Page 86 of Famous Last

“I’m in the park near my flat. Why are you calling, Darcy? Has something happened?”

“Listen. You mustn’t freak out, okay?”

Why was she telling him not to freak out? She had to be calling about Marshall. For some reason, his thoughts went straight to Joey having done something stupid.

“Darcy! What the hell’s happened?”

“Look, I’m calling now because this is going to be all over the news in the next few hours. During the inauguration ceremony in Kryszytonia, someone made an attempt on the president’s life. A suicide bomber managed to get past security and infiltrate the section in front of the presidential stage. A bomb went off. Horrific, by all accounts. The president’s been rushed to hospital and it’s thought he survived, although we don’t yet know the extent of his injuries. The point is, Spence, that cordoned-off section housed the press corps and—”

Spencer heard no more. He stopped walking, feeling unable or unwilling to breathe. He knew Marshall had been honoured to be in the presence of the new president,, to be near him during the ceremony. Did he imagine the sudden cold wind that swept across the park? For a crazy moment, he wanted Darcy to tell him not to worry, that everything was fine. But instinctively, he knew. By a sheer effort of will, he managed to croak out one word.

“Marshall?”

“That’s why I’m calling. They don’t know much yet, except that the explosion caused significant damage. Communication is flaky at best while the emergency services are doing what they can. Reports are that some of the president’s entourage were injured, but those are yet unconfirmed. As I say, the real damage occurred within the press enclosure in front of the stage.Someone described the scene as carnage. The bomber detonated in the very heart of the section. Spencer, I think we need to prepare ourselves for the worst—”

Spencer had stopped by a lamppost in the park. Just in time, too, because the ground beneath him suddenly shifted and became unstable, the motion making him nauseous. With the phone still clutched to his ear, he bent over and threw up his breakfast. As he remained there, one ice-cold hand clutching the solid metal post as though stopping him from being swept away, a masked couple passing him on the pavement glared with disgust. The woman said something he could not discern, her tone one of contempt.

“Spencer, are you there?” came a distant voice.

A single thought kept running through his brain, over and over, as though on a loop.

“Spencer!”

He had never told Marshall how much he loved him.

“Go back home. Right now. I’ll call Beverley and tell her what’s happened. Tell her to let them know that you’re not coming to work today. Then I’m driving over.”

And now he had lost the chance.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Spencer lost count of how many times he had paced the length of his flat. Even Tiger, who followed him up and down occasionally weaving between his legs, seemed to sense his distress. Before putting his key in the lock, he had tried to phone Marshall’s mobile number, but not unexpectedly, the call had gone straight to messaging.

Darcy had been right. As soon as he switched on the television, every news channel replayed the breaking news footage of the incident. One minute the president stood making a speech behind a transparent screen of what appeared to be glass or Perspex—probably a teleprompter—the next, an orange and red explosion followed by a vast cloud of grey smoke engulfed the stage and obscured the view. Somewhat ghoulishly, cameras in the upper stand at the back of the make-do stadium had kept rolling, silhouetting figures running out of the smoke, screams punctuating the general shouts and confusion.

“All we can confirm right now is that the new president, Tobias Karimov, has been injured, but survived an assassination attempt on his life during his first presidential address. How seriously he was injured is unknown, but he has been rushed to the main municipal hospital here in the capital of Kryszytonia. We have also been told that at least four of his cabinet members were caught in the blast, as were members of the world’s press, including our own British media. In spite of rigorous security precautions, sources have confirmed this as the act of a single suicide bomber. An anonymous message received by a nationalnetwork claimed the bomber carried out the attack on behalf of the Traditional Nationalist Party, outspoken opponents of the new president’s proposed reforms. The TNP chairman has rejected any association to the bomber and has denounced this as a senseless and cowardly act of terrorism. As we speak, armed security teams together with emergency services are scouring the area, checking for any further threats, but also recovering bodies and tending to the wounded. We will bring you more as the story unfolds. Back to the studio now, where we revisit the unparalleled rise to power of Tobias Karimov.”

Eventually Spencer muted the television before he continued to stride up and down the room. When his doorbell finally buzzed, he took a moment to compose himself, told himself to haul in his emotions in front of Darcy.

As soon as he opened the door and saw the concern in her eyes, he lost his composure. Two steps into the entryway, she ripped off her mask and pulled him into a hug.

“Come on, Spencer,” she said, holding him awkwardly and patting him on the back. She smelled of expensive flowery perfume and fabric softener. “Don’t make me fucking cry. I’ve only just slapped on this very expensive makeup. And remember the old saying? No news is good news? Well, I’ve heard nothing more, and I have friends everywhere in the press. As soon as they hear anything, they’ll let me know. Right now, I need you to go up and grab a coat. You’re coming to my place. Your ball of fluff can take care of itself for now, but we need to be somewhere more practical than this offline mancave.”

Within minutes they sat quietly in the back of her car, while Spencer stared out at the bright morning. In his pocket, his silenced phone suddenly came to life, buzzing urgently with messages. Holding his breath, he pulled out the device but immediately saw that none came from Marshall. They were mainly from Bev, Nile and Prince—friends who knew about himand Marshall, and he decided to deal with them later. Sat next to him, Darcy tapped a long fingernail on her screen before turning to him.

“What’s this Beverley told me about you not working out your notice?”

“Muriel released me early. On full pay.”

“What the fuck did you do? Drop your pants and flash your junk at her?”

Despite himself, Spencer managed a laugh. Maybe that had been Darcy’s intention, but he found telling her about his final meeting with Muriel helped to ground him. Except, similar to Bev but more vocal, his retelling of the tale had her spitting expletives.

“That fucking bitch needs hauling in.”

Before she could continue, Spencer went on to tell Darcy about his brief history with Blake, stories about their short time together, then about his friend hooking Blake and Joey up at the gay bar. Finally, Darcy tipped her head back and laughed aloud.

“Karma truly is a bitch. Has Marshall met this friend of yours?”

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