by Jacky Gray
Time to borrow Jude’s Mission Impossible moves and theme tune for a stealthy exit.
Liv had intercepted the post every day for a week, with no result. The woman at the desk said the results would take anything from two to three weeks to come through. But Liv knew how erratic these things could be; her mother frequently moaned about being at the whim of clerks when it came to situations like this. Liv wanted to make sure the letter would not come early, so after a week, she’d started timing her exits from the house to coincide exactly with the postman. One day he came so late she almost missed her bus. Then she figured out which way he came and, if he wasn’t there, tried to catch him a couple of houses down.
“Waiting for a love letter, are we?”
Her inner voice badly wanted to snark, “I’m not, are you?” But she had nothing to gain by alienating the guy, so she smiled sweetly at him.
In the event, all her efforts were in vain. When she’d just about given up on it, her dad brought the post in one Saturday morning doing his inevitable you’ve-got-mail funny voice as he dropped the envelope in front of Vicky.
The distinctive double heart motif of the blood donors drew Liv’s eye, and she strode to play it cool. How the heck could she explain this one away? It was the very worst scenario. When she opened the letter, Vicky would know she hadn’t been for blood, and it would be no great leap for her mum, and especially her dad, to figure out who’d gone in Vicky’s place.
Liv was toast.
Her eyes wanted nothing more than to dart around the room, seeking sanctuary. But her mind kept a steely clamp on those muscles, forcing them to look at the plate now sporting an eggshell and a few crumbs – the remains of soft boiled egg and brown-bread soldiers.
Someone up there definitely loved her.
“Oh, these guys, again. Ever since I signed up at college, they’ve been after me to give blood. I’ll do it Monday, but not right now.” She lobbed the envelope into the bin.
“Vicky. Recycling.”
Liv jumped up. “I’ll sort it.” But the stress gremlin hadn’t finished with her yet. As her hands closed over the envelope, her dad looked up.
“Hang on a second.” He held out his hand for the envelope.
Trying to school her features into a bland expression, Liv’s inner snark took the universe to task on the little matter of why this kind of stuff always happened to her, as her dad started the mantra.
“Remember the rule. If it’s got a name and address on, we shred it.”
“Window envelopes are an identity thief’s best friend.” Vicky trotted out the rest, clearing the plates to cover her eye-roll.
“It’s alright, I’ll do it,” said Liv. “There is a pile in the hall. I’ll do them later, when we watch the movie.”
“Bless you, Livvy. What would we do without you? You know how bad your mother and I are at keeping on top of the junk mail.”
Running upstairs, Liv fled into her room, and sat at her desk, staring at the offending thing. What would she do if it came back positive? How could she explain to her parents she had mere months to live?
Always the drama queen, never the bride. Her inner snark busily cobbled clichés together like it was going out of fashion. The sound of her door opening had her shoving the envelope under her keyboard and switching on the PC. Vicky sat on the edge of her bed.
“Are you all right, sweetie?”
“Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I don’t know. I’ve noticed you being a bit twitchy, peeking out the windows like you’re trying to avoid someone. I don’t wanna get all big sisterly, but after Christmas …” she shrugged. “Have you seen him?”
Liv gulped. You couldn’t write this stuff. “A couple of times. Nothing to report. ” Her brain went into overload trying to think what her sister knew, realising she was just referring to Liv throwing up after Jimmy had spiked her drinks at the sixth form disco. She calmed her heart rate back to normal operating parameters. “I’m fine, honestly, Vicky.”
“Promise you’d tell me if I should be worried about anything. I know you don’t want Mum and Dad to know, but …”
“I promise. I feel completely safe. He’s moved on and has no interest in me.” She mentally crossed fingers at the lie.
“Okay. But promise me you’ll let me know if anything like that ever happens to you again.”
“Pinky promise.” Vicky stood and they linked little fingers. Then she hugged her and disappeared, muttering about being late for work.
With a shaky sigh of relief, Liv clicked the mouse and entered her password, when her bedroom door opened again. This time it was her mother, asking if Liv would mind looking after Davey while she went food shopping.
“You wouldn’t have to do much, the Saturday morning cartoons will keep him occupied for an hour. Just make sure he doesn’t cause chaos when they finish.”
Liv reassured her mother, while sending copious thanks up to the universe that she hadn’t opened the cursed thing straight away.
When they’d finally gone, she tore open the envelope and unfolded the letter. Her eyes glazed over the words, taking in nothing of the corporate jargon required to cover their butt and obscure the relevant information. Eventually she found it on a separate sheet.
With a shaky sigh, she double-checked the information. No abnormalities detected. A small phrase, but a game changer. Closing her eyes, she marked the moment with a minute’s silence and a thankful prayer. Then, as though she hadn’t just been granted a pass to start the rest of her life, she reached for the scissors and chopped off the high-security-risk letter header.
After so many potential disasters, she decided the final one would be if Vicky changed her mind about using the letter to enrol, and asked for it back. Within earshot of their parents. A brainwave later, she took the pile of letters downstairs and sat in the room with Davey, chopping off the headers from all the other junk mail.
She knew he liked operating the shredder, so she bargained. If he promised to be good while she did her homework, she would let him shred the headers. After she’d destroyed the incriminating evidence, of course. Nothing like a bit of bribery and corruption on a Saturday morning.
As he fed the hungry shredder, she browsed the leaflet from the blood donors which explained more about the AIDS virus, detailing several preventative measures. Reading on, she groaned – all that needless worry and effort for nothing. Apparently, the virus wouldn’t spread past the stomach; the acid would destroy it. Even if she’d swallowed infected blood, she’d be fine – unless she had something like a cut in her mouth or a stomach ulcer which would allow the virus to enter her bloodstream.
Now she could finally relax over the life-threatening disease aspect, Liv found herself continually returning to the idea of the bite. From what she’d read there would still be a mark at the base of his index finger. Left or right? She couldn’t remember; she’d have to check them both. As she contemplated the idea of getting close enough to inspect his hands, Liv realised the idea of getting up-close and personal no longer disturbed her. Why on earth could that be?
17 Sent to Coventry
The one thing Jude hadn’t factored into her meticulous planning was how lonely she would be on the journey. Sitting on the train with a paperback she’d picked up at the station, she didn’t feel anything like as sophisticated as she thought she would.
The logistics had been tricky to manage but she’d handed in all her homework assignments early so she wouldn’t need the heavy folders, and non-uniform day meant she didn’t need an extra change of clothes. One of the hardest parts was lying to Bernie; she couldn’t quite meet his gaze since telling him about her dad’s ban. Another person she’d have to seek forgiveness from.
From across the carriage, a dark-haired guy’s intense gaze made her uncomfortable. Normally, she’d have called someone to chat to, but right now, she couldn’t bear the thought of more lies to her friends. She read a little more, trying to focus on the portrait of a bright, brash m
odern woman painted by the bright, brash female author. With a sigh, she looked up to catch the eye of the motherly looking woman opposite.
“Running away from home?” The woman gestured at Jude’s bag.
Jude remembered her cover story and muttered something about spending the weekend with her father, a tale guaranteed to stop most people digging further. But not from making other small talk.
“Enjoying the book? I read one of hers; it was so true to life.”
“I’ve only just started it, but it seems good so far.” Please stop talking to me. Glancing out of the window, the guy’s reflection showed him staring at her boobs and she felt her cheeks heating up.
“They keep these trains too hot; I always end up taking my coat off.”
Closing her book, Jude smiled at the woman, who obviously needed to chat through lonely journeys. At least it would keep starey-guy at bay.
18 Chasing Jude’s Tail
“Damn. What the hell does she think she’s doing?” Luke cursed as the train shuffled away from the platform. He’d missed it by the time it took the silly woman in front of him in the ticket queue to count out her pile of copper and silver. With another curse, he checked the board, even though he knew there would be another train in twelve minutes.
Taking a deep breath, he tried to calm down, reflecting on the past week. Definitely in the running for the top five hardest weeks of his life so far: spying on his girlfriend, trying to keep the peace with his best mates at school and pretending everything was normal at home.
Scanning around for potential trouble, he reflected on Jude’s apparent reformation act after the missed exam resulted in a minor nuclear explosion with her folks. He’d watched in disbelief as she turned into number one geek in class and spent every break doing homework. Although Jude’s dad had forbidden her to enter the competition, Luke found the change to her ICT coursework highly suspicious. All of a sudden she had to look up train times to Coventry? Way too convenient.
It was a good job Ray mentioned something or he might have not sussed it. Once alerted, Luke picked up on every little hint. The fact he knew her so well helped him spot the little clues, like getting all her homework in, not just on time, but early. What possible motivation could a known last-minute artist like her have for doing that?
All her scheming came to fruition today. Luke was pretty sure no one else noticed her bag contained nothing but a few sheets of blank paper and a pen. She was careful, but he’d seen her skating holdall, and what could only be a costume, in her locker. She’d jumped when he approached and made an excuse about having it altered after school. Luckily, he was already onto her by then.
As the train made its way north, he thought about the whole master plan she’d cooked up – all on her own by the looks of things. He shook his head in admiration; she had a lorra lorra bottle, his girl. It must have been scary trying to put this together with no help from someone who knew what they were doing.
Luckily, he had friends with the necessary skills to allow him to unravel her plot strand by strand. Good old Ray; he owed him big time. Luke felt a twinge of guilt at the way he’d manipulated his friend into showing him how to backtrack the sites she’d looked at on his computer, but needs must.
“You know the forensics stuff you were talking about a while ago?”
“Give me a clue. I talk about a lot of fascinating things.”
“No shit, Sherlock.” Luke grinned as he delivered the line, knowing Ray liked the concept of being compared to the great detective. “The stuff the police do when they want to figure which sites people have been looking at.”
“Following the cookie trail.”
“No need to take the Mick. If you don’t want to help, just say.”
“That’s what they call it. Every site you visit stores a cookie of data in your temporary space. It’s how your browser gets back to the site so quickly. And how it knows which blanks to fill in.”
“Time-out, mate. Keep it simple for a dumbass like me.”
“You said it. What do you want to know?”
“Maybe if you showed me what to do, I could follow it a bit better.”
Ray clicked a few times, displaying a list of URLs. “There you go. Since you came, we’ve looked at all of these sites.”
“Is that it? How is it even useful? All the crook needs to do is …”
“Fools and children.”
“What? I ain’t no child, so are you calling me a fool?”
“If the cap fits, mate. It’s no worse than a dumbass. It’s something Mum used to say. ‘Fools and children shouldn’t see things half finished.’” He clicked on a link, and the page filled. “Voila.”
Luke’s compassionate side registered his friend’s casual mention of his dead mum without the accompanying wobble in his voice. Meanwhile, his eyes greedily scanned the URLs until he saw what he wanted. "Whoa, mate. Now you’re trying to blind me with science. I need a translator.” He kept up the pretence to make sure he’d got it properly sussed. Now all he needed was to lose Ray for a while so he could check them out without alerting his friend’s suspicions.
A knock at the door heralded Ray’s step mum, Caroline. “Are you desperately busy, Ray?”
“Just showing Luke how to follow a cookie trail.”
She winked. “Sounds a bit Brothers Grimm to me.”
“Boom, boom. I’ll set ’em up, you knock ’em dead.”
“Can I borrow you for five minutes?”
“Depends what for.”
“I need you to watch Amy while I run to the shop. She’s spilt the last of the milk.” She fluttered her eyelashes. “You could get a pack of those double-choc cookies.”
“Sold. In a bit, mate.”
Luke wasted no time in checking out the sites, quickly sussing the lack of suitable buses and trains on the Saturday morning to get her there in good enough time. Also, Jude had looked at enough hotel and bed and breakfast websites for him to be convinced about her plan for going down the night before.
Bringing his attention back to the packed train, he patted his pocket to ensure his wallet was still there; carrying a sizable wedge made him nervous. Taking sensible precautions, he carried his cash card in a separate zipped pocket. He’d heard stories about the rogues who preyed on lone travellers, the main reason he wanted to catch the same train as her. Forcing his mind away from situations which might put her in harm’s way, he focussed instead on honing his observation skills, assessing each person in the carriage for a potential threat like he was the hero in a Lee Child novel.
The train finally pulled into Birmingham; next stop would be his. Another attempt to call Jude’s mobile failed; it was still switched off. With a muttered expletive, he left a voice message and sent a text telling her to call the minute she got it. Using the word URGENT in all caps felt like overkill, but he couldn’t figure any other way to make sure she contacted him. Night fell quickly at this time of year, the skies had gone from watery blue to dirty grey in a couple of heartbeats – or was that just him anticipating danger? He sent up an uncharacteristic prayer she would be ok in this menacing, unfamiliar city.
19 Knight in Shining Armour
Jude stared at words on the page, failing to connect with the girl who sat around in wine bars whingeing about her biological clock; it felt like a Bridget Jones rip-off. But she dare not raise her eyes.
Starey guy had followed her onto the Coventry train and picked a nearby seat. Without the distraction of the chatty lady, Jude was acutely aware of his constant gawk, not just at her, but every woman who walked past. Creep. As if to mock her, the character in the book went on a rant about some guy who’d felt her up on the tube into London. This sparked a discussion with her girlfriends about how men preyed on women travelling alone. Exactly what she needed. The announcer called her stop and she switched her phone back on; the constant roaming for signal would no longer be a battery-draining problem.
She struggled to get off the train with all her stuff, but at
least it meant she’d lost her stalker. The sound of someone hurrying made her turn; impossibly, it was him. Her eyes darted around, seeking refuge as he closed the gap and slowed to walk a step behind her. A welcome sign for the ladies had her diving through the door like she was bursting for the loo. Locking herself in a cubicle, she figured she might as well take advantage of the facilities; her mum always joked about never missing the opportunity to pee, like the queen.
Her pale face looked young and frightened in the mirror, so she added a hint of colour. How could she have imagined a fifteen-year-old girl would be ok in a strange city? She checked her phone: five minutes. If he was still hanging around, she would definitely call for help. Peering round the door, the platform looked spookily deserted, but she spotted people waiting on the other side.
Cursing as the automatic barrier tried to detain her costume bag, she finally got free and exited the building into a manically busy taxi rank. The map screen had frozen with no sign of the pink pins for the B&Bs whose postcodes she’d plumbed in, but she’d looked at the route and figured she knew the approximate direction. One of the girls in the story said walking as though you knew where you were going would put off most potential predators. Good advice. Except her first guess turned into a dead end, so she retraced her steps.
When she reached the main road, her phone finally deigned to connect to a network, alerting her to its achievements with a ping.
Two messages and three missed calls from Luke. What was he doing calling her now? Surely he should be at work. Seeing the word URGENT, she read through the rest of the message. WTF??? Why would he be in Coventry? With a sigh, she figured she ought to call him; it was a good excuse to stop; her bags were way too heavy. Dumping them on a nearby wall, she called him and, as the phone tried to connect, she glanced around.
A crowd of lads were mucking about down the street. Stories about people being mugged for their mobile phones crowded her already anxious brain. She had two choices: put the phone away – they’d probably already clocked her with it – or keep it handy to call the police. As they headed her way, it rang and she had no choice but to answer.
