The Regret

by Dan Malakin

  ‘But how…’ Rachel moaned. Her cheeks felt so hot she imagined them violently red. ‘You said….’

  ‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I thought I was helping. I thought–’

  Rachel’s phone, a cheap Nokia, vibrated on the bed. The writing on the small green screen read private number. Somehow, she knew not to answer, as if the vibration itself were different, mocking, sinister. It stopped.

  They scrolled down and found another photo, a close-up of the letter on the pinboard.

  Her phone buzzed again. Rachel answered it, holding it away from her face, as though worried it might attack. ‘Who is this?’

  Nothing. Then slow sarcastic laughter. Rachel flung the phone across the room. It hit the wall and dropped to the floor. The laughter, distant and tinny, carried on.

  ‘Look at this,’ Becca said, pointing to the comments.

  Anon: Her name’s on the letter. Any black hats out there wanna hack the hospital, get the rest of her deets?

  Anon: Can’t be too hard

  Anon: I’m in. Man, these places have zero security

  Anon: Rachel Stone. Age: 17. Address: 68 Hanley Road, London, N4 3DU. Home number 0207 489 6358, mobile 07942 451785. E-mail address: callmerach95@hotmail.com

  Anon: You dumb bitch. You dumb, dumb bitch

  Anon: Looks like this dumb bitch got D0XED!!

  Anon: Pile in lads!

  Anon: LOLZ!!!

  For days, Rachel’s life was hell. Her phone rang constantly, while filling with sleazy texts, until she just kept it off. Men bombarded her e-mail with pictures of their dicks. Someone found out what school she went to, hacked into it and made the photo the screensaver on every computer. They even bought domain names like stupidskinnycunt.com and dumbslutgetsd0xed.com and posted memes of the photo on it, embedding her name into the webpage metadata, so if anyone googled her, those were the sites that filled the first page.

  But that wasn’t the worst of it. Not by a long way.

  ‘What’s the hold up?’ Becca called from the living room. ‘You promised nibbles!’

  ‘You can’t leave it there!’ cried Spence.

  ‘You know everything.’

  ‘Except why this photo’s reappeared ten years later!’ He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. ‘Let’s wait for Boozy McSelfie to pass out, then I want the rest.’

  She pressed the trash key below the photo and watched it disappear. ‘Thanks for not judging me, Spence. Seriously. I mean it.’

  ‘Look, do you want me to postpone my flight tomorrow? I can–’

  ‘No chance,’ she said, carrying the tray of canapés back through. ‘I want you to be happy.’

  In the living room, Becca was leaning back on the sofa, chest up, phone at arm’s length, pouting at the camera. ‘You two! Groupie time.’

  Spence took Rachel’s arm and pushed out his lips. ‘You heard the woman.’

  ‘I’ll pass.’ She didn’t need to be part of anyone’s social media parade right now.

  Spence crowded behind Becca as she covered all the angles with her arm. Afterward, while she looked for the best one to post on Instagram, Spence opened a bottle of red and poured two glasses. Rachel asked him about his trip to Greece, even though they’d spoken about it daily since he’d booked the flight. Anything to stop herself from checking her phone for messages from Konrad every two minutes.

  ‘I don’t even know if Andreas is still into me,’ Spence said. ‘I’ve been messaging him all day and heard nothing.’

  ‘You and me both, sister,’ Rachel said, toasting him. ‘He wouldn’t have invited you out if he wasn’t into you.’

  ‘He invited me, I invited myself. Is there such a big difference?’

  ‘Come on, Mr Positive.’ She rattled his knee, although in truth she had her own doubts about the trip. Whenever Spence spoke about Andreas, whom he’d spent seven days rubbing against on an Adriatic cruise in July, everything came with a qualifier. Andreas wanted to move to London, but he might go to university in Athens to do a masters in tourism; he wanted to introduce Spence to his parents, but this trip wasn’t the right time. She hated being negative in front of him, kept that side of herself in check when they hung out, well, as much as she could, so only offered support for his flying out there. With any luck, when it didn’t work out he wouldn’t be too heartbroken. If the year they’d been friends was anything to go by, when this Andreas was gone, there’d be a whole new one to follow.

  ‘No-one is getting younger, darling,’ Spence said. ‘Especially not me.’

  ‘More Botox?’

  ‘Don’t think my face could take it.’

  ‘From what you’ve–’

  ‘Okay. Stop. I can’t talk about it anymore.’

  From the sofa, Becca let out a grunting snore and lolled her head the other way. Rachel hadn’t even noticed her falling asleep. Her black camisole had hitched up, showing a roll of tanned flesh going over the top of her jeans.

  Spence cocked his head at her. ‘Shall we call the lifeguard? Tow her back out to sea.’

  Rachel slapped his arm, grinning, feeling both guilty and sneakily pleased for enjoying the insult. She still couldn’t believe Becca had accused her of sending that photo herself, like it had been some kind of guilt trip gone wrong. Is that what Becca really thought of her? That she would do something like that? Maybe it was. In which case, it went to show that sometimes what you believed someone thought of you was in fact as far from the truth as you could possibly imagine.

  ‘Pass me that,’ Spence said, nodding to her phone. Thinking he was going to take a photo of the two of them, she unlocked it and handed it over. Instead he fired a few snaps of Becca. ‘Now, next time she’s mean to you, you can look at those and know she’s not so perfect.’

  ‘You are terrible,’ Rachel said.

  ‘And you haven’t deleted them.’

  They traded devious smiles.

  ‘I guess we’ll have to be terrible together.’

  The photos would be gone soon anyway. She was going to wipe her phone as soon as he and Becca left, clear whatever awful software Griffin, or whoever, had tricked her into installing.

  ‘So,’ Spence said, leaning back in his chair, swirling his wine, ‘back to what you were saying in the kitchen. I want the really long version.’

  Rachel took a sip, paused with the glass at her lips, then downed the rest. She shouldn’t be drinking so much on an empty stomach, but the alcohol was relaxing her, and after everything she’d been through in the last twenty-four hours, that felt more important than stressing over a bit of a hangover. Besides, it was good to talk to someone who believed her, rather than who thought she was always looking for drama.

  ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Here goes.’

  Chapter Ten

  Griffin

  After the d0xing, unable to face school, Rachel stayed in her bedroom. Days passed curled under the duvet. Becca visited every evening to grimly relay the latest – two of the boys who’d uploaded the photos had been excluded, the rest suspended. Yes, everyone had seen it, but they’d finally managed to remove it as the screensaver on the school computers. With every update, the will to starve grew stronger. What was the point of eating? She’d never recover from this.

  Except, it wasn’t only Rachel who suffered. Her gran was nearly seventy, with arthritis in her knees and a pharmacy of heart medicines to take every day. She was a strong woman, had outlasted her husband and raised two boys, but this was a different kind of stress. The worry of watching Rachel waste away, getting sicker and more withdrawn, aged her.

  That more than anything pushed Rachel back into the world. The first day at school was tough – jokes, snide remarks, girls giggling when she passed them in the corridor – but by the second day, no-one really mentioned it. She had the backing of Becca, who was popular, as were the other girls who’d been duped by the boys into sending a picture. Their photos had also been posted on 4chan, and so, knowing any of them could have been d0xed, they defended Rachel.


  Before this happened, she’d been doing well in class, getting two As in her mock A-level exams, Biology and Maths, and had wanted to apply to university to study nutrition. The careers counsellor had spoken to her about a bursary she might be eligible for, considering her financial situation, as long as she maintained her grades. Rachel thought if she worked hard she could catch up on what she’d missed, get back on track.

  Then Alan Griffin had barged into her life.

  She remembered the first time she saw him. She hadn’t even been back at school a week. He’d been outside the back gates, a heavy-set middle-aged man. Dark eyes, black hair combed into a side parting, smart in a navy blue suit and buttercup yellow tie, like he was waiting for one of the teachers, maybe to go on a date.

  Their eyes met as Rachel approached the gate, and his mouth spread into a smile. He waved her over. She carried on walking, throat tight, heart racing. Ten minutes after the bell, there were plenty of other kids around. She stepped up the pace, not looking back, hoping she’d been mistaken, that he’d been signalling to someone behind her.

  She lived a twelve-minute walk from school. The first half was along Hornsey Road, busy as usual, the shops still open, but then to get to her road she had to cut off, weave between the back streets, cross a grassy crescent. She glanced over her shoulder and there he was, closer than she expected, sweating through his shirt.

  ‘Rachel, wait,’ he said, his voice low, like he didn’t want anyone to hear.

  ‘I don’t know you.’

  ‘Can we talk? Two minutes.’

  ‘Go away!’

  Snap decision. She sprinted for home. She’d run track for the school since she was thirteen. No way he’d catch her. She took a winding obscure way, and made it back, panting, fumbling for her keys, letting herself in and slamming the door, wishing this were an isolated incident, but knowing from the way he’d looked at her that it wasn’t. Something bad had started, she’d known it in her bones. Something very bad.

  Alan Griffin became a constant presence in the periphery of her life. If she stepped outside, he was there, sitting in a car across the road, or watching from beneath a tree. At the cinema with Becca, she looked around at the ticket line, and there he was, at the cashier beside her, buying a single for the same movie. She hid in the toilets until the film started, weeping and wishing he’d leave her alone, then sneaked out the fire exit.

  Her weight plummeted. She was being sucked back in, the urge to lock herself away, to deprive herself, growing stronger.

  Not again.

  Not after she’d fought so hard to get back.

  The next time she saw him loitering by the house, she stormed out. ‘Go away or I’ll call the police.’

  He straightened the lapel of his suit. ‘If you gave me a chance–’

  ‘You sicko!’

  Instead of being cowed, he seemed confused, a bit put out, like he’d fed money into a vending machine, watched his snack drop, but couldn’t find it in the bottom.

  ‘You’re the one putting dirty pictures of yourself online,’ he said. ‘You’re the one giving out your phone number and your address.’

  ‘That wasn’t me.’

  ‘Sure looked like you.’

  An elderly couple she knew were walking their Westie, and further up the street she saw a young family, the mother pushing a pram and the father pulling a young boy on a red scooter. Rachel pointed at Griffin. ‘This bloke’s a pervert!’ she shouted to them.

  ‘Stop it,’ he said.

  ‘He followed me home from school and… and tried to molest me!’

  ‘Shut your mouth. I’m warning you.’

  The elderly couple had stopped, watching. The father was coming quickly towards Rachel.

  ‘He’s been waiting outside my window!’ Rachel shouted. ‘Playing with himself!’

  Griffin stared at her, his lips tight and quivering. ‘You evil bitch,’ he hissed. ‘I’m going to ruin your life.’

  After that, he carried on stalking her, although he only made his presence known when no-one else was around. She’d walk past a car and see him in the driver’s seat, holding up a pair of binoculars so she knew he’d been watching her from afar. If she waited at a quiet bus stop in the evening, he’d step from the shadows and stare at her. Even when she was at home, he harassed her, calling the house phone continually, until her gran pulled the plug from the wall, and posting printed notes through the letterbox at night. Things like, Every time you leave the house, I’ll be waiting or Very soon you will be all mine.

  Worse was when he took his attacks online, hacking into her social media and changing her passwords. While she struggled to get the accounts unlocked, uploading scans of her passport and waiting days for Facebook to believe it was her, he trolled her timeline, posting as her, trying to sound like her, but mean, snarky, like she was a total bitch. From her Yahoo account, he sent e-mails to people telling them what she really thought of them, then deleted both the original mail and their response, so Rachel could never be sure what he’d said. She told people what was happening, that someone else was doing all this, but she could see not everyone believed her. Some of them thought the d0xing had pushed her over the edge.

  Every time she managed to get into her accounts, Griffin was back in control of them by the end of the day. Back spreading bile in her name. Back alienating her from her friends.

  She compiled a journal, collected evidence, as all the stalker websites suggested, and took it to the police. The two detectives who interviewed her were sympathetic, but said there was little they could do. At the time, she didn’t even know his name. And her description of him as a “middle-aged man, black hair” wasn’t going to photofit its way onto Crimewatch. When she insisted the police do something, they exchanged glances and asked how she knew it was this particular man doing all this to her. Didn’t she say many men were involved in her d0xing? Perhaps if she avoided posting topless pictures of herself online, then this kind of thing wouldn’t happen.

  All they saw was a manic paranoid teenage girl, sickly thin, who’d invited this trouble into her life.

  Later, after Griffin went to prison, Mark worked out how he kept getting into her accounts.

  ‘You keep your laptop in the same place?’ he asked. It was on the desk in her bedroom. When she nodded, he went to the window, where a tall tree stood outside. ‘I bet…’ he murmured, scanning it. ‘Aha! Look at this.’

  Nestled in the crook of a branch, pointing into her bedroom. A tiny black box with a lens in the middle.

  ‘That’s a camera,’ Mark said. ‘He watched you logging in. That’s how he got your passwords.’

  ‘So, go on,’ Spence said. ‘What happened to him?’

  Rachel paused. Did she really want Spence knowing what she’d done to send Griffin down? What if she told him and he wanted nothing more to do with her?

  She cleared her throat. ‘They found all these pictures on his computer… kids.’

  ‘He was a proper paedo!’

  ‘Something like that.’

  Spence looked at her thoughtfully. ‘But if he went to prison for being a paedo, why would he be stalking you again when he’s out?’

  ‘It’s too much of a coincidence, getting hacked weeks after his release.’

  ‘I still think it’s that guy in the gym, Konrad’s mate. Trying to dick shame you. You should have stuck your phone in your pants. Click! I see your penis and raise you a pussy!’

  ‘Yeah, great idea there. And how would I explain that to Konrad?’

  Spence looked around, apologetic. ‘What Konrad?’

  ‘Don’t! I’m so gutted. You can’t believe how much. I… I mean that has to be it now, right? I told him this morning it’s the last time, and he’s done it again.’ She sniffed back tears. ‘He promised me he’d be here, and – and–’

  ‘Oh, shit, I’m sorry! I was just joking around.’

  ‘No, you’re right. What Konrad?’

  All night she’d swung betwe
en being worried about him, to being furious with him, but now she felt resigned. And sad, so sad. A helpless, sunk into the bones kind of sad, the kind that felt as though it may last forever.

  ‘He might still–’ Spence began, but Rachel waved his words away.

  ‘Whatever,’ she said, suddenly exhausted from the alcohol, the lack of sleep, the stress of the last day. ‘It’s just life, isn’t it. It’s not the first shitty thing to happen to me, and I’m sure it won’t be the last. At least I’m not alone. I’ve got Lily.’

  ‘What am I? A turkey sandwich?’

  She wiped the last of her tears and smiled. ‘More like a fruit tart.’

  ‘Cheeky!’

  Her dad wasn’t dropping Lily off until eight tomorrow morning, and as much as Rachel loved being woken before dawn by her daughter dive-bombing her bed, a lie-in sounded like exactly what Rachel needed to get her head straight. She yawned, stretching her arms and rolling her shoulders.

  ‘That my cue, is it?’ asked Spence.

  ‘Sorry!’

  ‘That’s fine, I know when I’m not wanted.’ He pushed off the armchair. ‘Okay, I’m going to use the little boy’s room. Then I’ll heave-ho snore face off the sofa and we’ll get going.’

  ‘Oh, Spence?’ Rachel called as he started up the stairs.

  He ducked his head back under the landing. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Thanks again. You’re a good friend.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it.’ His smile grew broad. ‘I’ve probably got years of nutty boyfriends ahead of me. You’ll make it up.’

  Rachel began clearing the coffee table and had her hands full of wine glasses and dirty napkins when she heard a scrabbling at the front door. The sound of a key searching metal. That had to be Konrad. She dumped everything and hurried to get it, her blood rushing, torn between wanting to scream at him for not showing up before, and throwing her arms around him and giving thanks that he was safe.

  The door slammed open before she could get to it. Konrad staggered inside, his eyes wild and bloodshot. He looked terrible, his cheeks puffy, his bottom lip busted, his clothes damp and filthy and stretched out of shape. A rip went up the side of his overcoat, making it hang away from the back, like a wing in a crappy homemade bat costume. Seeing the fury on his face, Rachel tried to duck away, but he caught her shoulder and shoved her back on the stairs.