Forward Slash

by Louise Voss

  Amy was tempted to say yes, just to freak him out. ‘No, we aren’t. She’s my sister’s friend and we’re trying to find her.’

  He relaxed again. ‘Didn’t think so. You don’t look like cops.’

  ‘Could you just look at the picture please, Mr … um?’ Amy kept her voice low and calm.

  The man took it from her hand and squinted at it. It was immediately apparent that he recognized Katherine, and Amy held her breath, wondering what he’d say.

  ‘Call me Fraser. Well, well. If it isn’t Little Miss Pricktease? Yeah, as it happens, I have made her acquaintance.’

  A cockroach skittered past on the wall. One of the girls spotted it and screamed and jumped up, batting at her hair as if it had somehow flown into it. ‘Ugh! Fucking cockroach! This place is a dive.’

  ‘Can we sit down and talk to you about her, please, Fraser?’ Amy asked, smiling as flirtatiously as she could. He narrowed his eyes in the girls’ direction.

  ‘Oi, treacles, could you two bugger off for a few minutes while I talk to these nice people? Then we can get back to the part-ay-ing pronto, eh?’ He grabbed at the bottom of the one who’d stood up, and she giggled, her cockroach panic forgotten.

  ‘If we don’t get out of here soon, I’m going home,’ said the other one, swaying as she stood up. She was the one who looked as if she wasn’t having much fun ‘par-tay-ing’ with Fraser.

  ‘Come to the bogs with me, Charlotte, I’m bustin’, and I need to talk to you.’ Cockroach Girl grabbed her friend’s hand and they tottered off to the Ladies’ together. Fraser patted the seat next to him, and Amy reluctantly sat down. It was warm with the imprint from Cockroach Girl’s buttocks. Gary sat at the table.

  ‘Let me get you good folks a drink,’ Fraser said expansively. ‘I’ve been waiting for this useless barman to get his sorry arse over here for hours now and get me some more fizz. The service in this place is utter shite.’

  Amy and Gary’s eyes met, both of them without words, saying, Then why do you drink in here, twat? Probably, Amy thought, because it was one of the few places that didn’t currently have a bouncer on the door, and from which Fraser hadn’t already been banned.

  ‘So, how do you know Katherine?’

  ‘“Katherine”, is it? She told me her name was Kaye. I met her about a month ago … Internet dating.’

  ‘Internet dating? Which site?’ Gary asked, leaning forward in his chair.

  Fraser regarded him like something he’d picked up on his shoe. He pointed at him. ‘Listen, pal, I don’t like your tone. You might think that you’re too good for Internet dating, but I tell you what, it’s THE best way to meet birds. Birds who are up for it, anyway …’

  Gary held up his hands. ‘Hey, chill out, I don’t have a tone. I just want to know where Katherine is. She’s gone AWOL.’

  Fraser’s mood seemed to have plummeted into instant aggression and defensiveness. ‘What – now you’re accusing me of having something to do with it? Who the fuck do you think you are, coming in here and making insinuations, telling me to chill out? You need to—’

  Amy glared at Gary, and turned to Fraser. ‘Please. Gary didn’t mean anything. We’re just really worried about her. Anything you can tell us about her would be massively helpful. How did she seem when you last saw her, on …’

  She was about to say, ‘Sunday,’ when she remembered he didn’t know that she knew.

  Fraser slumped back in his seat, leaning his head against the wall and glaring at them both. Amy hoped the cockroach would return and scuttle across him. Horrible man, she thought. What the hell was Katherine doing with a psycho like him? Could he have something to do with her disappearance? With a chill, Amy thought that she agreed with Olly – at face value, he absolutely could.

  ‘Um, when did you last see her?’ she asked instead.

  He shrugged. ‘She can’t have been missing for long – I went out for a drink with her, just a few days ago. Last Saturday? No – Sunday. We was in here, actually.’

  Amy pretended to look surprised. ‘Really? Well, that’s a stroke of luck, meeting you. You’re being so helpful, honestly. Did she say anything about having any more dates lined up? If you could tell me the site, then we can check out who else she’d met on it.’

  He frowned again. ‘Have you got the police involved yet?’

  ‘Not yet,’ Amy said. ‘Would you be willing to talk to them, if she doesn’t turn up?’

  Fraser suddenly felt the inside of his top jacket pocket and then sniffed, running his finger under his nose. It was late, and he was probably very drunk as well as high, but his actions couldn’t have screamed I have cocaine more clearly than if he’d been playing charades.

  ‘Look,’ she said. ‘If they do get involved, all they’ll want to know is about you and Katherine – how you met, what you did. They won’t care about anything else.’ She stared meaningfully at his jacket pocket. ‘So – which site was it?’

  He drummed his fingers on the table. Amy and Gary exchanged looks again. Why wouldn’t he tell them? At that moment, the other two girls came back from the toilets and stood awkwardly a little way away. The door swung shut behind them, causing Amy’s appeal photo sheet to fly off the table in the sudden draught. It fell onto Fraser’s foot, and he bent to pick it up. He was just handing it back to Amy when he stopped, puzzled and momentarily shocked. Amy and Gary froze. Fraser was staring at the other photo, the one of Becky that had been folded out of sight underneath before.

  ‘What?’ Amy’s voice came out strangled and high. ‘Do you know her, too?’

  Fraser regained his composure, and smirked. ‘As it goes, I do. I’ve had ’em both. Small world, eh?’ He turned to them both. ‘Yeah, what I was about to say was, that site, it’s called Casexual.com. That’s how I know them. They’re mates, aren’t they? Well, I would hope so, since both of their profiles say that they’re into threesomes … I’m not into relationships, but I like sex. No crime in that, is there? And from what little I know of these two, so do they. Gagging for it …’ He stood up.

  ‘And on that note, ladies and gents, it’s time for me to take my leave – the next part of my evening’s entertainment awaits.’ He gestured to the two girls. ‘Here’s my card, I have nothing to hide, so please feel free to give my details to the police if needs be. There are some very nasty characters out there. I hope they both turn up very soon. Nice girls, they were.’ He handed Amy a business card, and actually bowed, before taking an arm of each of the girls and weaving out, throwing a twenty-pound note on the bar as he went. Olly’s lip curled, but he picked up the note and put it in his pocket.

  Amy couldn’t speak, not until Gary had thanked Olly and helped her back into the minicab that had, mercifully, waited outside for them.

  ‘Casexual.com,’ she managed as the driver pulled away, her voice shaking with rising hysteria. Gary squeezed her arm. ‘You know what that means, don’t you, Gary? Do you know what that is, Gary? I know what that is, I’ve heard of that …’

  He didn’t reply, but tried to put his arms around her. She shook him violently off, speaking louder and faster and higher. ‘It’s a hook-up site! Gary – Becky was using a hook-up site! Oh, my God. She was advertising herself for sex, like some kind of whore, and so was Katherine! What the fuck were they thinking? And she slept with – they probably both slept with – that … that … that—’

  ‘Arsehole,’ said Gary, in a flat monotone that somehow tipped Amy’s hysteria over into howls of panic and agony so primal that the cab driver pulled over and stared in horror at her, until Gary told him to drive on, to please just get them home.

  When they got back to Amy’s flat again, Amy went straight to bed, without bothering to take off her make-up or most of her clothes. Gary made her a cup of tea that went stone cold on her bedside table, and she didn’t speak or move when he took off his own clothes and slid in beside her. She lay like a stone on her back, allowing him to hold her hand but pushing him away when he came closer, until he
turned on his side and started gently snoring.

  She lay wide awake for hours, her heart pounding with fear and anxiety. Not even listening to Boris’s soft, regular breaths from the floor next to her, or the dawn chorus outside, could relax her. All she could think about was Becky, having sex with that horrible man, and how many others? The sort of people that hook-up sites would inevitably attract. Control freaks like Nathan, sex addicts and perverts.

  Murderers?

  She was still awake, in a sort of trance of tiredness and stress, when her landline rang at 7 a.m. She leaned across and picked up the receiver.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Miss Coltman? It’s DC Amristy from Camberwell CID here. We have some news about Katherine Devine. Could you come to the station as soon as possible, please?’

  22

  Becky

  Friday, 14 June

  Worst day ever at school today. Poor little Simon Pinto has committed suicide. I cried my eyes out in the head’s office when she told me – so unprofessional of me but I just couldn’t help it. She was almost crying, too, though. We tried so hard to help him but it was too late. In his suicide note he said that his tormentors weren’t from this school but from another one, so no wonder we could never get to the bottom of who was bullying him, and he was too scared to tell us. When the head said that his mum and stepdad wanted to invite her and me to his funeral because they knew ‘we were the ones who took such care of him’, I thought my heart was going to shatter into a thousand pieces.

  I almost crawl up the stairs to my flat at five, so tired and upset that I can’t do anything for a full half-hour other than lie on my sofa staring at daytime telly, Simon’s anxious white face constantly on my mind, and his nervous habit of rubbing his palms on his knees if I ever asked him to read in class or translate anything.

  I feel grimy and sweaty but I’m too exhausted to turn on the shower taps for ages, because it would involve moving. Eventually, I manage to drag myself into the shower, and the tepid water streaming off my head makes me feel a little better. I wash my hair, even though it doesn’t really need it, and walk naked and dripping into my room. I spread the towel on the bed and lie down, enjoying the cool air on my wet skin. Then I put on knickers and my little black sundress and consider my options for the evening ahead. I could ring Katherine but I think she’s out on another date. She didn’t teach Simon and, although of course she was shocked, she wasn’t as upset at the news as I was.

  I pour myself a large glass of cold Pinot Grigio and sit down on the sofa with the laptop, logging straight into Casexual.com. It’s becoming a bit of an addiction; so many gorgeous men all lined up for me – skimming over the mediocre/square/overweight ones obviously. It’s like Internet grocery shopping – browse, click, add to basket, proceed to checkout … And today of all days, I feel so strongly that life is just too short not to seize it with both hands, take new experiences when you want them, experiment to find out what you don’t like as much as what – or who – you do. Take risks, be bold …

  I think I’ve been hanging out with Katherine too much! She’s always saying things like that. She keeps hinting that she wants a Casexual threesome – her, me and a guy of our choice. The thought both thrills and appals me. She says she’s over CupidsWeb.com – ‘far too vanilla’. I thought it was OK, a few decent men – but she’s right: Casexual’s a whole other kettle of fish. I feel myself getting turned on just logging in; a naughty pleasure that I keep secret from everyone except Katherine. The adrenaline rush from a regular date gets magnified about a thousand times by a Casexual date, and in some ways I think they are more honest. I mean, all Internet dating is basically about sex, isn’t it? So many men dress it all up with flowery stories about their quest for ‘the one’, and really they just want to get laid. Casexual cuts through all that crap. Look at me – you fancy me? You like me? Let’s do it.

  It’s scary, but so liberating. I’m being very choosy, though – I’ve only had one Casexual date so far, with Milo (possibly not his real name), and it was amazing. Such a revelation. He seemed to enjoy it as much as I did, but when I tried to contact him again for another go, he’d vanished off the site, and his mobile was dead. I hope I find another Milo.

  I spend a good hour browsing, replying to messages, sending more out. I feel different when I’m on Casexual, in control and powerful. I’m not offering myself to just anybody, I’m choosing the source of my pleasure. Perhaps the risk element inherent in arranging to sleep with a stranger enhances the thrill of it. Although I would never take any risks myself. I am always totally careful. And if they are crude, or terrible spellers, I discount them immediately. It makes me smile that I could have sex with a stranger, but not one who misuses apostrophes.

  Just as I’m perusing the Casexual profile of a guy who calls himself TooledUp, there’s a knock at my door. I hastily close my laptop lid and check my appearance in the mirror over the fireplace – I hope it’s not that Damian from downstairs, he’s always hassling me about the sodding recycling, or dropping round to ‘talk about my security’, or whatever. He’s all right, I suppose. Means well.

  It’s not Damian, it’s Gary from next door. I’m so relieved I invite him in, opening the door wide and smiling at him. He’s leaning on the side of the doorframe with a goofy grin on his face. He’s pretty cute, actually. Shame I don’t fancy him.

  ‘Good evening, Miss Coltman,’ he says, inclining his head. ‘And how are we tonight?’

  I fan my face with my hand. ‘We are rather warm, thank you, and knackered after a truly awful day at school, but a glass of cold vino and a shower have gone a long way to putting things—’

  ‘Right,’ he finishes. ‘Any more of that cold vino? Cheeky of me to ask, I know, since I only came round to see if I could get my Breaking Bad box set back again – I’ve still got a couple of episodes to go.’

  ‘Sure thing, I’ve watched it all.’ I usher him in and go to the fridge to pour him a glass of wine. Having company is helping snap me out of my funk, and also pushing back down my increasingly persistent fantasies about threesomes and anonymous sex …

  ‘How was your day?’

  As I hand him the wine, he scowls slightly. ‘Also pretty shit,’ he says. ‘I have to get a new job. My boss is such a twat.’

  ‘Oh, dear,’ I sympathize, and he spends the next five minutes bitching about her. I find my thoughts drifting back to TooledUp. He looked a bit rough, but Kath would like that. Big muscles, nice smile, lots of tats. A good speller, too, unless he got someone to check his profile for him. And – I find myself growing even hotter – he’s after a threesome. I imagine Kath’s reaction if I set it all up. She’d be like a kid in a sweet shop! What would it be like? Six legs entwined, being kissed by a woman whilst being fucked by a man … four hands running over my body instead of two … Kath’s smooth creamy skin and red hair in my face, watching TooledUp pounding into her right next to me … I’m not gay, but I can’t deny it’s a huge turn-on. I could definitely kiss Kath, if it was a one-off and there was a man there as well …

  ‘Are you all right, Becky?’ asks Gary, and my eyes open wide.

  ‘Oh, yes – sorry, Gary, I’m just a bit … tired and emotional. One of my Year Nines topped himself today.’

  I feel bad at using Simon as an excuse for being distracted, but Gary is mortified. ‘Becky, I’m so sorry! That’s terrible! Can I do anything to help cheer you up?’

  Is it my imagination or did a lustful expression flash across his face? For a moment, I’m tempted, feeling as I am already turned on. But this is Gary-from-next-door. It would be a very bad idea.

  ‘We could go out for a drink, if you like?’ he suggests shyly.

  I smile at him and drain my wineglass. ‘Thanks, Gary, it’s really kind of you, but I think I just need an early night.’

  He takes the hint and stands up, awkwardly running his hand through his hair and not making eye contact. ‘OK then. I’m really sorry about your, um, pupil.’

&n
bsp; ‘Thanks. Sorry I’m being a bit antisocial.’

  ‘No, don’t worry, that’s fine, sorry for disturbing you.’

  Bless him. We seem to have run out of things to apologize to one another for, so I show him back to the door and he leaves. It’s only when I sit back down at the laptop, I notice that the Breaking Bad box set is still sitting under my TV. I think about taking it across the hall to Gary’s, then decide against it. Not tonight. Instead, I write TooledUp a little email: ‘Hi! My friend and I think you look great. Fancy meeting up with us?’ My heart in my mouth, I hit Send before I change my mind.

  23

  Him

  How did I feel when I heard that that slut, Katherine, was indeed dead; that my perfectly executed – if you’ll excuse the pun – plan had worked? Oh, I wasn’t surprised. I rarely make mistakes. I’ve only ever made one, a long time ago, and I got away with that. I knew she wouldn’t be able to resist that delicious bag of drugs. I was pleased, though, satisfied that she was out of the way. Another problem dealt with satisfactorily. It’s one of the things I’m brilliant at, problem-solving.

  I was in a good mood that day anyway, so waking up and seeing on the BBC website that the body of a young woman had been found in a house in Herne Hill, apparently from a drugs overdose, was merely the sugary icing on the freshly baked cake.

  It was funny, because within a couple of days there was a tribute page to her on Facebook, one of those ghastly displays of fake emotion, all these cretins posting photos of her and leaving ‘heartfelt’ messages about what an amazing person she was and how much she’ll be missed. There were loads of her pupils on there, kids from her school, gushing away about what a wonderful teacher she was, so cool and not like the other boring teachers. Some of the girls who left posts on the page were cute, all these fifteen-and sixteen-year-old girls who wouldn’t know a privacy setting if it bit them on their pert little bottoms. I passed an enjoyable hour looking through their photos. I have an app that searches through Facebook pages looking for pictures of girls in bikinis. It’s very clever – it searches for flesh. It’s amazing how many young girls post provocative pictures of themselves on social networks. They don’t realize that half of them end up on porn sites, or being used as fake profile pictures by phonesex operators and mail-order brides in Eastern Europe.