‘What? What am I supposed to have seen?’ Hannah asked, nonplussed.
‘Fuck. This is bad,’ Charlie said, audibly panicked. ‘Let me up.’
‘OK.’ Suddenly pale, Hannah released the door lock and then glanced around the room. After locating her handbag, she dug inside it for her mobile. ‘Bollocks. Twenty-two missed calls,’ she said, brandishing the handset in Jude’s direction. ‘And .?.?. oh mygod. Over a hundred social media notifications. What the hell .?.?.?’
Jude considered asking whether he should hide before Charlie arrived, but the idea felt ridiculous. It was also clear that something serious had happened. Based on what he’d seen of Charlie so far, the woman was pretty unflappable – yet she’d sounded thoroughly rattled just now.
There was a sharp rap at Hannah’s front door and she opened it immediately.
Charlie stepped inside, looked from Hannah to Jude and back again, then said: ‘Right. I guessthisexplains why you weren’t answering your phone. We’ll come back to it later.’ She eyed Hannah beadily. ‘For now .?.?. are you happy for him to hear this?’
‘Hear what?’ Hannah said. ‘And yes, he can hear. Please, just tell me .?.?. what on earth’s going on?’
‘Marcis what’s going on,’ Charlie spat, incensed.
‘Oh, fuck,’ Hannah said, sinking onto one of the stools that sat beneath her kitchen worktop. ‘The countdown. I assume we now know what he was counting downto.?.?.?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘Er .?.?. sorry,’ Jude said. ‘I’m confused. What countdown? And Marc’s the idiot from the engagement party, yes?’
Hannah nodded.
‘I thought he’d gone away,’ Jude continued, annoyed. ‘I thought you’d told him you were keeping records, that you were going to take steps if he didn’t stop bothering you.’
‘Ididtell him that,’ Hannah said. ‘It was good advice. And he did go quiet for a while, but .?.?.’
‘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 soobviouslyabout 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 atMailOnlineasking 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 sheisn’tnamed, 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.Whatshould 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?’