by Cross, Amy
“Widows get a good deal,” the woman continued as the applause died down. “If your husband dies, you get a lot of sympathy and a lot of help. Plus, you know, financially it makes sense, provided you've been together for a while and he has a life insurance policy. I don't want to sound mercenary, but you have to think about that kind of thing.”
“You have to think of your children,” the host pointed out.
“Absolutely,” the woman continued. “When Gary died, there was a little period when people wondered whether I'd... Well, you know, people can be suspicious.”
“You were investigated on suspicion of murder?”
“Right.”
“But the investigation was dropped, right?”
“Of course. But for some people, mud sticks.”
Glancing at the desk over by the window, Beth remembered the policy Bob had taken out a few years earlier. She couldn't quite recall how much it was supposed to pay out, but she was pretty sure it was seven figures, maybe even more. The whole thing had seemed abstract at the time, and a little ghoulish, but now... However much it was, it would be enough to put Lucy through college, enough to ease their worries. For a moment, she caught herself fantasizing about a world in which Bob suffered an accident. She knew it was wrong not to be horrified by that idea, but deep down she felt a wriggling knot in her stomach, a sensation that actually, being free of Bob would be wonderful.
“No,” she whispered, focusing on the ironing once again. “Just no, just -”
Hearing a noise nearby, she turned and looked over at the door, where her younger nephew Oliver was standing with tears in his eyes. She hadn't heard him entering the house and she had no idea how long he'd been there, and for a moment she wondered if she was hallucinating.
“Hey,” she said, forcing a smile, “you okay there?”
Oliver nodded, even as a tear ran down his cheek.
“Okay,” she continued, setting the iron to one side and heading over to him, “you're clearly not okay. What's wrong, are you hurt?”
He shook his head.
“Then what is it?”
“Mum and Dad are at work,” he told her, “and...” Reaching into his pocket with a trembling hand, he took out his mobile phone. “Stuart showed me some pictures on the internet.”
“He did, huh?” she replied cautiously. “Well, there are certainly some things on the internet that no-one wants to see. You need to be careful what you click on.”
“Not that internet,” he whimpered, as more tears ran down his face. “The other internet.”
“There's another internet?” Reaching out, she took his phone and looked at the screen, before immediately turning it away as soon as she saw the photo of a man who'd been run over by a train. The man had been sliced in two, and glistening guts were spilling out even as he still twitched. “Oh God, Oliver...”
“It's the dark internet,” he told her, clearly on the verge of breaking into sobs. “That's not even the worst thing that's on there.”
“The dark internet?” she replied, pulling him closer and giving him a hug, while closing the browser on his phone and deleting the app that he'd used to access the site. “I've heard of that. Jesus, what was Stuart thinking, letting you loose on there?”
“He said I was too chicken to look,” Oliver whispered, “and I told him I wasn't.”
“It's not about being chicken,” she continued, “it's about being smart. There's enough bad stuff on the normal internet, you don't need to go deeper into the darker one.”
“He showed me sites where people buy and sell really bad things. Like murderers and drug-dealers.”
“Well you need to not think about it,” she told him, “and promise me that you'll never look again. Okay?” She waited for a reply, before pulling back and looking into his tear-filled eyes. “Promise me?”
“What if someone buys someone to murder me?”
“No-one's going to do that. None of that stuff is real, anyway.”
“It isn't?”
“Of course not.”
“Stuart said it's all real.”
“Well, Stuart doesn't know, does he? Stuart's only fifteen, he doesn't know everything.”
Oliver paused for a moment, with tears still in his eyes. “Are you going to tell Mum and Dad?”
“No,” she replied, “not if this is the only time it happens. When I was younger, the internet was just this thing on the computer in the corner, it wasn't everywhere like it is now. You couldn't carry it around in your pocket, and there certainly wasn't a dark internet, either. You kids have it so rough these days.” Reaching out, she used her thumb to wipe tears from his face. “Now why don't you come to the kitchen and have some of the homemade lemonade I cooked up yesterday? Does that sound good?”
He nodded again.
“As your aunt, I think giving your lemonade is one of my jobs,” she continued. “Then you can come with me to pick Lucy up from dance class if you like?”
Another nod.
“Go get two glasses ready,” she replied, stepping back. “I'll be through in a minute.”
As Oliver hurried to the kitchen, Beth rolled her eyes and went over to switch the TV off. For a moment, however, she watched the screen as the panel discussion continued.
“If Gary hadn't died,” the woman added, “we'd have ended up hating each other. It would have been hell. His death meant that none of that happened, and I actually think of him rather fondly now. Plus, our kids never had to learn what a complete asshole their father was. I mean, Gary was a total idiot. It would have been awful if the kids had realized that. As it is, I just tell them he was a good man, all the usual stuff, and they're happy believing that. Weird world, huh?”
“Crazy,” Beth muttered.
Switching off the TV, she subconsciously felt for the vein on her forehead as she turned and headed out of the room. Glancing over her shoulder at the last moment, she looked back at the desk drawer containing Bob's life insurance policy.
***
“Listen, can you just call me?” Bob hissed into his phone. “Candy, you're being completely immature about this. The way you just keep ignoring me around the office is ridiculous, completely ridiculous. And not answering when I call you...”
Turning, he looked over at Candy, who was sitting on the other side of the office, typing at her computer.
“I know you heard your phone ringing just now,” he continued, turning away from her again. “I heard it, for God's sake! Just talk to me!”
He paused, before checking over his shoulder and seeing that she was still ignoring him.
“I miss you,” he whispered into the phone. “There, I said it. I miss you, Candy. Let's talk and see if we can figure something out. Call me when you get this.”
He waited a moment longer, trying to think of something else that might persuade her, before cutting the call. Instantly, he came up with another line that he figured might work, so he brought up her number again.
“You okay there?” Tom Lanegan asked suddenly.
“What?” Almost jumping out of his skin, Bob spun around, dropping the phone in the process. He immediately got down on his hands and knees and reached under the desk to get it back.
“Tough day, huh?” Tom continued, standing in the doorway. “I know the feeling. Some days just have a little more whack about them. Work-related or home-related?”
“Um... home,” Bob said cautiously, getting back onto his chair as he checked his phone for damage. “I'm sorry, I won't let it affect my performance.”
“You got a difficult decision to make?”
“I... guess so.”
“You want to know the secret?” Tom asked, looking across the office for a moment, as if it was his turn to worry about getting overheard. Finally, he turned back to Bob. “Masturbate.”
Bob stared at him.
“Masturbate,” Tom said again.
“I'm sorry?”
“If you're struggling with a decision,” Tom continued
, lowering his voice a little, “just pop off somewhere and masturbate. It clears the head and helps you see what you should be doing with astounding clarity. I know that sounds like a joke, but it's absolutely true. Try it, you'll soon see that I'm right.”
“Well...” Bob paused. “That sounds...” Another pause. “Yeah.”
“I'm being completely serious,” Tom told him. “Masturbation is a key strategy in the modern office. Obviously it's not mentioned in training programs, there'd be legal reasons for that I suppose, but as one friend to another, I'm telling you that it works. That's why I have no problem with people nipping out to masturbate in the bathroom. In fact, I think it's healthy. I wish I could hold a group meeting and tell everyone that it's allowed, but I'm pretty sure it wouldn't come across in the way it's intended, so instead I just tell trusted people one-on-one. As for technique -”
Hearing footsteps nearby, he put a finger to his lips.
“Hey,” Candy said, avoiding eye contact with Bob as she handed Tom some printouts. “I need you to let me know about the Offenden file. It's just, you told me you'd have a decision I could relay to the customer today, and I checked my email and you haven't got back to me yet, and this is the third time there's been, like, a deadline, and I think they're getting impatient so I need to know if you want to move ahead with their contract or not.”
“Right,” Tom replied with a frown, “sure, I did promise you that, didn't I?”
“So...” She paused. “Do you have a decision?”
“I will have one for you today,” he told her. “I swear.”
“It's just that my liaison at the Offenden office has called twice this morning, and I really need to tell her.”
“Today,” he replied. “For sure, I will get you a yes or a no on that contract. Thank you for reminding me.” With that, he turned and headed out into the corridor.
“So you do answer your phone sometimes,” Bob said darkly, as Candy turned to walk away.
Stopping, she sighed before looking back at him.
“I left you three messages this morning,” he continued. “You haven't checked any of them!”
“How do you know that?” she asked. “Are you stalking me now?”
“I can see you across the office!”
“I told you, I need time to think about where our relationship is headed.”
“Candy -”
“Would you leave your wife for me?”
“Would I -” He paused, shocked by the suggestion. “Candy, I think maybe we need to talk about this in a more private setting.”
“But would you? In theory, I mean.” Reaching down, she put a hand on her belly. “If I was with child, for example.”
“You're not with child,” he replied, before pausing. He looked nervously at her belly. “You're not, are you?”
“What would you do if I was?”
“But you're not!” Another pause. “Are you?”
She stared at him for a moment, with a deadly-serious expression on her face. “No,” she said finally, “I'm not. Not as far as I'm aware, anyway.”
“Jesus, you scared me.”
“But I can't go on like this,” she continued, with a hint of genuine concern in her voice. “Bob, it was fun being your bit on the side for a while, but now I need more respect. I know you can't guarantee anything, but I want to feel that you could at least maybe definitely see yourself with me in the long-term. Or are you just with me 'cause of my perkiness and my good body?”
“Of course not.”
“So you like my personality too?”
“Very much.”
“More than your wife's?”
“Jesus,” he hissed, “can you try not to ask such pointed questions?”
“You know,” she continued, “I know you're cheating on her with me, but sometimes it feels like you're cheating on me with her. Like, I feel like I should go and tell her to keep away from my man.”
“She's my wife,” he pointed out.
“And what am I, a piece of meat?”
“You're my lover. Now can we please talk about this away from the office? How about tonight?”
“Dinner?”
“I was thinking drinks.” He paused. “I have a Christmas gift for you.”
“You do?”
He nodded.
“What is it?”
“I can't tell you. You have to open it.”
“Did you wrap it?”
“Of course.”
“Or did the store wrap it for you? 'Cause that's kind of lazy. You can tell a lot about a man from the kind of wrapping paper he uses. My grandmother told me that, and she's been married, like, eight times. All of it based on wrapping paper.”
“Meet me tonight,” he continued. “We'll go to another town and just hang out for a few hours, and then maybe we can get a motel room.” He waited for an answer. “Like the old days, you know? When things were simpler.”
She stared at him for a moment, but it was clear from her expression that she was slowly weakening. “Okay,” she said finally, with just a hint of a smile. “I'll meet you, but I want dinner. Actual dinner, without a scrap of cardboard in sight.”
“Sure. Actual dinner.”
“No cardboard?”
“No cardboard.”
“With wine?”
“With wine.”
“Huh.” She paused. “You know something, Bob Hague? You can actually be kinda impressive on those rare occasions when you get your finger out of your ass.”
“Thank you,” he replied. “I think.”
“Pick me up at six?”
“Sure, and maybe -”
“Tell them it's a yes!” Tom said suddenly, appearing back in the doorway with a grin.
Candy turned to him. “What?”
“The Offenden file,” he continued. “Tell them we're going ahead with the contract. Tell them I've made my decision.”
“Already? I thought you wanted -”
“I've made my decision,” he said again, giving her a wink, “and it's final, so go call them already.” Reaching out, he patted her on the shoulder. “Reel 'em in, Candy.”
“Of course,” she replied, glancing briefly at Bob before hurrying back to her desk.
“See?” Tom said, giving Bob a thumbs-up. “What did I tell you? Tough decisions become so much easier when your mind is clear.”
III
“I'm going to get lunch with Jack,” Jane said as she grabbed her coat. “You want me to bring you anything back later?”
Heading to the door, she stopped and looked back at Alex, who was apparently staring so intensely at the screen of his computer that he hadn't heard her at all. In fact, he'd been staring at the screen for most of the morning, which was unusual for him; he usually couldn't stop talking, especially when they had a big case on their hands.
“Boss? Lunch?”
“Huh?” He turned to her. “What about it?”
“Do you want me to bring you some back?”
“Why would you do that?” Checking his watch, he seemed surprised. “Oh. Jesus, is that the time already?” He paused. “No, I'm fine. But while you're out, could you pick up some internet wires?”
She stared at him. “Some what, Sir?”
“I've been thinking about it,” he continued, “and I want internet wires. None of this wireless stuff, I want actual, physical wires that keep everything contained. In fact, I don't want there to be wireless internet anywhere in town if we can avoid it.”
“I...” She paused. “I'm not sure where one purchases internet wires, Sir.”
“Find out. Look it up.”
“On the internet?”
“I don't know. I guess. And find out how I can protect myself.”
“From what, Sir?”
“From the wireless internet,” he continued. “It's like a soup of electricity in the air all around us, beaming things from one computer to another. I think maybe...” He looked around for a moment. “I think maybe that's part of th
e problem.”
“I'm not sure there's -”
“What if someone over there,” he added, pointing to the far side of the room, “in the next building, is looking at unwholesome material? What if, for example, he's looking at pornographic images on the other side of that wall?”
“I don't know,” she replied. “What if he is?”
“Well, it's beaming everywhere, isn't it?” he continued. “Those images are beaming wirelessly to his computer, so there's, like, a miasma of this unwholesome pornography in the air all around us. I've been reading about the technology, Jane, and the range of those signals is staggering. Plus, they can get through walls! Do you realize what that means?”
“I'm not sure where you're headed with this,” she replied cautiously.
“There's pornography all around us. Literally, floating through the air.” Holding out a hand, he waved it in front of his face, as if he was disturbing smoke. “Right there. Pornography. And other things too. Good things, bad things, all mixed together. I realized it the other day when I was looking out at the town. Everything looked so peaceful, so calm, but I got to thinking about whether there are other things in Bowley, things lurking beneath the surface. That's when I realized, it's not beneath the surface, it's in the air.”
“It is, Sir?”
He nodded. “It can penetrate bone, too, so of course it gets into our heads.”
“It does?”
“And I know they say it can't affect our thoughts or anything like that, but do they really know how it works? Have there been any long-term studies?”
“I don't know, Sir.”
He shook his head. “None that have convinced me. All the awful things that people see and hear on the internet, those things drift through the wireless cloud and sometimes they drift into our brains. How do we know that, in some way, our minds aren't picking up on them?”
“Well, um...”
“Investigate hats,” he added.
“Hats, Sir?”
“Protective head equipment,” he continued. “Something that would isolate our minds from the internet as it floats around us.”
“What would those hats be made out of?” she asked. “Tin foil, maybe?”
