The Pact

by Amy Heydenrych

  I can be, she types.

  Meet me outside at five ;)

  Freya turns around and smiles. The gray sky outside suddenly seems brooding and romantic, and the dreary task in front of her exciting. Something good is coming.

  ‘Can you please stop smiling like an idiot, Freya!’ hisses Nicole. ‘Can’t you see that Julian has investors in his office? You could at least pretend to be getting some work done.’ She flips her hair and starts whispering something to Melanie. Freya’s stomach turns. They keep glancing in her direction. It would feel less torturous if she could hear what they are saying. The unsaid hurts most of all.

  The last hours of the afternoon stretch relentlessly under the heat of their attention. A few minutes before the end of the day, she can’t take it anymore, and starts gathering her things. This way, she has a moment to go past the restroom to freshen up.

  ‘You know we finish at five, right, Freya?’ Nicole says.

  ‘Yes, I do,’ she answers, trying to smile.

  Nicole won’t quit. A smug smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. ‘Well, on my watch it says it is five minutes to.’

  Freya is about to say, maybe her watch is slow, maybe she should just give her a break, maybe she should just mind her own business, but she bites her tongue. She sits back down at her desk, ignoring the sniggering behind her, staring aimlessly at her email until long after the clock strikes five.

  *

  Jay is waiting outside. The clouds have parted, giving way to an incongruous golden light. In its glow, his features look even stronger.

  ‘Phew, I was beginning to think you’d stood me up! My Apple Watch and I were going to take our walk all alone!’ he says.

  ‘Fair enough. Getting your daily steps in comes first.’ Freya’s laugh falls flat. She thinks of telling him about Nicole’s comment, but it sounds too petty. Nobody likes a catfight. ‘Sorry, I got held up. Where are we off to?’

  He smiles in a way that gives her a glimpse into what he looked like as a young boy. Cheeky, bold, but eager to please. ‘I hope you don’t think it’s cheesy.’

  They pass the Zeitgeist beer garden and Freya breathes a sigh of relief. The easygoing bro and beer mix isn’t her vibe, and she hopes it isn’t Jay’s.

  As the sidewalk crowds with people walking home from work, she notices his hand lingering above the small of her back, not quite touching. Freya moves a bit closer.

  ‘I like your style, Freya,’ he says, pointing to her 1970s wrap blouse. ‘I’ve never seen any other woman dress like you.’

  ‘Thank you! I make my most of my clothes or I scrounge around in vintage stores for them, like these pants for example.’

  ‘My jacket is vintage.’

  ‘I thought so! They don’t make clothes the way they used to.’

  He takes her hand casually as they cross the street. The shift is palpable. His touch, a statement of intent. ‘So it’s a style statement for you?’

  Nobody has ever been so interested in her sewing. Most people are more excited about her ability to code – it is a more twenty-first-century sensibility after all. ‘It’s a bit deeper than that. I don’t want to create waste in the world by buying clothes that I just throw away next season. It seems so pointless! Besides, whenever I tack a pair of pants or mend a jacket, it’s a reminder that anything broken can be repaired, which isn’t that different to coding.’

  ‘Or life,’ says Jay. ‘Either way, it’s a beautiful belief to have.’

  ‘It gives me some meaning, anyway.’

  ‘We’re almost there.’

  Freya guesses the destination even before they reach it. She has walked this path many times before, as a teenager on field trips and later, as a student. No matter how many times she approaches the place, she is always filled with the same sense of anticipation and awe.

  ‘You’re taking me to the California Academy of Sciences?’

  ‘Yup, and revealing myself to be the greatest nerd of all time.’

  The sidewalk fills up as they get closer, tourists and schoolchildren jostling them on either side. Jay holds her hand tighter, and her heart flips. She doesn’t know what this is yet, but there is definitely something.

  They settle in front of the Mangrove Lagoon exhibit. Stingrays, mantas and fish swirl around them in a riot of color. Freya sighs. It feels good to relax.

  Jay looks ahead. ‘This place has that effect on me too. Whenever I’m feeling a bit low, I always end up here. Something about nature’s endless possibility calms me.’

  Freya touches her tattoo. ‘Like patterns, repeated in different iterations. I love how, whenever I visit, I learn something new. I don’t ever want to stand still, you know? Get bored with my life.’

  He squeezes her leg, ‘I don’t think there’s any possibility of that. If your approach to your job is anything to go by, you’re going to live your life with more enthusiasm than most people ever muster.’

  Freya covers her face. ‘Ah, man, I’m so embarrassing, aren’t I? I don’t know how not to be excited. I just want to learn and experience and do it all.’

  ‘Don’t ever apologize for yourself,’ he says, turning to face her. His eyes are a deep, soulful brown. ‘Your energy is amazing.’

  Perhaps it’s the words he uses, or the way his gaze lingers on her face, but Freya realizes that Jay is more than a cute guy at work. He really sees her. He understands what she holds most important.

  So she opens up, word by word, anecdote by anecdote. He shares funny stories about the first three years at Atypical, how initially Julian used to wear his hair in a ponytail and was once mistaken for an Uber driver by one of his own investors. She tells him about her first coding project, an online game dedicated to her favorite band at the time, Twenty-One Pilots. His eyes crinkle when he laughs. Her cheeks feel sore from smiling. The aquarium auditorium empties out, with only the fish left swimming silently around them.

  ‘Gosh,’ he says, ‘we didn’t manage to see any of the exhibits! Next time . . .’

  ‘Yes, next time.’

  There will be a next time. Freya feels light-headed. This is really happening. She waits for him to kiss her. Surely he will kiss her? The spark is there, crackling between them. He walks her home and stops at the door of her apartment building.

  ‘Tonight was quite something. You’re quite something.’

  He leans forward, and her heart thuds. This is it. Instead, he plants a chaste kiss on her cheek.

  As she walks to the door, she turns around, and as he lifts a hand to wave goodbye, she sees something in his eyes. He wants her, and although it may complicate her career and her already difficult relationship with Nicole, she wants him too.

  Chapter 18

  Freya

  Four years before

  She takes a deep drag on her cigarette, chokes, then crushes it with the heel of her shoe. Freya has never been able to inhale. But she needs something to take the edge off, something to stop her from going back into the club and causing a scene she’ll regret.

  He was supposed to be The One. Firmly built, fun-loving and the second smartest person in class next to her. Blond, sea-bleached hair, the quintessential California guy. She’d spent the night in his room a few times, and they’d watched movies on his laptop. He was a bit of a savant, the kind of alpha geek that played her his favorite movies with regular intervals for his long explanations on each scene. They’d fooled around, had sex. And she’d come back again and again for more movies and a lot more sex. She was under the impression that it had all meant something.

  But tonight, she saw what a liar he was. He’d said he was staying in to study, but she had had a feeling he would be here, at the student bar, having a laugh with his friends. The bar was on her way home from the library, so she stopped by. Her mind was whirring from everything she had learned in her latest assignment and she was looking forward to a break. She didn’t expect to see him with his arm snaked around a petite girl with a golden bob, kissing her hard, both hands firml
y in the back pockets of her jeans. It was so crass. She thought he was better than that. She fled outside before he could see her. Now here she is, another rejected girl, sitting on the sidelines alone.

  ‘Can I bum a smoke?’

  The girl in question is wearing a mini-skirt, and a black top that has been unlaced down to her cleavage. Her ash-white hair has been cropped into a pixie-cut. Freya thinks she might be the sexiest woman she has ever seen.

  ‘Yeah, sure.’

  ‘I’m Hattie.’ The girl inhales on her cigarette deeply, and holds out her hand for another one. Smokers, they always know how to spot those who are only smoking for show. She smacks her lips. ‘Menthols? Seriously?’

  Now she has definitely been outed as a fake smoker. ‘I like the taste, I guess.’

  ‘You’re crazy. You out here to cool off?’ She looks down at Freya’s hands. ‘Your fists are clenched so hard they’re turning white.’

  ‘Something like that. I just caught my boyfriend cheating on me.’ It feels like a stretch calling him her boyfriend, but more embarrassing to admit the actual looseness of the arrangement.

  ‘Bastard! I hope you slapped him across the face.’

  ‘No,’ Freya laughs wryly, ‘but I wanted to.’ There’s an urgent despair behind her laugh, a silent scream. No matter how well she does at college, or how many friends she makes, she can’t shake this desire to be loved, to be one person’s only thought. Why does love keep slipping from her grasp? It is a serious thing, to love a person, to taste their skin and move in time with their body. To betray that trust sickens her, and awakens a deep-seated anger she didn’t know she had.

  Hattie arches her back as she sits down next to Freya. ‘You should be more like me. I’m proud of my body and want to use it in as many ill-advised situations as I can. Nothing makes a man crazier than a woman that doesn’t need him.’

  ‘I don’t know if I could ever do that,’ says Freya, frowning. ‘I’m far too serious.’

  They sit for a moment, the music from the bar thrumming in the background, punctuating Hattie’s conversation as she shares stories of her latest conquests. She’s funny, smart and self-deprecating. Flickering between them is that spark she always feels when she makes a new female friend, that light pressing its way through the words. It feels like the beginning of something.

  ‘I’m so glad I met you tonight. I was feeling so low. Seeing my boyfriend, well now ex-boyfriend, like that is a huge shock. I don’t think it’s really sunk in yet.’

  ‘I’m glad I met you too.’ Hattie smiles. ‘But seriously, you should lighten up.’ Her voice suddenly turns grave. ‘Hold on to love less tightly. Desire will kill you, unless you kill it first.’

  Chapter 19

  Isla

  Four days after the murder

  ‘You know, Barbara, the death of Nicole Whittington is yet another reminder that it is still unsafe to be a woman in America. You can lock your doors, but you’re still at risk.’

  Isla picks at a bowl of instant noodles, hate-watching The Circle, America’s number one female talk show. One of the five women huddled around the circular table, blowing gently over her black tea, is Tiffany, an old classmate. Isla remembers her as smart, determined, principled. It still shocks her to see her long, flamingo-pink fingernails drumming on the table, while spewing conservative vitriol.

  The women titter over the papers spread in front of them. ‘It’s such a shame. She really was a beautiful girl, so full of potential.’

  Tiffany purses her lips before she speaks. ‘We need to also look at the area she lived in. These young, cool girls want to live in neighborhoods that seem edgy, but in reality these places are still dangerous. They attract the homeless, drug dealers, and dead beats that live off the state. And let’s not even get started on the safe injection sites popping up all over town . . .’

  Isla laughs darkly into her noodles as she watches the women nod sagely. ‘Oh Jesus, I can’t believe people actually buy in to this shit!’

  She turns the television off and pushes her dinner to one side. In truth, it’s not that funny, and it’s turned her off her food. Conversations like these, innocuous as they may seem, plant seeds of prejudice. It’s getting harder to laugh at the hatred edging its way into the media, and the insatiable trolls that feed off conflict online. She’s beginning to question how healthy it is to be a journalist in this climate. Does she have any power at all to help others through the stories she tells?

  Her phone flashes in front of her. It’s Lizzie, FaceTiming her from London. She checks the time – it must be around three in the morning there.

  ‘Hey, Liz! Everything OK?’

  Lizzie is wearing pajama pants and a sparkly top. There is a glint in her eyes, and a glass of champagne in her hand.

  ‘Yes! More than OK. I just had the best night with the most delightful man. We went for dinner and drinks at this tiny underground bar, but then left because the people were pretentious and boring. We ended back at his place watching YouTube videos of Lionel Richie! It was hilarious, Isla, I can’t even begin to tell you.’

  ‘You’re drunk.’ Isla smiles.

  ‘Rubbish, I’m in love.’

  ‘Lust, you mean . . .’

  ‘Is there a difference? Both feel the same at first.’

  Lizzie’s accent has grown more and more English in her daily life, but when she slurs, it’s a deep Southern drawl. ‘Anyway, what the hell are you doing home on a Saturday night? And is that your college hoodie, I see?’

  Isla sighs. They always have the same conversation, every weekend, and she always has the same reply. ‘It’s been a long week. I’m tired.’

  Lizzie disappears out of the frame for a moment, and returns with her glass emptied and a tub of ice cream in hand. ‘I worry about you. When is the last time you spoke to a man our age?’

  ‘Simon is round about my age! I talk to him all the time.’

  ‘That’s cheating. He’s a work colleague . . .’ Lizzie arches an eyebrow. ‘Isn’t he?’

  It’s hard to explain. She only calls Simon for work, but she has started to look forward to their conversations, even when the topic is the latest crime she has to report on. He always seems to have great new music to share, or a funny anecdote about a crime scene. His sense of humor is a little odd, a little dry, the kind that not all people get, but she always gets his jokes. Her job is unrewarding at the best of times, but he makes it a little lighter.

  ‘Yeah, yeah, you’re right. But we talk about other things too.’

  ‘Well, that’s good! It’s a start! And I suppose you two are close already because of—’

  ‘The incident,’ Isla finishes her sentence.

  She can never bring herself to say the word. It sounds too violent, a word that doesn’t quite belong to what took place that night.

  Lizzie always plays along. She doesn’t like to remind her either. ‘Yes, the incident. You’ve known each other for years – no wonder you’re close!’

  ‘Don’t look at me like that, Lizzie. I know that look . . . it’s nothing. He’s just a colleague. I don’t look at him in that way.’

  She laughs and winks into the camera. ‘Well, darlin,’ maybe you should.’

  Chapter 20

  Freya

  Three months before the murder

  Freya dishes out four plates of lasagna for herself and her roommates. It feels good to be back with her friends, celebrating the end of her second week in her new job. Life is much simpler here, and her friends’ questions remind her how exciting things have become.

  ‘Come on, spill everything!’ says Hattie.

  ‘I want to know it all. Are you settling into the job? And, most importantly, what’s it like getting so much one-on-one time with that delicious boss of yours?’

  Freya’s cheeks grow warm. ‘He’s actually really approachable.’

  Jasmin laughs. ‘Oh, I’m sure he is.’

  Freya pictures the cozy interior of Julian’s office,
the way he’s always ready with a friendly handshake or a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

  ‘It’s not like that, honestly. I couldn’t have asked for a better boss. So far, he has met with me every day to hear how I’m finding the work, and the company. And it’s not just about me simply doing a job, he genuinely wants to hear my ideas on how to make his business better. It’s really encouraging.’

  There are small things that Julian does that make a difference. He’s already left a pile of new books on her desk, which are related to her interests. It means the world that someone so admired at his job is taking her seriously.

  ‘There is someone, however, who I think is really delicious,’ she adds. Her friends move closer.

  As she describes Jay, from his wild dark hair to his ability to write the most complex code, warmth spreads over her. This isn’t like the childish crushes of the past. He is courting her.

  ‘We went on one blissful date to the California Museum of Sciences two days ago . . .’

  ‘Basically, a Freya dream date,’ says Hattie.

  ‘Can you let me finish?’ Freya laughs. ‘We went on one date and he asked me on a second yesterday. He didn’t even play it cool and wait!’

  Ever the cynic, Kate says, ‘Don’t you think it’s a bit premature to be dating someone in your new job?’

  ‘Not really. He’s so similar to me, and it’s not like he’s made a move on me or anything.’

  ‘A true gentleman, what a rare breed!’ says Hattie.

  ‘A modern-day mythological creature, an urban Loch Ness monster!’ adds Jasmin.

  Hattie says, ‘It is possible for a guy to like a woman without trying to sleep with her on the first date. I mean, I haven’t experienced it, but I’ve heard it happens.’

  Kate looks at Freya carefully, an indecipherable expression on her face. ‘Are you really that similar, or is this like the time where you fixated on Peter at college because you both liked The Weeknd?’