One Click

by Andrea Mara

  Chapter 50

  By ten o’clock, a low-lying headache has dug in, and my lunch-time gins are a distant memory. Rebecca and I talked for over an hour once she stopped crying – longer than we’ve talked in months. We worked on a strategy to deal with the bullying and, despite Rebecca’s reluctance, we agreed to tell Ava about it too.

  At six the Guards rang to tell me Jonathan had been taken in for questioning and subsequently arrested and held. I sank against the kitchen door, trying to hold back tears while thanking the detective. I sat for a while, waiting for relief to set in, but it was too soon. Everything still felt jangled and frayed.

  For dinner, we ordered in pizza, and the three of us ate straight from the box, watching Gilmore Girls reruns. Rebecca looked happier than I’d seen her in a long time, and when she went to her room just after nine, she stood behind the couch to kiss the top of my head, and whispered “Thank you”.

  And now I’m sitting here thinking about missed signs and lost months and how I could have helped her so much sooner if I’d seen the wood for the trees. Could I have kept Dave if I’d seen those signs sooner too – would I have wanted to? Should I have worked out that he was Leon? And Jonathan . . . a shiver runs through me, and my headache nudges louder.

  Then at the back of my mind, something clicks. I sit up straight, slide my laptop on to my knee, and start to type.

  Hi Caroline,

  I know we’re due to meet tomorrow, but I’m just getting a little anxious about the article and the anonymity side of things, and the pieces of the interview that were due to be left out, like my daughters’ names, clinic name etc. Sorry if I sound dramatic, but I think I really need to see a draft at this stage. Would you mind sending it on to me tonight so I can make sure I’m comfortable with it?

  Best regards,

  Lauren

  I hit send and sit back, wondering if it sounds rude or demanding. I reread what I’ve written, and as I do, a reply comes in.

  Hiya,

  TBH I haven’t written it up yet – I just have rough notes and segments done, but not the whole article. Are you still OK to meet tomorrow for the final interview? After that I can send? Trust me! It will be fine.

  Caroline xx

  Slowly I blow air out of my mouth, reading through her reply a second time. It might be fine, but what if it’s not?

  Hi Caroline,

  Sorry if this sounds OTT but I think I really need to see it at this stage. Can you send me through your notes and the parts you have done? Happy to read those in advance of first draft. Will confirm re meeting tomorrow once I’ve gone through them.

  Regards,

  Lauren

  She is going to think I’m a paranoid lunatic but I’m past caring. Her reply when it comes is less friendly.

  OK. Give me an hour to type them up.

  Caroline

  No kisses. But fuck it. I’m not taking any more chances.

  It’s almost midnight by the time her next message comes through, a long email with quotes and comments from me, going back to our first meeting last month. At the beginning, she has a section called Personal Details and she’s made a note that Ava and Rebecca’s names shouldn’t be used, nor Steps to Wellness. She mentions VIN and I’m wondering now if I should ask her to change that – to make up a name instead. A tight knot forms in my stomach while I’m skimming through notes on different types of messages I got from VIN. She’s also mentioned my separation from Dave, but in bold she’s noted that no personal details should be included. There are more transcripts of our interviews and my VIN messages below, but everything is pretty much what we discussed. Just like she said. I let out a breath as I type a reply, confirming our meeting tomorrow. Jesus, I’m getting paranoid. Jonathan is in custody, there will be no more messages from the VIN account, and not everybody is out to get me. Caroline is just doing her job, and did everything as she said she would.

  I close the laptop and lie back on the couch, waiting for the knot to uncurl. But there’s something not quite right with the picture. I fall asleep, dreaming not of Jonathan but of kind eyes and false smiles.

  Chapter 51

  When I walk into the café, Caroline is already there, pen and notebook out on the table, cappuccino in hand. She stands to give me a light hug, then steps back to look at me, her eyes sweeping me up and down.

  “You look tired – is everything okay?” she asks, raising a hand to beckon the waiter.

  I sit and order a coffee and a BLT without looking at the menu.

  “Just about. I had a very challenging situation with a client at work but I think it’s on its way to being resolved.” I stop and look at her notebook. “This isn’t for the interview, right? Obviously I can’t talk about anything work-related for the article – I’d be fired on the spot.”

  She shakes her head, her hair immobile in a perfect low bun. “Definitely not, I’m just worried about you. Is everything else okay?”

  “You know what, maybe it is. I think I’m coming out of a tunnel.”

  “And VIN – any update on the American guy?”

  “Yes, actually. We know now that Chris – the guy in New York – is not VIN. Cleo was over there and met him and it’s a long story, but it’s not him.”

  Her eyes light up at this. “Tell me, I have time.”

  “I can’t, I really can’t. It’s not my story to tell. It’s a tragic, horrible mess of a thing where nobody wins.”

  She looks disappointed, and I wonder what it’s like to be her – does the story matter more than the people behind it?

  “That’s fine, I understand. I’m just worried about you – it’s only a few weeks since our last meeting but you look a lot thinner and paler.”

  I run a hand through my hair and make a mental note to take more care with my foundation.

  “Yeah, there’s been a lot going on . . .”

  “Tell me more,” she says, picking up her pen.

  I imagine for a moment telling her about Dave – how good it would feel to let it out that he was Leon. And I imagine Dave’s face, reading the article. His cheeks going red, his fingers digging into his scalp, apoplectic with horror, and I smile. But then I imagine Ava and Rebecca reading it, and my mother reading it, and perhaps recognising the details and I know, no matter how much Dave deserves this, they don’t. I don’t. So I tell Caroline it’s all just small stuff, and has nothing to do with the trolling.

  “Okay, so back to VIN then – it’s definitely not Chris?”

  “It’s not but it seems fairly certain now that it’s somebody else.”

  “Oh! So who is it?”

  “I can’t really say. It’s with the Guards. Actually maybe pretend I didn’t say we may have found out who it is, and just carry on with the article as it was? I’m thinking now that legally I probably shouldn’t say anything at all.”

  “No problem,” she says but I can hear disappointment. “So what are the next steps now that you think you know who it is?” she asks as the food arrives. “How does Cleo feel about it?”

  My mouth is full of BLT and I cover it, swallowing before answering.

  “Actually she doesn’t know yet. I meant to call her last night but I had a splitting headache. I’ll message her when we finish up here. She wanted to meet for coffee soon, but I guess we might not need to now, if it’s all over. That’s sort of odd in a way, that I might never see her again.”

  Caroline nods. “Yes, I can see that that would be strange after what you’ve gone through. Perhaps you’ll stay friends?”

  I stop to consider that. “I don’t know. We’re very different. I’m not sure we have anything other than VIN in common.” Somehow, despite every frustrating moment of the last two months, this leaves me feeling sad.

  I excuse myself to go to the bathroom, and take a moment at the sink to gather myself together. It reminds me of the first time I met Cleo, in the bathroom in Italy, when she asked if I was okay and made me sit down to catch my breath. It seems like a million years
ago, and with sudden clarity I know, despite everything, I’m going to miss her.

  Outside, Caroline is scribbling in her notebook but closes it as I return to the table.

  “Do you mind if we finish up soon,” I ask her, looking at my watch. Quarter to twelve. “My headache is coming back and I should check on Rebecca too.”

  If Caroline is wondering why I need to check on Rebecca she doesn’t ask.

  “Of course – I have everything I need now anyway, and can go ahead with writing up the article.” She stops, and looks hesitant. “Was everything okay with the notes I sent you last night?”

  “Absolutely. I didn’t get through them all, but they look great. And sorry for pushing you to send them on, it’s just – I got worried for a minute that I was making a mistake.”

  She smiles, and the laughter lines around her eyes crinkle. “No problem, I completely understand. It’s a very human reaction – most of us feel vulnerable putting ourselves out there. But I think when the article goes out you’ll feel better.”

  I nod and say goodbye, leaving Caroline with her notes. At the entrance, I stop to message Cleo.

  Hey, looks like VIN caught, someone from my work, no link to you, long story.

  I hesitate, then type another line.

  I can fill you in over coffee?

  I hit send, wondering if she’ll hear the vulnerability. I message Rebecca then, to ask if I should bring home doughnuts, already knowing the answer, then I’m rushing out into the Saturday morning crowds, thinking about fresh starts.

  Chapter 52

  The fresh start is short-lived. Before I even get through the front door, Rebecca tells me Dave called in a few minutes earlier, and seemed really angry but wouldn’t say why. Sweet Jesus, what on earth could possibly be so important, I wonder, walking down to Nadine’s. When he opens the door, his cheeks are a now familiar strawberry shade and I feel myself tensing.

  “We need to talk,” he says and walks through to the kitchen, leaving me to close the door and follow.

  Grace is at the sink, polishing wineglasses. She glances up, looking nervous. I smile over, but she’s already looking back at the wineglass in her hand. Then I remember that Dave doesn’t know we’ve met.

  “Grace, could you give us a minute?” Dave says, and she nods, moving through the doorway on the far side of the kitchen, into the dining room. She pushes the door so it’s almost but not quite closed.

  Dave gestures for me to sit down, and I’m apprehensive now, like I’m being hauled in front of the principal.

  “What’s up?” I ask, putting my bag down on the impossibly shiny floor tiles.

  “I need to know how you found out about it,” Dave says, sitting opposite.

  Shit. With impeccable timing, my phone buzzes from my bag. It’s an auto-text from my dentist but I open it and frown at the screen, buying time.

  “Lauren.”

  I put the phone down on the table.

  “Found out about what?”

  “About Leon,” he says, glancing behind him at the dining-room door, and lowering his voice. “How did you know I was Leon?”

  Over his shoulder, I see the door move a fraction of an inch – Grace is listening from the dining room.

  “I told you,” I say, keeping my voice even. “I researched online and found out how to do it.”

  “I don’t believe you. I talked to my friend in IT – he says there’s no way a normal person could do it. You’d have to be a hacker. You might find the IP address, but you’d never trace it back to a physical address. So how did you do it?”

  “Dave, are you seriously going down this road? Have you forgotten that you started this – you trolled me – how on earth are you trying to turn this back on me?”

  “Prove it then – show me how you did it,” he says, reaching across and grabbing my phone.

  “Jesus Christ, Dave, don’t you dare!”

  He puts it back down in the middle of the table.

  “Well, what are you hiding?” he asks.

  “I’m not hiding anything but you have absolutely no right to take my phone like that.” I stare at him, daring him to try again. He keeps his hands flat on the table.

  “Then I have to ask. Did you log into my laptop?”

  “Sorry, what?”

  “Nadine told me you were here on Thursday afternoon when I was in Bristol – were you snooping on my computer?”

  Fucking Nadine.

  “Yes, I was here Thursday, because Rebecca was here and wouldn’t answer her phone. But no, Dave, I wasn’t on your laptop – I can’t believe you’d even suggest that! Anyway, I already knew you were Leon on Wednesday night, so how would snooping on Thursday even be relevant?”

  “Well, maybe that’s just the first time you were caught – how do I know you haven’t been here other times?”

  “Sorry – caught? What do you mean caught? I came here to collect our daughter – you make it sound like I was doing something wrong. You’re being ridiculous.”

  Dave sits back and folds his arms.

  “So show me how you did it.”

  I fold my arms too.

  “I’m not even going to entertain this. Dave, how would I even log in to your laptop if I wanted to – I don’t know your password.”

  “I don’t have a password.”

  “Of course you do – you always did when you lived in our house. Or is it that you don’t need it any more because you’re not a troll now?”

  He winces. Strike one for me.

  “I never had one, there’s no password.”

  “There is – you’re probably just entering it on autopilot.”

  “There isn’t.”

  “Fine, show me your laptop and you’ll see that you do have a password and I couldn’t have gone into it.”

  Pushing back his chair, Dave gets up.

  “Right, come with me. I’ll show you I’m right.”

  I hang back for a second when Dave stalks out of the kitchen. Grace pulls the dining-room door back slightly and peers through, uncertainty all over her face. I shake my head, and mouth: “Say nothing, I’ll sort it”. She nods, but doesn’t look convinced.

  In the study, Dave already has the laptop open and is looking at me triumphantly.

  “I told you, I don’t have a password. You could easily have looked at it when you were here.”

  “Dave, whether you have a password or not isn’t actually the point – I’ve never been in this study in my life, I wouldn’t dream of logging in to your laptop, and to be honest, I cannot believe we’re even having this conversation after what you did to me. You trolled me. You sent me horrible messages anonymously to freak me out. That I managed to work out it was you is upsetting you now more than anything and you’re lashing out, trying to push back on me. I will not accept this.” The words come out in a hiss. “You did wrong, you got caught. So man the fuck up and stop trying to get out of it!” I roar the last bit, then turn on my heel and march out of the study and through the front door.

  He doesn’t come after me, and I wonder if perhaps for now he’ll stop trying to solve the mystery of how he got caught.

  CLEO

  Chapter 53

  Gerbera daisies the colour of butter and yams vie for attention as Cleo stops at a flower stall to read Lauren’s message.

  Hey, looks like VIN caught, someone from my work, no link to you, long story.

  I can fill you in over coffee?

  So it’s over, and in the end it had nothing to do with her. How odd – why was someone from Lauren’s work so interested in her?

  Absolutely let’s do coffee – just tell me where and when, she replies.

  Cleo chooses a bunch of daisies, and crosses Grafton Street to the bookstore opposite. Inside, she runs her hands over paperbacks, inhaling new-book smell. It’s crowded with Saturday-morning browsers, but not as busy as the street outside, and she stays far longer than the time it takes to choose two titles.

  It’s after one when she e
merges, blinking in the winter sun, her new books tucked under her arm, and when her phone beeps she fumbles to pull it from her pocket. The number isn’t one she recognises, but the message is from Lauren.

  Hey, texting on Rebecca’s phone, mine fell in water. In hotpress drying it out but think it’s dead. Do you want to get that coffee this afternoon? Say four o’clock outside Metro Café on South William Street? Lauren

  Cleo replies to tell her that works, and realises she’s glad they’re meeting, even if it’s just to say goodbye. Messaging her mom to say she may be late for their weekly Skype call, she wanders over to Powerscourt Townhouse to get some lunch and start her book.

  It’s five after four when she arrives outside Metro, but Lauren isn’t here yet. The city sky darkens above the buildings, and dotted lights slip on one by one as she pulls her coat around her and wishes she’d worn a hat. Five minutes tick by and still Lauren doesn’t show. Using her teeth, Cleo pulls off one glove and fishes in her coat pocket for her phone. No messages. She types one out to Lauren.