Stay Mad, Sweetheart

by Heleen Kist

She hovered like a summer’s wasp.

  ‘Anything else?’ I asked.

  ‘I’m just really glad I caught you. You’ve not been at your desk lately. Some of us were starting to worry.’ Sally cocked her head. ‘Everything okay?’

  Is this what they talked about in the break room? Nerves pricked at the base of my spine. Did they all know about Emily? Or was it just because I’d been away or hiding in meeting rooms so much for the acquisition?

  ‘I’m alright. Just busy,’ I said.

  ‘Great, because I know a few others want to come to you for advice too. We come a bit undone when you’re not around.’ Sally smiled sweetly.

  ‘Fine. Could you ask them to email me first?’

  ‘Will do. See you later.’

  Now, where was I? I checked the code on my screen but didn’t remember where I’d stopped. I’d have to look it all over. I sighed and stretched. I couldn’t face it. Instead, I searched my bag for the policeman’s business card.

  The chap who picked up the phone offered to look for DI Reddy, no questions asked. Maybe they were finally taking me seriously?

  Reddy came on. He sighed, then said, ‘Miss Flett, what is it?’ My stomach dropped. So much for taking me seriously.

  ‘It’s about the items I told you to get from Emily Nairn’s flat,’ I said. ‘You know, the... erm... sex toys. I thought you might have run through the CCTV in her area to see who delivered them?’

  ‘Miss Flett — Laura —whilst I appreciate your efforts and remind myself that your heart’s in the right place, I think you may have been watching too much television.’

  ‘I don’t watch TV.’

  ‘Well, wherever you get your information on police activities from, I’m afraid it might be somewhat fictional.’

  ‘Look, Detective, I was her best friend,’ I said. ‘I told you about this, I sent the photo of the trespasser at the opening party... I’m like a witness. All this evidence —’

  ‘If you want us to open this case again, you’ll need to pick it up with her parents.’

  I stiffened. ‘They’re grieving. I don’t want to disturb them.’

  ‘Which is why I would suggest you leave it. There have been no new developments.’

  I sank into my chair. ‘You’re not even trying?’

  ‘Trying what?’

  ‘To find the people who bullied Emily. Bullying is a crime, isn’t it? Aren’t you there to fight crime?’

  He sighed again. ‘We’ve had this conversation before. We do not have the resources to do an international search for people whose harassment may have contributed to your friend’s state of mind when she took her own life.’

  ‘What about the photographer? He was in Edinburgh. That’s your turf.’

  ‘Possibly. But he committed no crime in publishing his photo online, although admittedly he had dubious means of obtaining it. Nevertheless, we’ve asked Twitter to flag his account for monitoring. We can’t do anything more without a court order—which we won’t get. We are satisfied there was no crime there, Miss Flett.’

  ‘What about the person who named her on social media? He must be Scottish, if he knew her? He must have known identifying her would cause her harm. That’s malicious—’

  ‘Not a crime. Besides, he — or she — closed their account. I think they got their comeuppance on Twitter already. Don’t you?’

  I remembered the hundreds of abusive tweets that person had been subjected to. Served them right. But at least that meant Reddy had actually looked at the case. Done some digging.

  ‘Surely there’s more you can do?’

  ‘We’ve done all we can,’ he said.

  My hand hurt. I noticed I’d been squeezing the receiver. ‘But the ... um ... sex toys. That wasn’t online. That’s physical.’

  ‘If Emily had reported them at the time, we could have looked into it,’ he replied. ‘But we can’t say for sure she didn’t buy them herself. And if someone did indeed give them to her, as a form of torment, we have no idea where or when that happened. I’m sorry, but as I’ve said, the case remains closed.’

  ‘No.’

  He softened his tone. ‘For me to re-open this case, I would need to make the Nairns aware of the dildos. Is that what you want? Because they’d already found it extremely difficult to talk about Emily’s experience. They’re keen for this chapter to be over.’

  I rubbed my face with my open palm, trying to scrub away the picture of her parents that formed in my mind; pale and anguished, facing the stares of a world that branded their daughter a harlot. They deserved peace. I sighed. ‘No, you’re right.’

  I threw the handset away from me and let out a big, frustrated grunt. The coiled cable stretched into the void in front of me and the receiver came flying back, swung under my desk and hit me on the shin.

  ‘Ouch,’ I yelled.

  Heads popped up from behind their computer monitors. Sally rushed towards me. ‘Laura! What’s wrong?’

  Feeling twenty pairs of eyes on me, I pulled at the cord and placed the receiver gently on its base. ‘I got frustrated with a piece of code,’ I said. ‘Sorry. Let me save what I’ve got, and I’ll come help you with yours.’

  I navigated my file directory to save my work and I came across the giant file I’d taken off Emily’s iPad after my scraper had done its job. My heart fluttered. It would contain all the abusive tweets, their tags, the writer’s profiles, the timings — everything.

  I pictured the data in my mind’s eye; a giant web of gruesome interactions. Account holders that kicked things off; those that jumped on the bandwagon; those who agreed and disagreed; those who called for her head — and that of the offending movie star — those who debated between each other; those who amplified the beating of the drums; the ones who incited others to keep up the noise and threats.

  All those connections...

  Adrenaline coursed through me.

  That’s it! It wasn’t enough to just run Empisoft’s existing product on the data. This was a network of people egging each other on.

  Sally leaned over my desk and waved in front of my face. ‘Are you coming?’

  I held up my hand ‘Give me a few more minutes.’

  She walked away.

  As I loaded my latest R&D project to run on this file, I felt guilty being distracted again — not to mention using the company’s resources. But I was finally going to get what I wanted. And hadn’t Suki asked me to find a test case for Network Impact?

  Well, here it was.

  25

  CLAIRE

  Claire pulled her tights up in the office toilet and let her skirt drop. She applied some lippy from a miniature tube and checked her teeth weren’t red. She clipped the lid back on, the golden Dior logo facing her. Ah, the joy of samples.

  She checked her watch. Late. It was only the weekly lunch with Sarah and Jo, her closest friends, but better get a move on.

  After a short walk, she reached the entrance to A New Leaf, the bustling vegetarian bistro on Teviot Place. Looking left, past the 27 bus going in the direction of Lauriston Place, she gauged it was only a few hundred metres to the Empisoft office, where she was due next.

  Plenty of time.

  Claire stepped inside the restaurant and nudged her way through the annoying group just standing there. She spotted the girls and gave a little wave. She couldn’t believe she’d been sworn to secrecy about her meeting with Adam Mooney. I mean, she met Adam Mooney. SHE TOUCHED HIS HAND. How was she supposed to hold that inside?

  She slid into the booth and placed her handbag on the floor. She suddenly remembered the horror story her neighbour told of having a rat jump out of her handbag on returning home from a night at the manky Barrowlands concert venue, where she’d left the bag on the floor. Of course, that was Glasgow and this was a nice clean place in Edinburgh, but still. Claire picked hers up again and squeezed it between her and Sarah on the bench. Better safe than sorry.

  The girls each had a big salad in front of them, served in
a bright blue bowl with herbs painted on.

  ‘Well hello there, stranger,’ Jo said. ‘Quick, let’s get the waitress before she gets pulled in all directions.’ She looked around and raised her arm.

  ‘Sorry I’m a little late,’ Claire said.

  ‘At least you’re here this time. It’s been weeks,’ Sarah said, filling Claire’s glass from the carafe of water.

  Claire noticed a new bracelet on her wrist. Probably that sleazy boyfriend. What did he do this time? She took a sip from her glass. ‘Ah. I needed that. Thank you. It’s been completely hectic.’

  ‘How come?’ asked Jo, still trying to get the server’s attention.

  Claire felt her stomach rumble. ‘It’s like I’m doing two jobs.’ She stole a crouton from Jo and chewed quickly. ‘You know my colleague Emily died, right? Well, I’ve taken over her work, while Darren is taking his bloody time figuring out how the agency will work without her.’

  ‘Do you know what you want?’ Jo interrupted.

  ‘Well, I don’t want to be doing Technology,’ Claire replied.

  ‘No, I mean do you know what you want to eat?’

  I scanned the menu. It looked new. They now made a big feature of the green smoothie, whose secret recipe of fresh fruits and vegetables apparently kept people guessing. ‘I’ll have the chickpea tacos.’

  ‘Don’t you also have the Tartan Gala to work on?’ asked Mia.

  ‘No, that was a few weeks ago. The fashion and charity gigs are pretty much over for the summer. Next up will be food and drink season, though. Soooo dull.’

  ‘Speaking of which. Have a try of this.’ Jo passed the feta salad to Mia. ‘I think it’s under seasoned.’

  Claire pricked a piece onto her fork. ‘I feel like I’m not being appreciated at all in doing two jobs. Darren doesn’t treat me fairly.’

  Jo rolled her eyes. ‘So you’ve said.’

  Claire pursed her lips. She licked the sticky, sour cheese from her teeth. ‘It’s like Darren doesn’t want to make any decisions and expects me to get on with it. It’s not right. Whenever there’s a problem, it’s my fault, but if things are going well, it’s thanks to him or Emily’s planning.’

  ‘I’m sure your boss will recognise your talents soon enough,’ said Mia.

  ‘Hm. Ever the optimist, Mia. It’s hard to get motivated by software. I mean, who understands data science? What even is that? At least Emily got to work on things she liked — and is apparently still getting credit for it.’ Claire groaned, ignoring Jo’s raised eyebrow. ‘And there aren’t even any more glamorous events to go to, with the festivals coming to an end.’

  Jo winced. ‘Yeah but look where that got Emily...’

  ‘I’m obviously not meaning that. I only meant—’

  ‘You know, jealousy isn’t very becoming,’ said Jo.

  Claire fell silent.

  ‘She did get to snog Adam Mooney,’ Sarah said with dreamy eyes.

  Claire wriggled in her seat. How was she supposed to keep quiet about her encounter? But she’d promised Laura and Laura was her best client. She bit into her taco, fragments of fried maize shell falling from her hand.

  ‘Bloody hell, Mia,’ Jo said.

  Sarah raised her arms in defence ‘What?’

  ‘That’s a bit tasteless. That’s Claire’s colleague you’re talking about.’

  Sarah shrugged. ‘Well yeah. And it’s shocking how much crap she got. That was horrible. But if you ask me, she did ask for it by going public with her story. So he was a little too insistent... So she didn’t enjoy the sex all that much... Haven’t we all had that?’

  Jo nodded. ‘I’ve certainly had my share of bad dates.’

  ‘And they weren’t even with a movie star,’ said Sarah, poking Jo in the shoulder.

  Claire watched the surreal exchange as if detached. Were they serious? How could they be so callous? Then again, they kinda had a point.

  Sarah continued. ‘I’m frankly surprised he didn’t sue. His reputation is in tatters.’

  Jo sat up. ‘I read he got to stay on for the new series, whereas there are plenty of other actors who have suffered much greater consequences for being lecherous monsters. I could name a few.’

  The waitress refreshed the water carafe and stacked the empty plates on one arm. A man walked through the door with his toolbox and stood by the side of their booth.

  He smiled and asked the waitress, ‘Did you call about the boiler, hen?’

  Claire did a double take: his rows of perfect teeth clashed with his Glaswegian accent.

  ‘Right this way,’ the waitress said.

  Jo turned her head and ogled his muscular body as he strode to the rear of the room. ‘Oh my God, I wish my plumber looked like that.’

  ‘There’s something about a weegie accent, too,’ cooed Sarah.

  ‘Listen to us,’ giggled Jo, ‘Just as bad as the men.’

  26

  ME

  After work, I caught the number 2 bus in the direction of Haymarket station. It was one of those distances that you could bus or walk in approximately the same time — about twenty minutes. But the heavens had opened, and despite having an umbrella with me, I reckoned the horizontal rain would have drenched my legs by the time I arrived for dinner with Suki.

  I’d looked up the Fragrant Orchid on the map because I didn’t know the address Suki had jotted down. It turned out to be a small alley off Morrison Street, directly behind the train station. The reservation was for seven o’clock. I checked my watch again. I’d left in good time.

  The windows steamed up as more people hopped on the bus, their breath mingling and hitting the cold glass. Passengers who looked like train commuters started to gather their things. I wiped the condensation and looked outside. Almost there.

  As the bus slowed down, I held onto the metal poles while people moved me towards the exit on the wet, slippery, rubber floor. On the street, I stepped away from the crowd and opened my umbrella. The freezing wetness on my shoulders made me shudder.

  I navigated to the restaurant using my memory of the map. The alley wasn’t well lit and smelled of the chip shop on the corner.

  I peered inside the restaurant, noting I was the first to arrive. I hesitated. I didn’t know whether to ask for Suki or Sukhon. Would I offend her parents if I got it wrong? Best to stay outside and wait.

  The place was cute, with colourful transfers of orchids pasted on the window and lotus-shaped hanging lamps outside. There were two rooms, and both were reasonably busy. A couple exited, making me step aside on the narrow pavement.

  ‘Hey, crazy lady. Whatcha doing outside?’ Suki’s voice came from inside a corporate-logoed umbrella.

  It had made sense only minutes ago, but now I felt a bit dopey. I followed Suki inside.

  An older woman, dressed in traditional Thai clothing, rushed to our side with the largest of smiles. She embraced Suki and chatted away in their language before turning to me, her arms outstretched. ‘Hello! Welcome!’

  I hunched down a bit to let the stranger squeeze me. I hoped to God this was Suki’s mother and not a random over-affectionate waitress.

  ‘Come, come,’ she said.

  She seated us at a reserved table by the window. Oh good; Western cutlery. I’d never mastered chop sticks — though worst case the deep green tablecloth would have forgiven spills.

  I breathed in the delicate aromas of lemongrass and ginger that made a nice change from the smell of fried batter outside. I picked up the menu and a bright-red drink was instantly plopped in front of me, two fat shrimp perched over the side of the glass.

  ‘What’s this?’ I asked.

  ‘It’s a Siam Mary’, said Suki. ‘It’s like a bloody Mary with a Thai twist. Careful, it’s spicy.’

  I sniffed at it. ‘I don’t normally drink much.’

  ‘Come on, live a little.’ Suki raised her glass in salute and took a sip.

  I brought the glass to my lips. Here goes nothing.

  The tomato juice was
delicious. I was thirsty from the bus and it didn’t feel like there was that much alcohol in there, so I gulped it. I could feel my tongue swell up from the chilli Suki warned me about.

  The menu was a heavy brown binder containing laminated pages of beautifully presented dishes with complicated names and a jumble of options for sides. What is all this? My mum only ever cooked the classics and aside from the occasional curry takeaway, we hadn’t ventured far into the global cuisine. There wasn’t much choice in Peebles. Plus, no money to eat out.

  Suki must have noticed my bewilderment, because she took the menu off me and said, ‘Let me.’ She seemed to telepathically beckon her mother who arrived with a notepad in hand.

  They chit-chatted away, pointing, arguing, eventually agreeing. I couldn’t understand any of it, though I did recognise the subject changed from food to me, when Suki’s mother elbowed her daughter’s shoulder, cocked her head towards me, said something and cackled before turning away.

  Suki rolled her eyes and gave me the wide smile that appeared to be a family trait. ‘I’m sorry. My mum’s obnoxious. She is all excited because she thinks we’re on a date.’

  I smoothed my ponytail. ‘Oh.’

  ‘I haven’t set her straight yet because it means we’ll get the full feast. She can get a bit arsey when I bring people from the office. She thinks I work too much.’

  ‘And is your mother okay with you being gay?’ I asked.

  ‘I’ll admit it wouldn’t be her first choice,’ she said. ‘Both my parents have grown okay with it. In Thailand people are a little bit more fluid about sexuality and gender. It’s not just an exported fantasy.’ She motioned towards the pile of leaflets on the windowsill for the Ladyboys of Bangkok, a Vegas-style extravaganza featuring transgender performers, that had been a sold-out fixture of the Fringe Festival for nearly twenty years. ‘Besides, her goal in life is to have grandkids — by whatever means necessary.’

  Suki’s infectious laughter loosened me up. She asked if there was anyone special in my life and I was, for a change, willing to answer.