He thought he might feel better if he talked to her about it all, so he decided to pop round to see her after dinner. In retrospect, perhaps he was stupid just to turn up at her front door and ring the bell. Maybe he should have thought to text or call first. But he didn’t stop to think.
Her mum let him in. She was friendly and acted like he was expected. All she said was, ‘Hello Noah. Nice to see you. Ruby’s upstairs, in her room,’ and motioned for him to go up. He wondered if she knew about him and Ruby but if she did, she didn’t give anything away. The thought of seeing Ruby close up again, instead of across a classroom or in a corridor, made him feel excited and nervous, which made him clumsy, and he tripped himself up on the stairs. He was glad she didn’t see that. Her bedroom door was shut and he stood outside for a few moments, composing himself and catching his breath. Then he knocked on her door. There was no answer. He knocked again. Still no answer. He didn’t know what to do. Should he go in? What if she wasn’t dressed? He had to delete that image from his mind. He hung back for a while, before knocking one last time.
‘What is it Mum?’ he heard Ruby shout. ‘Come in!’
Tentatively, he pushed the door open, craning his neck around it. ‘Hi Rubes, it’s, er, not your mum, it’s me.’ The room was lit only by a table lamp, but he could just make out Ruby’s shape in the far corner. She was sitting on the floor on some cushions and there appeared to be two other figures crouched next to her.
‘God, Noah! Um, er, come in,’ she said, hesitantly. ‘We’re just watching a DVD.’
He stepped into the room. In the glow of the lamp he could see three pairs of eyes peering up at him.
‘All right, Noah,’ said Amanda, with the hint of a smirk in her voice.
‘Oh, hi, Noah,’ said Hanni. She didn’t sound too pleased to see him either.
He was hoping that Ruby would get up to greet him, but she didn’t move from the cushions. When he got closer he could see that she and Hanni were squashed up together on a single beanbag. That must be why she hadn’t moved. So he leant down towards Ruby, to kiss her hello.
‘Um, er, what are you doing?’ she said abruptly, moving her head away from him.
Amanda and Hanni sniggered behind their hands.
‘I was … I was just saying hello,’ he said. It was only going to be a kiss on the cheek. He felt sick with humiliation, glad that the darkness meant nobody would see how embarrassment had stained his face and neck beetroot red.
‘Oh right, yes, sorry.’ She seemed nervous, awkward, guilty. It was clear she hadn’t told her friends about him, that she was ashamed of their relationship. ‘Er, this is Noah from across the road. You know Hanni and Amanda. From school. They came to see if I was OK. I had to go home early because I wasn’t feeling well.’
She knew that he already knew all this. Why was she acting as if he was a stranger? With every word she spoke he felt as if he was being stuck with a knife.
‘Are you all right?’ she asked. He wasn’t sure if it was a pleasantry, or if she was genuinely concerned about how he might be feeling after her brush off. When she was sure her friends couldn’t see, she shook her head gently, mouthing the word ‘sorry’ to him, and then ‘later’.
‘I’m fine,’ he said, flatly. ‘And you?’
‘Good,’ she said. ‘Much better, thanks.’ There was a painful silence. ‘Did you want something? I mean, did you come over for a reason?’
Hanni and Amanda shuffled on their cushions, uncomfortably.
What was he supposed to say? Yes, I came to see you because I thought you were my sort-of girlfriend? ‘Um, yes …’ He was lucky he could think quickly. He put his hand in the back pocket of his jeans, where he kept his memory stick, and pulled it out. ‘I just brought over that software you wanted. I was going to install it for you.’
‘Thanks, Noah,’ said Ruby. ‘That’s really very sweet of you, but could we do it later, or tomorrow, when my friends aren’t here? It’s just we were watching a film, and it’s getting late, and we’ve got school tomorrow …’
‘That’s fine,’ said Noah. He was happy to leave. Ruby and her friends had made him feel like a circus freak. Roll up, roll up. Come and see the amazing, stupid, tall man!
‘OK then, see you soon,’ said Ruby. She mouthed ‘sorry’ at him again.
‘Bye, then,’ he said, turning towards the door. He didn’t look back. As he headed down the stairs he thought he heard muffled giggling. He clenched his jaw and dug his nails into his palm to stop himself wanting to cry.
Once he was back home he went straight up to his room and lay down on his bed. He was furious, not just with Ruby, but with himself for ever believing that she could really like him. He grabbed hold of his pillow and hit it against the wall next to his bed, over and over, until he’d used up all his energy. It made him feel a little better. Then he sat down at his desk and sent a few emails to try to distract himself. It didn’t work; he kept thinking about Ruby, asking himself what exactly he saw in her. He couldn’t answer the question, but it didn’t make him want her less. He took a look at her blog. Hundreds of people had checked out her new entry already and not one of them had questioned whether it was genuine. If anything, the opposite was true. Half the comments were from women desperate to get their hands on the crimson dress, many of them wanting geographical clues on where to find it. They seemed to think the whole thing was a game, a weird kind of treasure hunt.
– I’m so so so so so so so so so sorry …
The words materialised on his screen, with a ping, which made him jump. It was Ruby. He hadn’t expected her to instant message him and the warm flutter in his gut told him he was pleased to hear from her, even though his brain knew he shouldn’t have been. Still, he ignored her for a few minutes. He wanted her to know how hurt and angry he was.
– Noah, are you there? Please don’t be upset with me. I can explain.
He waited another minute, then typed: Hi, yes I’m here.
– Look, I know you must be upset and I know I’m the most horrible, meanest, cruellest, stupidest person in the whole world, but I really didn’t mean to hurt you. Please believe me.
– So why did you?
– I don’t know. It’s hard to explain. I wasn’t expecting you to come round before. I panicked. I do still like you.
– That’s not good enough. You totally blanked me. You made me feel like a piece of crap.
– I know. I’m so sorry. Honestly. It’s just that Mand and Hanni don’t know about me and you and they’d have freaked if they found out like that.
– Why not? Are you ashamed of me?
– Course not. Don’t be soft. You know what they’re like. They don’t know you like I do, do they? They can be a bit … you know.
– Are you going to tell them?
– Yes, of course, maybe not right now, but eventually. I promise. Have you told anyone?
– Only my sister.
– That’s OK. But I think maybe you shouldn’t tell anyone else for now.
– Why not?
– Because we should maybe keep things to ourselves for a while. Take it slowly. If you’re OK with that. I know you’re good at keeping secrets.
– I’m not sure. Why?
– It’s all too much right now, what with the blog exploding and everything. I just need a good friend, that’s all. And you’ve been fantastic!
– Right. Just friends?
– Yes. With a few benefits. And only if you still want to be friends, that is. But it won’t be forever, I promise.
– OK.
What else could he say? He was confused. Did she want to be his friend or did she want a secret relationship? He’d rather be with her secretly than not at all.
– You know, you’re still the only person who knows about the blog and me. That makes you special.
– Really?
– Yeah. So what are you doing now? I mean before we messaged?
– Just going through some emails, nothing really. You?
– I was looking at my blog again. It’s crazy. There’s new comments going up every five minutes. Everyone wants my dress! People are saying they’re going to find the charity shop tomorrow morning.
– I know. I saw it before.
– God, Noah, I still can’t get my head round it all.
– Me neither.
– So do you forgive me then?
– Maybe.
– Only maybe?
– All right then, yes.
– Thanks, Noah. Can’t wait to see you. I’ll come round properly when I can.
– OK, can’t wait to see you either.
– Night then.
– Sweet dreams.
Ruby went offline and Noah sat looking at the screen for a few moments, reading over their conversation, before logging out and switching off his computer. The conversation would be gone forever now, there would be no trace of it. But that was no different from any normal conversation, he supposed. He had a niggling feeling that he’d just been manipulated, although he didn’t think Ruby had done it intentionally, or maliciously. She was all over the place, what with her exploding blog and her judgmental friends and her mixed-up feelings for him. The problem was, it meant he was all over the place too, and that wasn’t somewhere he wanted to be. He liked his life to be ordered and structured. He liked knowing who his friends were, where he fitted, what he should be doing next. Sometimes, he thought, I feel like I’m alone on the moon, looking down at the world and everyone in it.
Chapter 18
The Daily Voice, April 15
Does Robyn live in your hood?
Do you know the girl behind Robyn Hood’s blog? Are you one of her merry men? Or is she your Maid Marian? We want to unmask this outlaw, and we’ll pay for information. Call our freephone number now.
Dee da da … Welcome back to the Sunshine Radio Breakfast Show. It’s seven a.m. and today, once again, we’re talking about Robyn Hood. That’s the blogger, not the legendary guy with the bow and arrow, in case you’ve been asleep for the past few weeks. It seems the country has gone shoplifting mad. We’ve heard your opinions, several of them very strong indeed. Keep them coming. But now we want to hear what she has to say for herself. If you’re listening, Robyn, please get in touch. We’d love to give you the chance to reveal what you think about your blog, shoplifting and the public response. Do you want to set the record straight? Give us a call!
Absolutely everybody appeared to want a piece of Robyn Hood. The newspapers were competing to be the first to find out who she was, and several radio stations broadcast pleas for her to phone in and chat live on air. Magazines offered her free makeovers and photo shoots if she’d only agree to an exclusive interview. There was even talk of turning her blog into a book. Of course, if people had known she was only fifteen, they might have been more cautious. But Ruby had never revealed her exact age in her blog, only that she was a ‘young woman’ and once, that she was wearing a school uniform.
The police were becoming impatient to find her too. While they couldn’t prosecute someone for writing a blog, just because they didn’t like what it said (not in this country, anyway), Robyn Hood was, perhaps unintentionally, encouraging copycat shoplifting. You could say she’d started a mini crime wave. In the past week alone, at least fourteen women and girls had been caught trying to steal expensive clothes from upmarket shops. Each time, they’d offered the same excuse: it wasn’t really stealing because they were planning to donate the clothes to charity shops. They all claimed to be the Robyn Hood. It didn’t take much investigation to prove that none of them was the mystery blogger; one clueless girl didn’t even know how to switch on a computer. The Police Commissioner said the sooner Robyn was identified, the better it would be for everyone, and urged her to come forward, with the promise that she wouldn’t be punished. They simply didn’t have the manpower to deal with attention-seeking shoplifters. ‘People must remember that theft remains a crime,’ he added. ‘And anyone caught doing it faces prosecution and a criminal record.’
The ‘Robyn Hood Effect’, as somebody in the media had christened it, was also having a great impact on charity shops. Sales were booming and there were queues around the block at those stores which blog readers had worked out might be selling the clothes Robyn had ‘donated’. One morning, animal charity shops were besieged by women hunting for that red dress; of course they all left disappointed. The following day, while she was having breakfast (concerned that she was looking thin, her mother had begun insisting that she ate something every day before school), Ruby heard an interview on the radio with a woman from an organisation called the British Association of Charity Shops. The woman seemed flustered. She probably wasn’t used to being grilled about criminal activity at seven o’clock in the morning. ‘Our staff, who are mostly volunteers, many of them pensioners, are finding it hard to cope,’ she said. That made Ruby feel guilty; she didn’t want to cause problems for the charity shops. She thought of the sweet volunteers who’d taken her donations and wondered if they now suspected her.
‘We greatly appreciate all public donations,’ the woman continued, ‘but clearly we do not want to be receiving and dealing in stolen goods. We’re cooperating with the police. Our volunteers have been advised that if they suspect an item is stolen, they should not accept it. We won’t be taking any brand-new items, unless you have proof of purchase, for the foreseeable future.’
People were even talking about Robyn Hood at school. From the details referred to in Ruby’s blog, many kids had figured out that she must live locally, or even be one of their fellow pupils. Someone had come in one day with a T-shirt emblazoned with the slogan I’m Robyn Hood across the front, and had been sent home to change. The following day the head teacher had organised an emergency school assembly on the subject of shoplifting. After a lecture on the evils of stealing, he’d said that if Robyn Hood was indeed one of his pupils, she should make a confidential appointment to see him to talk about it. ‘No one else needs to know who you are,’ he said. ‘We’d like to help you.’ Nevertheless, any girl unfortunate enough to be sent to see the head teacher over the next few days became the subject of vicious gossip: ‘I saw X waiting outside Mr Mason’s office this morning … Do you think she could be Robyn Hood?’
‘I think I’m going to hand myself in,’ joked Amanda.
‘Me too,’ said Hanni. ‘We should go together, say we’re both Robyn Hood.’
Ruby shifted uncomfortably in her chair and pretended to be dozing. She could cope with situations like this by detaching herself from Robyn and telling herself they were talking about somebody else, which, in a way, they were. She was starting to grow used to the intense public interest in her blog. It no longer fazed her, or upset her. She found it exhilarating. Hungry for coverage, she now read the papers religiously online, and pored over her mum’s copy at the kitchen table, (Pam was delighted to see that Ruby was finally taking an interest in current affairs), and listened to the radio whenever she was in her bedroom. She’d changed her radio alarm setting from a pure music station to one with phone-ins and discussions. If there was no mention of Robyn Hood, she felt a pang of disappointment.
But, at the same time, she was also beginning to feel paranoid, certain that at any moment she would be found out. She didn’t believe that the police would be lenient with her, whatever they said. Whenever she wrote her blog – and it was becoming harder to think of things to say, now that she was relying almost entirely on her imagination – she felt anxious about posting it. If a car drove down her street while she was writing it, or she heard voices outside, it would make her jittery.
Since she had absolutely no idea how the internet worked, she surmised that there must be invisible wires coming out of her computer, which passed through the roof of her house, were beamed into space, and eventually connected to a great big supercomputer, a hub, somewhere in the world. She assumed that the messages sent down these wires could be tracked, perhaps by satellite, or infra-red or
some other sort of technology she’d seen used in a film. That meant that the authorities could identify her location within minutes and they could then send the secret services to swoop in through the windows and arrest her. Well, maybe not that last bit – that would be a bit over the top to catch a shoplifter – but they could alert the police and give them her name and address, anyway.
Noah told her it really didn’t work like that – for one thing, the server wasn’t based in her house – but she wouldn’t be convinced. So he told her he could ensure nobody would ever catch up with her blog or track her down.
‘How?’ she asked. She knew she was unlikely to understand the explanation, but it seemed ungrateful not to appear interested.
‘I can just keep changing your IP address and move from server to server,’ he said. ‘I’ll make lots of mirror versions of your blog using different servers. Then, if I need to, I can shut down one IP address and move it to another one, which will already be active.’
‘Right,’ said Ruby. He might as well have told her that he was going to put her blog on a rocket, fly it to Mars and translate it into Martian. ‘That sounds good. And no one will ever be able to find out where I’m writing it from or who I am?’
‘Not if you don’t want them to,’ he said. ‘I promise.’
‘OK,’ she said, half-heartedly. ‘How do you know all this techie stuff? Who taught you how to do it?’
‘No one, I taught myself. And I swap tips with people, so I’m always learning. It’s not as difficult as you might think.’
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