Page 10 of Mercury Rising
Mercury wasn’t sure what was worse than an axe murderer but chose not to ask Bobby. He would probably come up withsomething 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?
CHAPTER THREE
Mercury drove down the street lined with vape emporiums and charity shops. People were openly staring.
“Maybe arriving at my community service in my mother’s BMW X5 was a bad move,” he said to himself.
Oh well, he couldn’t change it now. The nerves were really jangling around his system. It had taken him ages to choose the right outfit. The balance between being too showy while being true to himself was a fine one. In the end he’d gone for a pair of skinny black Boss jeans and a vintage Dolly Parton T-shirt. On his feet, he wore blue Converse boots.
He liked the finished vibe. Hopefully, the kids at Bodhi House would too.
The night before, he’d finished his research. Bodhi House was a youth project aimed at giving kids in a deprived area a place to go. It sounded right up Mercury’s street.
The satnav told him he was nearly there. With another flash of nerves, he turned off the main drag. Edwardian semi-detached houses that had seen better days lined the street.
About halfway up, he saw a bright orange sign withBodhi Housewritten in green. The garden at the front had blooms of every colour. As did the house next door.
That’s interesting. I wonder if the neighbours help them or if they help the neighbours.
Mercury parked up. As he got out of the car, he patted it. “I hope I’ll see you later.”
With a dry mouth, Mercury walked up the garden path and knocked on the front door. Once again, he cursed Grim under his breath. That piece of shit had sold out his collection and had been in almost every Sunday newspaper’s cultural section. Of course, all the interviews had focused on how he was on rebuilding his life after Mercury’s vicious attack.
“Twat,” Mercury muttered.
He rang the doorbell and waited. His heart was going like a machine gun now.
A haughty man opened the door. Short with mousy brown hair, he looked Mercury up and down.
“Can I help?”
“Mercury Morrison. Are you Nick Campbell?”
“No.”
“Well, can I speak to him please?”
Wordlessly, the man led Mercury down a hallway. They walked into a large room, dominated by a huge window that let the sunshine flood through. Two bright orange sofas filled the room, with beanbags scattered around. Posters for bands Mercury had never heard of covered the walls.
In the middle stood an absolute vision of a man. For a second, Mercury completely forgot what he was doing here.
“Oh, hello,” he stammered.
