Page 6 of Mercury Rising

Thankfully, the car had picked up enough speed that the photographers had given up.

“Don’t be so dramatic, Mother,” Mercury said.

Madeline snapped to attention. “Dramatic? You’ve made me out to be an absolute fool as well as an unfit mother.”

“I’m twenty-eight years old. It’s not like you left me home alone.”

They drove on in silence. Mercury had never been so mortified in his whole life. The newspapers had been their usual snippy selves. Madeline had been correct when she said the blame would be on her. How dare she be a working mother? Of a twenty-eight-year-old with his own income.

“Anyway, it’s over now.”

“For you, maybe. I’m the one with a tag and three hundred hours of bloody community service.”

Rummaging in her favourite Chanelhandbag, Madeline pulled out her phone. “You got off lightly.”

“Who are you calling?”

“Jessica. We’ll be all over the bloody internet.”

She dialled her PR manager to get the media autopsy of the day. Mercury stared out of the window with every intention of ignoring the conversation. What was the point in listening? It would follow the lines of how badly Mercury had damaged his mother’s public image.

Instead, he focused on the task in hand. The probation officer had explained that he had to report to somewhere called BodhiHouse first thing in the morning. He would have to google it when he got home. His humiliation was far from complete.

As the car drew onto Queens Crescent, the curved row of Georgian houses where Mercury lived with his mother, he let out a sigh of relief.

“At least there aren’t any photographers,” he said.

“Apparently, that shouty TV presenter Amber Jade has been caught fiddling her taxes,” Madeline replied. “You’re no longer the highest-profile criminal in London.”

Mercury frowned. “Didn’t she host the programme Alexander went on?”

“I’ve no idea.”

“Are you going to punish me forever?”

Madeline’s stern expression faded and she took hold of Mercury’s hand. “Darling, I’m not punishing you. The courts have done that. I’m just so…”

“If you say disappointed, I’ll throw myself under the next bus.”

“Fine, I’m annoyed that you would do this to yourself.”

“For the millionth time, Mother, I didn’t do it. That piece-of-shit artist set me up.”

Madeline shook her head. “It doesn’t matter now. You’ve been sentenced. You will do whatever is required of you with no complaints. Then we can close the door on this bloody nightmare you’ve inflicted on us.”

His mind a whirl of all the nasty things he’d like to do to Grim, Mercury got out of the car. He needed to change his clothes and have a cocktail. In the last four weeks, he’d lost his taste for wine.

“Oh, fuck,” Madeline said from the other side of the car.

“What now?”

Then Mercury’s heart sank when he saw their elderly neighbour and self-appointed guardian of Queens Crescent, Mrs Wimpole, descending her steps.

“Ah, the Morrisons,” she said.

Madeline and Mercury exited the car onto the pavement to await the final judgement. They lived at the opposite end of the street to Mrs Wimpole, yet that didn’t stop her from knowing most things that went on with them.

“Hello, Mrs Wimpole,” Madeline said.