Safe for Summer

on the latest collections from whoever’s in fashion at the moment. You get your hair styled every Wednesday at Frisson, usually at three, and you’re really in need of a manicure because you cancelled your last appointment so you could feed lumpfish to your boyfriend, Juan, at the opening of an art gallery,’ Nathan reeled off, grabbing another handful of nuts and watching for Autumn’s reaction.
‘You’ve been following me! What are you? Some sort of professional stalker?’ Autumn asked.
‘If you like,’ he said with a shrug.
‘Mother! Are you hearing this? He’s been following me around! What sort of person does that?’
‘I know your routine. I know what you do twenty-four hours a day,’ Nathan told her.
‘Well done! What do you want? A Blue Peter badge?’
‘He can protect you when you go to America,’ Alison spoke up.
‘I’m singing at the International Music Awards, not joining Al-Qaeda,’ she responded.
Nathan’s gaze immediately fell to Alison. Autumn looked to her mother and saw she had gripped her glass of water a little tighter and sucked her lips into her mouth.
‘You haven’t told her,’ Nathan said, flatness in his tone.
Autumn kept her eyes on her mother. Her face was strained, and Autumn watched as Alison swallowed and took a sip of water. Her polished, professional demeanor slipped for just a second. Then the gates went up again, and she gave her daughter a wide, glossy-lipped smile.
‘It’s probably nothing. I mean, I’ve had this sort of thing in the past, and nothing ever came of it,’ Alison gabbled.
‘Nothing ever came of what?’ Autumn wanted to know.
Her mother was a professional liar—and an accomplished one, at that—but she was making a very poor attempt at sounding convincing now.
‘Your mother has been receiving threats for the last month. Levels have escalated, and the indication is that something could happen at the awards, maybe before,’ Nathan said.
He’d uttered the words like he was giving out a news report. The information was important, but it was just that, information. Where were the details? She needed details. He couldn’t just say something like that and not elaborate.
Autumn looked at her mother then at the dark-haired stranger in the ill-fitting suit. What were they telling her exactly?
‘We don’t want your safety compromised,’ Alison said as if she were ordering a hit on a disliked opposite number.
‘The threats are directed at you,’ Nathan stated.
Those words left no doubt.

Two
‘I’ll order some more drinks. Waiter!’ She held her hand in the air and clicked her fingers. ‘Would you like a drink, Mr Regan?’ Alison offered.
‘No thanks,’ Nathan responded.
His eyes were trained on Autumn’s ghostly pale face.
She was slipping her gloves on and off, looking into space, jerking her knees up and down so the clasp on her purse made a noise. This was insane. She was a singer. People didn’t threaten singers. Well, apart from John Lennon, and, yes, that had ended badly, but that was years ago.
Apparently, according to her mother and Nathan Regan, someone had threatened to kidnap her. It was some terrorist organization, all beige fatigues and balaclavas and a symbolic flag from a part of the world she had never heard of, let alone been to. She could almost see it now. Someone would grab her on her way out of the coffee shop on Penny Road, put a sack over her head, and bundle her into a van. They would talk in Arabic, quickly and loudly, and everything would be dark until they reached some filthy warehouse on the Smithfield Estate. That’s when she would see the flag she didn’t know the origin of and more men in terrorist dress. There would be a video camera all set up, and she would be forced to tell the world that this group was going to show Westerners the way, and how, because of their evil forefathers, sacrifices would be made.
Her make-up would have run all over her face, even the usually indestructible eyeliner and twenty-four-hour pout lipstick, and her hair would be frizzy like Orphan Annie from the film of the musical. She would say whatever they wanted her to say, knowing that the large saber the quiet one of the group was sharpening was destined for her neck. Because of her mother. Not because she sang songs, not because she spoke out about the fur trade, but because of her mother’s political role.
‘Hey.’ Nathan clicked his fingers in front of her face and brought her back into the room.
Autumn looked at him, trying to maintain her composure, trying to practice all her mother’s ‘I’m-in-control’ moves but failing. Her heart was racing. She was almost considering asking her mother for some magic pills, the ones that would give her visions of hot actors.
‘You’re not going anywhere,’ Nathan spoke again, as if reading her thoughts.
‘That’s where you’re wrong. I’m due at the record company—now in fact. My car’s waiting for a call.’ Autumn reached for her powder compact.
‘Darling,’ Alison started, ‘we need to talk about this. I know I should have told you before but—’
‘It has to be a hoax,’ Autumn said. ‘I mean, what could I give these people? It will be some sad, little loner with time on his hands and nothing better to do than rub the government the wrong way. There are plenty of people who would like to do that at the moment. In fact, almost everybody.’
‘The threats have been authenticated,’ Alison told her.
Was that emotion she had heard? Had there been a slight trace of feeling in her mother’s words just then?
‘What does that mean?’ Autumn snapped back, ignoring any element of fondness.
‘It means they’re real,’ Nathan answered. He dipped his hand back into the snack bowl.
‘Will you stop eating the nuts! You may as well be swallowing E. coli!’ Autumn shrieked.
‘Autumn, there’s no need to panic. This is why Mr Regan is here.’
‘I am not panicking! Because there is nothing to panic about! I’m going to call my driver and wait in the foyer.’
She stood up from her seat, brushed some imaginary dust