Follow Me by Angela Clarke Page A

tight in Nas’s grip.
    ‘Someone get my agent on the phone!’
    ‘Ma’am, please calm down.’ Nas locked onto Paige’s eyes. ‘You’re safe. No one is going to hurt you.’
    Paige’s mouth clamped shut. Her arms fell down by her side. Her tiny frame shook. ‘Is this about the gak?’
    ‘No, ma’am, this isn’t about the drugs.’ Nas spoke as if only she and Paige were here, and not as if she had one of the world’s most famous photographers in a vice grip. Freddie was impressed. She took another photo.
    ‘Okay, sir?’ Nas said to Kenny. He slackened. Nodded. Nas released him.
    Moast relinquished his pressure on Stefan. ‘You okay, son? Need an ambulance?’
    Stefan struggled onto his elbows, dazed. ‘I’m ’kay.’
    ‘Good lad.’ Moast clapped him on his shoulder and Stefan winced.
    Moast stood up, his face momentarily level with Paige’s naked breasts. He had the decency to avert his eyes. Tibbsy and Jamie stood in the doorway like two useless, gangly bouncers. Freddie shoved the phone back in her pocket.
    ‘Miss, we need to talk to you about a police matter. I would suggest we do this privately.’ Moast aimed the last comment in the direction of Kenny, who looked like he was trying to edge away.
    ‘Fine by me,’ Kenny said. ‘Pub!’ he shouted to the others.
    There was a flurry of movement, and Freddie noticed several baggies being shoved into pockets as the fashion people filed out, heads down. The music stopped, her ears reverberated in the silence.
    ‘What the hell is this about?’ Paige reached into a bag. ‘Want one?’ She offered a pack of cigarettes to Nas and Moast, before lighting her own. Freddie twitched as the smoke reached her nostrils. Nas and Moast shook their heads.
    ‘I’ll have one!’ Freddie said.
    ‘It’s illegal to smoke inside, Venton,’ Moast said.
    Knob.
‘You want me to take my top off too, will that make it better?’
    Paige smirked and offered her the packet. Freddie took one. She should have asked for some coke as well.
    ‘You cronuts scared the bejeezus outta me. What do you want?’ Paige exhaled toward Moast, managing to make the evil blue smoke look sexy.
    ‘Miss Klinger, do you know anyone by the name of Alun Mardling?’ Nas asked.
    ‘Is he a stylist?’
    ‘No, a bank manager. You may recognise him as @MaddeningAlun23?’
    Paige shook her head. ‘Should I know him? What’s this about?’
    ‘Have you not seen the papers?’ Freddie asked. She could get some recognition here, work her way into Paige’s press team’s good books after all.
Model’s Bullying Troll Hell.
Moast shot her a warning look.
    ‘Never read them. Full of lies. Total cronuts those hacks,’ Paige exhaled.
    Maybe not then.
Moast smirked. Freddie blew her smoke at him.
    ‘Alun Mardling has been found dead in suspicious circumstances, and it seemed he was trolling you.’ Moast batted the smoke away. ‘On Twitter.’
    ‘Was he?’ Paige said.
    ‘Ma’am, the messages he sent were graphic and threatening, anyone would be understandably frightened by them,’ said Nas.
    ‘It would be understandable that someone might get so desperate they might seek to stop the messages,’ Moast prodded.
    Paige’s eye were glassy, she stared at them blankly.
    ‘Did you bump him off for threatening to rape you?’ Freddie snapped.
    ‘Freddie,’ hissed Nas.
    Paige blinked and her head jerked back. ‘The dirty sod. I could see how that would get to someone, like, sounds really mental. But thing is, I don’t really go on Twitter. Well rarely.’
    Moast looked at Freddie accusingly.
    ‘But you’ve got over two million followers? You tweet all the time? You’re always in those top Twitter lists?’
Was this her defence: pretending she didn’t have a huge Twitter account?
    ‘I’s got someone who does all that shizz for me. Marni. Follows me round, like, sharing titbits with my fans. I rarely go on the thing myself.’
    ‘You pay someone to impersonate you on Twitter?’ Moast’s