She cannot imagine this man being in the way. Or ever being irritated by his presence.
‘We see this sort of thing all the time.’ He is flicking down the screen, reading some posts, dismissing others with hardly a glance. She leans across so that she can see them too.
Kenneth Kill Boy declares his intention of throwing firebombs through Maggie’s windows this very night. Sten-Man plans to get a few friends together, break in and rape her up the arse, see how she likes what that bastard Wolfe did to other women. Both men know her address. Seconds after the posts appear they are deleted, someone is managing the page, but the damage has been done. Her safety has been compromised.
Pete closes down the laptop as another text arrives in a phone’s inbox somewhere. ‘Your address being out there is something we have to take seriously.’
‘I suppose.’
‘I can have uniform swing by here more often over the next few days and nights. I might even get someone outside tonight. Long term though—’
‘Please do nothing. I’m not worried. I may get a few unpleasant parcels in the mail. Nothing I can’t deal with.’
‘Maybe you should go home for Christmas after all.’
‘This is my home. I have no other.’ This is something she has known for years, its sadness never struck her before.
‘I’m sure the Crown can find you a room. Even if just for tonight.’
She picks up a fork. ‘Please eat. And everything is fine. I get abuse from time to time. It’s inevitable in my line of work. I make enemies and social media gives them a voice.’
She’s not sure she’s convinced him. She’s wondering what to say next, when a third pinging sounds. She gets up and reaches her mobile before the message fades.
‘Anything we need to worry about?’ She hears Pete’s voice from a distance. She turns. ‘My agent,’ she lies, because she needs time to think. ‘Routine stuff.’
Still puzzled, Pete forks a cube of lamb into his mouth, tears off bread and dips it into the gravy. He is hungry. She is not. It is getting increasingly difficult to put food of any kind into her mouth and her physical presence is lessened by the day. As the line on the bathroom scales creeps ever lower, so she has a sense of there being less of her. There may come a time when she ceases to exist altogether, when she melts away, like ice in a glass, like a stock cube slowly dissolving in gravy, like a rainbow when the sun shines a little stronger, and maybe that will be no bad thing.
‘Maggie. Maggie! Are you OK? Let me see those texts.’
‘They’re private.’ Her fork spears something that sends purple juice across the white plate and on to the table. Her fork goes down. She can’t do this.
Pete has found a handkerchief – she forgot napkins – and is wiping the sauce from the tabletop. ‘Who is sending you texts?’ he asks.
‘I don’t know.’ She shakes her head. There is no point in even discussing it. This man cannot help her. ‘I don’t recognize the number.’
‘Wolfe? Does he have your number?’
‘He can’t text me. He doesn’t have a mobile phone.’
‘He’s not supposed to have one. Lots of prisoners do.’
Pete gets up, still chewing, and comes around behind her. He picks up her phone and then resumes both his seat and his meal, but the phone is by his side, out of her reach. He can’t access the texts, the phone is passcode protected, but if another comes in, he may see it before it fades.
She has to get a hold of herself. ‘Pete, I wanted to ask you about that homeless couple, Odi and Broon. I need to talk to Odi. Can you put me in touch with any homeless charities who might be able to help?’
‘I can probably tell you where she is right now.’
‘She’s in custody?’
‘I wish she were. Given the temperature outside, she probably does too, but we can’t arrest people for having nowhere else to go.’
‘So where is she?’
‘Porticoed entrance to the Town Hall in Wells. They’ve both been sleeping there the last few nights.’
‘They’re sleeping in the square?’ She thinks back to Market Square in Wells, to the Regency Town Hall. ‘That entrance is open to the elements on three sides, it isn’t possible.’
‘You do understand what’s meant by the term, homeless, don’t you?’
‘I’ll come with you when you go. See if I can find her.’
Ping.
Too fast for her, he picks up the phone but his eyesight isn’t good enough to focus on the small type. She sees him frown, hold it further away, a flicker of frustration as the message fades. Then he taps on the keypad and she watches in disbelief as the menu appears.
‘How did you do that?’