Page 6 of Unapologetic Love Story

‘You could have killed people,’ was all he said. ‘If you’re going to use misinformation to buy your third home, I get to write about it.’

He knew people didn’t like him, knew what they thought of him. Colleagues and people in publishing whispered about him being ‘frosty’. He wasn’t breezy and chatty like other men in media, and he had no intention of being a friend to all, which ultimately made him an ally to none. Tom Branimir didn’t smile unless he meant it. He was direct and to the point. He cared too much about the truth to worry about people calling him a bastard.

‘If anyone actually believes my stuff can cure their mother’s cancer, they’re too stupid to be on the internet,’ sneered Caroline, and it was such a blatant thing to say, such a cruel and snarling admission, Tom no longer felt any flickers of guilt about her situation.

‘Your circumstances are unfortunate but they’ve come from your own actions. People would give or take anything to keep their loved ones for longer. You and I both know that. And you exploited it.’

He thought of his mother again. Blinking in pictures. Collecting coupons. Always needing help with her ancient mobile phone.

Don’t worry about me, Tommy. They find new treatments every day, son. Now write me a nice story. Something romantic for a change.

Tom suddenly needed to blink. There was a kernel of sleep in the corner of his eye.

‘You had me cancelled, you self-righteous prick.’

‘Your true zealots will keep you in caviar, Caroline, don’t worry.’

She shook her head. ‘You’re cold-hearted. You know that, right? You’re going to die alone.’

It stung. ‘Better that than to die from believing the kind of lies you spin.’

‘Fuck you, Branimir. You’re an executioner.’

‘No, you’re just a parasite. One who’s already dead inside, I think,’ he said quietly. He hailed a cab. ‘Have a good evening.’

He left her standing in the dusky West London street as he got inside the car and shut the door with a tight and final snick.

‘V&A, please, pal,’ he told the taxi driver. He softened his Scottish accent, because if he didn’t, he would be bombarded with questions about his origins and what he was doing in London.

Even strangers could tell he hadn’t found a real home in the city.

The driver glanced at Caroline in the rear-view mirror. ‘Fight with your lady?’

‘No,’ Tom replied with a tired laugh. ‘She’s not my lady.’

He felt a sudden pang. He wondered what it would be like to have someone to text in this moment. You’ll never guess what just happened! And she would respond immediately, concerned in case something serious had happened. He would assure her that he was fine. She would understand. She wouldn’t need him to explain why lying about cancer cures was wrong. She’d be two steps ahead of him. For once, someone would finish his sentences because she’d be so much smarter than him and it would turn him on to the point of being painful. She’d make fun of his misanthropic tendencies, and he’d find an excuse not to work so they could stay in bed. And she’d make fun of his shoes.

‘All right?’ the driver asked.

‘Yeah,’ lied Tom. ‘All good, sorry.’

The car sped towards South Kensington, and Tom forced himself to think about work.

He was off to hunt down another story.

CHAPTER THREE

‘JUST BECAUSE THE DOOR IS PAINTED PINK,’ Pepper Cousins bellowed at the two young brunettes and their tripods, ‘IT DOES NOT MAKE IT A FREE BACKDROP FOR YOUR BASIC-ASS FEEDS!’

Raina jumped out of the way as the young women dashed by her. ‘But, Pep, your door and the cherry blossoms? Heavenly.’

‘Don’t encourage them.’

Raina laughed. She kissed her best friend on the nose and slipped into her Notting Hill house. She made her way to the kitchen, Pepper grumbling in her wake.

‘How was your school visit?’

Raina made a face while taking a long swig of water from a bottle in the pink Smeg fridge.