You Have 1 Curious MI5 Agent In Your Kitchen.
Harriet Freeman sipped her coffee thoughtfully. The woman in front of her was sweating, despite the fresh English breeze that blew in from the open patio doors.
She fidgeted too, which was never a good sign. She was too involved, Harriet could just tell.
'So,' Harriet began slowly, placing her coffee on the table with a soft chink. 'Please may I speak to your daughter?'
Emma's mother shook her head, greying hair bobbing on her shoulders. 'No. Emma is too delicate at the moment. If you would just come back a little later-'
'Ah, ah, ah,' Harriet smiled. 'There's no time for any of that. I must speak with Emma immediately. It's for her own protection, and the good of her family too.'
Emma's mother drew in a shaky breath, letting it out slowly. 'I don't know.. how do I know you are who you say you are?'
Harriet's eyes twinkled. 'You'll just have to trust me on that one.'
I can hear them downstairs. Talking. About me, no doubt. I can't believe Mum even let the bitch inside. She's probably some extra special under-cover journalist here to spy on me.
I know she's not here for a good reason. I can feel it.
I don't care what other people tell me, she's bad. Bad with a capital B.
They're coming up the stairs now. I'm getting out of here. No way am I talking to anyone about anything.