by Karen Swan
She stilled, feeling even her blood pause in her veins. No, she would never forget that. It was scorched in her brain, the moment she had come out of the bathroom and known – just known – that He had been there. It was almost as though his scent had tainted the air. She had immediately seen that the top drawer had been left fractionally open and known her underwear had been rifled through, perhaps taken. The bedcover had been too neat as well – she had been lying on it beforehand reading a magazine, her own physical impression left on the duvet like a fossil, but now someone had smoothed it, pulled it down tightly, proprietorially. And of course, the photograph had been left for her to find on the pillow.
And now this photograph was posted with all the others.
A thought came to her and she gave a physical judder – because how many of these other images had come from Him too? The ones taken through the shop windows or across from the street? Him sitting at the next table in the airport or walking a step behind her in the souks? Had he been watching her all this time – not through the screen, but in life?
She felt hot. She felt cold. She felt sick. She felt—
‘Bo?’
She almost jumped a metre in the air, giving a small scream that made everyone start, including Anders. ‘Hey. I’m sorry,’ he said quickly, holding up a placating hand and dipping his head low in embarrassment. ‘I didn’t mean to disturb.’
‘Oh. Oh God, Anders, it’s you.’ She dropped her head in her hands, her fingers raking her hair tight at the temples as she stared at the woodgrain of the table, trying to calm herself. She was jumpy. On edge.
‘Who did you think it—? Bo, are you okay?’
She forced a smile, forced herself to look up. ‘Yes. Absolutely. I’m fine. I’m sorry I was just . . . miles away.’
His gaze fell to her phone, now face up on the table, her image replicated thousands of times in a grid. His eyes narrowed.
‘What are . . . what are you doing here?’ she asked, covering it with her hand and trying to play it cool. ‘You went to the chandlery?’
‘Yes. I got what I needed.’ He was watching her closely, his eyes tracking over her and seemingly seeing the paleness of her cheeks, the fearful brightness in her eyes.
‘What a coincidence seeing you here. Of all the coffee shops in all of Alesund . . .’ she joked weakly.
‘I buy my coffee beans here,’ he said, jerking his chin towards the ebonized cabinets.
‘Oh. That really is a coincidence,’ she mumbled, looking over at the shelves before fading into the middle distance again.
‘I’m getting a coffee. Do you want another?’ he asked, drawing her back. ‘There’s another forty minutes before we’re meeting everyone back at the car.’
‘. . . Sure. That’d be great. Thanks.’
She watched as he walked over to the counter and ordered, his movements minimal and sure. Nothing was ever extraneous with him. He had none of Zac’s hyperactivity or overenthusiasm. None of his hyperbole and superlatives. He was utterly contained, kept within himself. Nothing leaked out or bubbled over.
He brought the coffees over a few minutes later, a small Danish pastry on a plate. ‘For you. You look like you could do with the sugar. You’re pale.’
‘Oh. Sorry.’
He shot her a quizzical look. ‘It wasn’t a criticism.’
‘No,’ she said, lacing her fingers around the base of the mug and staring in at her drink; she thought she could get high on the smell alone.
‘Bo – what has happened?’
She looked up, feigning disingenuousness. ‘Hmm?—’
‘And don’t say nothing. You look terrible.’
She stared into her coffee again. What could she say? She couldn’t draw him into this.
But he already knew. ‘It’s Him isn’t it? That guy. You had the same look the night of the party.’
The night of the party. Her mouth parted in a little ‘o’ for a moment as she remembered her behaviour that night and how badly she’d behaved, taking out her frustrations on him. ‘Listen, about that—’
‘Forget it. It’s not important,’ he said, swatting away her apology before she could even get it out. His eyes met hers – clear and strong. Straightforward.
‘No, it is,’ she insisted. ‘I have to apologize. I was out of order and I am sorry, I don’t know what came over me. I can’t explain it. I have no excuses.’
He watched her and she found she couldn’t hold his gaze. It felt too searching, somehow, as though he knew all her hiding places. ‘There was a lot going on,’ was all he said, but for once, the silence between them felt loaded and thick. ‘Now tell me what’s happened. What has He said?’
She sighed, knowing he wasn’t going to let it go. For some reason he had made her problem his own. ‘Only more of the same. It’s become daily again,’ she said, staring at her fingernails.
‘Then that’s harassment. Report him.’
‘Honestly? If it was just that, I think I could cope with it.’
‘Then what?’
She bit her lip, looking back at him again. ‘I just found this.’ She pushed her phone towards him and he looked at it blankly. ‘It’s a thread for a hashtag that we use all the time. It means anyone wanting to connect with us, be part of our community, can come here, post here. Only – I’ve not looked at it. For years. It’s for the fans more than us. I just write it automatically every day without ever thinking about it. Me, Zac, Lenny – we all use it.’
‘Where are they?’ he asked, straightening up and looking around for them.
‘We split up. We were recognized at the Christmas market and the crowd got really big . . . I don’t cope well with it: everyone knowing who we are when we don’t know who they are back.’
He was watching her closely. ‘Are Zac and Lenny coming here?’
‘No, I’m meeting them back at the car.’
‘So then . . .’ Anders sat back in his chair, his knee accidentally butting hers under the table. He seemed more relaxed to hear the guys weren’t coming, but he still gave a heavy sigh. ‘You said you clicked onto this page . . .’ he said, jerking his chin to indicate her phone on the table between them, prompting her.
‘Yes . . . And then I found that.’ She tapped the image on the screen with her fingernail.
Anders picked it up, his frown deepening as he scrutinized the shot of the hotel room. It was innocuous enough – until the backstory was explained. He looked back at her. ‘This was your hotel room – where he broke in?’
She nodded. ‘Yes. No one else could have taken that photo except him. Look, you can just about see the photo he left on the pillow.’
His mouth tightened at the sight of it.
‘What I want to know is – why is it up here? This forum? This has nothing to do with Wanderlusters, it was taken before I ever met Zac. If he took that photo as some kind of . . . souvenir of what he’d done –’ she repressed a shudder. ‘Why post it at all, much less here? It means nothing to anyone else apart from Him.’
His gaze slid over to her. ‘And you. It’s his way of telling you he was there, and that now he’s here too – he’s everywhere. Maybe it’s his proof that he saw you first? That he had you captured not just in a photo but in the next room.’ Anger blazed in his eyes, though his voice stayed low, his body still.
Bo swallowed, the fear creeping over her like clammy hands. ‘I can’t help thinking, if that photo is his – then how many others are too?’ she asked, a tremor creeping into her voice as she said the words out loud, as though putting voice to them made the threat real. ‘I mean, it’s obvious which photos have been posted by just random strangers we’ve actually met, all the selfies, they’re fine – the girl today at the Christmas market, for example. But what about these ones . . . ?’ she said, pointing to the grainier, blurrier covert shots taken at the airport, in the shop. ‘Were they passers-by who just happened to see and recognize me out and about? Or are they from Him – following me?’
Ander
s reached forward, covering her hand with his, and the gesture was so startling, she almost shrank back in surprise. ‘Bo, this is serious. You have to go to the police.’
His hand was warm upon hers. ‘I already did but I told you before – technically he is committing no crime.’ She gave a hopeless shrug and stared back at him, seeing the frustration bloom on his face.
‘But this is different now. If he did take any more of these photos then he’s not a troll, he’s a stalker.’ He sat back, lifting his hand from hers and she felt cold again. Vulnerable. A ripple of fear tiptoed up her spine at the word. Stalker. It felt unreal, hearing it being applied to her.
‘You have got to be careful. You don’t know what this guy looks like, where he’s from, what he wants. You’re right, he could well be following you. For all you know he was in the crowd at the Christmas market today.’
‘Please don’t say that,’ she whispered, feeling a cold hand clutch her heart. Even the heat in his gaze couldn’t warm her up.
He dropped his head lower, coming in closer, ‘Look, I’m not saying it to frighten you. The odds are he isn’t here. But I’m saying it because this threat is real. You cannot afford for Him to find out where you are.’
‘And he won’t,’ she said firmly. ‘Ever since he broke into my room, I’ve made sure never to post where I am at the time I’m posting.’
He looked at her blankly, as though not believing her. Wasn’t that enough? She realized he was still holding her hand.
‘Okay, so, say here – I just took a selfie, okay?’ she said, explaining more fully. Perhaps he didn’t understand the technology, he didn’t see that she was untraceable. ‘If I wanted, I could hit that tag there and it would show everyone that I took it at this coffee shop in Alesund. So then people following me on Instagram would know that I am sitting here, right now and anyone following me in the locality could come find me. But instead I keep the location setting switched off, right? Everyone following me knows I’m in Norway at the moment, but only because I’ve told them. And they have no idea where I am exactly. And if I ever do have to post exact details, I only release them after I’ve left.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘And Zac and Lenny do the same?’
‘Absolutely, they’re really hot on the issue. None of us do it.’
‘Well, that is something,’ he conceded.
‘Listen, it’s sweet of you to worry but . . .’ She took a deep breath. ‘I’m fine. I am.’
‘You didn’t look fine when I walked in.’
‘I’d just had a shock, that was all. Seeing that picture there . . .’ Her voice faded out, the panicky voices in her head growing louder. She muted them out again, rallying. She knew how to fight fear: move on, find the light. ‘But there’s nothing to say those other pictures are by Him. I might be overreacting. They could be perfectly innocent.’
‘Possibly.’
‘I mean, that picture was posted years ago and I’ve only just seen it now, right? He may well not have posted anything since that.’
‘Maybe.’
She looked at him, seeing how questions ran through his mind, his eyes serious and intense. ‘You don’t look convinced,’ she mumbled.
He hesitated before replying. ‘The thing that concerns me is why he has got in contact with you again after all these years.’
The question chilled her too. It was all she could think about in bed at night. Why? Why her? Why now? ‘I don’t know,’ she said, her voice curled up and small.
‘You said it only started up again when you got here? To Norway?’
She nodded.
‘So then there must be something here you are doing that he does not like.’
She pulled a face, trying to think. ‘. . . Walking in snow a lot?’
In spite of the gravity of their conversation, he cracked a grin. ‘That would be niche.’
She grinned too, thinking that if she didn’t laugh, she might cry. His levity brightened her, gave her hope. ‘It would, wouldn’t it?’
They stared at each other, and for the hundredth time she wondered why it always felt so easy talking to him.
He looked away finally, inhaling sharply. ‘Well, you will probably never know. There’s no point in trying to second-guess Him or understand what’s going on in his mind. There’s no logic to people like that. But you need to stay extra-vigilant.’
‘Yes.’ Should she mention this morning’s silent calls? She wanted to even though she knew she shouldn’t. It was selfish, only adding to his concerns when he shouldn’t be worrying about her at all; this wasn’t his problem. She wasn’t. But as their eyes locked again, she felt an irrational certainty that everything would be okay if she just stayed near him. That he was somehow her safety.
‘. . . Eat up,’ he said, pushing the plate towards her. ‘You need the sugar.’
The moment had passed and she let it drift away. He had done more than enough.
‘You’re not being my nurse again, I hope,’ she said, a teasing note in the words as she dared to reference their argument the other night. Could they laugh about it now? Was everything forgiven? Were they friends?
His eyes flashed up at her, the faintest trace of a new smile on his lips. ‘Don’t start that again.’
Chapter Twenty-One
They were supposed to meet at the car. Instead they received a text from Zac telling them to meet at a bar several streets away. Anders knew of it but though he walked her there, he left her at the door. ‘I’ll meet up with you in a few hours,’ he said.
‘But why? Come and have some drinks with us,’ she implored. ‘It’s Christmas. It’d be so nice to have some fun together.’ She looked at him, hands stuffed in his North Face jacket pockets, shoulders hunched. She wanted to say that it would be so nice for the others to get to see him in a social setting, to see him as she did, as he really was and not the prickly, reclusive guide he insisted on being during working hours. She wanted her friends to like him too, but she couldn’t say that out loud and he wouldn’t budge so, instead, a silence full of unspoken words ballooned between them, his eyes telling more than his mouth ever would.
‘I’m going to visit a friend –’
What friend, Bo wondered? She was certain he was lying. Making an excuse.
‘– I’ll come back at eleven. That’s the latest we can stay if we’re going to drive back tonight.’ He looked down at her extravagant collection of shopping bags, she was struggling to carry them all. ‘Give me your bags. I’ll put them in the car as I’m passing.’
She watched as he walked off, disappointment stalking through her as he disappeared up the street. Why did he have to be so elusive? She waited until he was out of sight, just in case he should change his mind after all, but he turned the corner without looking back. She just didn’t understand him.
She pushed open the doors with a sigh. Purple neon lighting illuminated a stone wall in the lobby; a beautiful girl leaning against it as she texted furiously. The bar itself was in a contemporary all-glass building built out over the water, a rim of electric blue light shining directly into the sea below. It wasn’t a large space but the intimate atmosphere was set off by tables and chairs set alongside the sea-view windows, with a selection of booths set on a raised, uplit platform in the centre of the room. Naturally, their group had the most prominent booth in the middle. Bo could see Zac and Lenny sitting with Anna between them and a group of three others opposite – two women and a man. They were all wearing coloured paper crowns.
‘Baby!’ Zac hollered, arms in the air, as he saw her standing by the door. It felt like every head turned as she made her way over, the music so loud it throbbed through her. ‘Where’ve you been?’ he crooned, pulling her down onto his lap and kissing her passionately. He always did this when they were in a crowd. And when he was drunk. It was almost like his signature move. But she couldn’t pull away. There was nowhere else to sit.
‘I did some shopping, then went for a coffee with Anders.’ It was only just si
x o’clock but it had been dark for several hours now and it felt more like ten at night in here: the lights, the music, the booze . . .
‘Coffee with Anders,’ Zac echoed, wrinkling his nose as though he’d smelled something noxious. ‘Poor you.’
‘Why did you go for coffee with him when you could have been drinking here with us?’ Lenny asked.
‘Because I bumped into him in the cafe. And I had no idea you were in here till ten minutes ago,’ she said, seeing the glimmer in his eyes that always came on when he and Zac drank. They were firm drinking buddies.
Bo smiled across at the assembled group, watching on with polite but rapt expressions, and she felt on the back foot that they should know her while she knew not one of them. ‘Hi – I’m Bo.’
A big hand was extended across the table to her. ‘Hey, Bo, I’m Trygve, CEO of Ridge Riders. And this is Anja, our CFO, and Ulla, our chief designer.’
The two women also shook her hand warmly.
‘It is so lovely to meet you in person,’ Anja said. ‘It’s so weird – I feel like I know you already.’
‘You are even more lovely than your photographs suggest,’ Ulla gushed, her eyes all over Bo as though she was a sketch come to life. ‘Taller, too.’
‘Oh, thank you,’ Bo said, feeling embarrassed.
‘We were just saying to Zac and Lenny what wonders you have done for our brand,’ Trygve said. ‘I take it Anna has told you the jacket and ski suit are completely sold out?’
Bo glanced back at Anna, who was somewhat squeezed between the guys. ‘Yes, she did. That’s such great news.’
‘Better than great. We cannot keep up with the amount of enquiries we are receiving with suppliers wanting to stock us, editors wanting our clothes for shoots . . . And all because of you. You two free-spirited, inspiring people.’
