragged her back inside.
‘It’s okay.’
He held Netta’s gaze. ‘Are you sure?’
‘I’m good.’ She was more than good. She was invincible. ‘Rhona said she’d be out there.’
They pushed their way back through the door to a line of identical limos. Netta’s heart raced as she scanned back and forth, wondering which one was their target.
‘Netta! Mo!’ Rhona’s shriek rose above the shouts of the photographers trying to get their attention from the other side of the barricade, her head and shoulders sticking through the open sunroof of a limo a few cars down from the entrance.
Netta gathered her skirt and tucked herself close to Mo as they ran to the car. He ushered her in first and then slid in behind her.
‘Just go. Go!’ said Rhona to the driver, who pulled out emotionlessly, as though this sort of thing happened to him every day. ‘They don’t know what just went down in there,’ she said, gesturing at the photographers out the window, ‘or you two would be mincemeat by now.’
Netta gulped, the true enormity of what had just happened dawning, the electric buzz draining away.
‘But someone inside will have posted a video of it already, so it’s only a matter of time,’ Rhona continued. ‘Wanna tell me what happened?’
Mo fixed her with a pointed look. ‘Take a wild guess.’
Rhona pressed her lips together and nodded, patting Netta’s hand. ‘I did check the guest list. He wasn’t on it. I’m so sorry, Netta.’
Netta checked in with herself. She felt …
good. Light. Like she’d just dropped a dead weight she’d been carting around for almost two decades.
She’d held Mitch in her mind as he’d been in 2005, complete with the magnetic power he’d wielded over her, for all that time.
She’d allowed his presence to grow bigger and bigger, but in reality, he’d shrunk to a caricature whose only effect on her older, wiser self was to initiate her gag reflex.
‘It’s okay,’ she said. ‘I think it was actually kind of good for me to see him like that.’
Mo half smiled. ‘What? On his arse with a giant coke booger hanging off his nose?’
‘You can’t go home now, Mo,’ said Rhona over Netta’s snort. ‘Once the paps get their claws into this they’ll be all over your place like flies on manure. And you know someone will have gotten a photo of you standing over him at the end there. They’ll twist that to imply it was you who pushed him.’
‘Nobody pushed him, Rhona,’ said Mo. ‘He was so fucking high it was a miracle he could stand at all. Netta just batted his hand away before he could get his coked-up claws on her.’
‘I know,’ said Rhona. ‘But optics. Remember?’
Mo let out a sigh of frustration and shook his head.
‘Should we go to the hotel instead?’ asked Netta.
‘No, no. They’ll find you there,’ said Rhona.
‘You need to get out of town. We’ll swing past my house.
You two can take my car and hole up at our cottage in Margate for a couple of days.
We decided not to Airbnb it over Christmas in case we wanted to go down.
It’s a bit of a drive but it’s very private. ’
‘You up for a beach mini-break?’ Mo asked Netta.
She nodded without hesitation. They’d just walked through fire together and, partly because of Mo, Netta didn’t feel burned. Being separated from him—regardless of the Lorena situation—seemed completely out of the question.
‘Probably not quite the Christmas either of you had in mind,’ said Rhona, ‘but desperate times and all that.’
‘Is this going to be bad for Mo? The Mitch thing?’ asked Netta.
‘I don’t think it’s going to help,’ said Rhona. Her eyes were soft as she looked at Mo. ‘But he’s always been one to stand by the people he loves. Haven’t you, Mo?’
Mo flushed and cleared his throat. ‘He’s a prick.’
Rhona nodded in agreement, her smile loaded. It was obvious she thought there was something bubbling between Netta and Mo. Maybe she didn’t know about Lorena Long, because there was no way anyone would think Netta could compete with that.