by A J McDine
You don’t know the half of it, Chloe thought, fighting the tears that had formed a hard mass at the back of her throat.
‘I used to suffer terribly with nerves. Couldn’t eat a thing on the morning of an exam. It’s a wonder I didn’t pass out,’ her mum continued. ‘Maybe you had low blood sugar.’
Chloe snorted. ‘Hardly. I had a massive bowl of porridge for breakfast and a banana on the bus. Anyway, can we please change the subject?’
Her mum was quiet for a bit, then said, ‘I almost had a prang outside school. Some prat in a Golf driving like an idiot. My life flashed before me, I’m telling you.’
Chloe couldn’t care less, but at least the spotlight was off her - for now.
‘A man or a woman?’
‘Hard to tell, they were driving so fast. Some kind of boy racer. You know the sort, baseball cap and shades, trying to look cool.’
‘That’s very sexist of you. And ageist,’ Chloe said.
‘And probably true,’ her mum retorted, turning on the radio.
Chloe loathed Radio 2, but in that moment she was happy to let the banal chatter and the stream of vanilla pop songs wash over her, like piped music in a lift. As they neared home, her mum laid a hand on her knee.
‘I’m going to have to go back to work this afternoon. Will you be all right at home?’
‘I’ll be fine, Mum.’
‘Good. Grandpa’s there if you need anything, and I’ll try to get off straight after the wedding breakfast. Patrick owes me a couple of hours.’
‘I bet he was delighted when you told him you had to pick me up.’
Her mum pulled a face. ‘I didn’t tell him.’
‘Mum!’ An unpleasant thought occurred to Chloe. Could Patrick have taken the picture of her through the window? He was such a sleaze. He’d virtually touched her up the other day. And he only lived around the corner. She pictured him crouching in their garden, his camera trained on her bedroom window, and shivered.
‘Are you cold?’
‘A bit,’ Chloe lied, turning the heater up a couple of degrees. ‘Is Patrick on Facebook?’
‘That’s a strange question.’ Her mum laughed. ‘Why, are you thinking of friending him?’
‘No-one under the age of twenty is on Facebook, Mum. It’s for old people. And anyway, he’d be the last person I’d friend. No, I was wondering if The Willows uses it to promote weddings and stuff.’
‘They’ve got Facebook and Instagram accounts, I think, but Lola manages them. Patrick doesn’t do social media. It’s all a bit beneath him.’
Chloe nodded. That would make sense. But if he didn’t do Facebook, it’s unlikely he’d be on Snapchat. It wasn’t exactly the social media channel of choice for the over-forties. He probably hadn’t even heard of it. No, she decided, it couldn’t be him. And if it wasn’t him, there was only one person it could be.
Before she could explore that train of thought any further, they pulled up outside the house. Chloe unclicked her seatbelt and jumped out.
‘Text if you need anything. I’ll make sure I check my phone,’ her mum said.
Chloe nodded. ‘I will.’
Her grandfather had left a note propped against the pepper grinder on the kitchen table announcing he’d gone fishing. Craving fresh air and some of his old school advice, she whistled to Max, grabbed his lead, pulled on her parka and wellies, and headed outside.
She found Grandpa in his favourite spot under a weeping willow a short distance downstream from their house. Bundled up in his old Barbour jacket, bucket hat and a checked scarf, he was sitting in his dark green camping chair, his fishing rod resting lightly on his lap. When Chloe kissed his cheek, it was as cold as marble.
‘Grandpa, you’re frozen! Should you be out here?’
‘Don’t fuss. You sound like your mother. I’m fine, despite the rather inconvenient fact that the fish aren’t biting this afternoon. How did your exam go?’
Chloe crouched down beside his chair. ‘On a scale of one to ten, it was about a minus five.’
Her grandfather chuckled. ‘That doesn’t sound good. What happened?’
‘I had a panic attack, Grandpa. I thought I was having a heart attack. I couldn’t breathe. It was horrible.’
His bushy eyebrows knotted together. ‘That’s not like you. Do you know why?’
Chloe desperately wanted to tell someone about the Snapchat photo; someone who would take her side and reassure her that she shouldn’t feel ashamed and it wasn’t her fault. To report the matter to Snapchat and order them to take it down before it spread any further. To be the grown-up and take control, because Chloe felt like a helpless child.
She stared at the muddy bank of the river and wondered how to start. Then she glanced at her grandfather, at the deep lines that furrowed his forehead and tracked across his weathered cheeks, at the slight tremor in his hand as he held his fishing rod. He was almost ninety. She couldn’t worry him with something like this.
‘Chloe?’ he said gently.
‘I guess I’ve been putting too much pressure on myself. I so want to go to Kingsgate. And if I don’t get the grades…’
The rod slipped from his grip, and he clasped Chloe’s hands.
‘Chloe, love, if I’ve learned anything in this life, it’s that you have to be kind to yourself. You know you’ve worked hard. Trust yourself. It’ll all come good, I promise.’
‘I hope you’re right, Grandpa.’
‘I’m always right.’ He struggled to his feet. ‘I’ve had enough of those damn trout laughing at me. Why don’t you give me a hand back to the house and we’ll light the fire and have tea and crumpets and a board game?’
At the mention of crumpets, Max gave an excited woof.
Chloe smiled in spite of herself. ‘Max is right. Crumpets do sound nice.’
He rubbed his hands together. ‘Then that sounds like a plan. I might even let you beat me at Scrabble.’
Her grandfather was as good as his word, letting Chloe win at Scrabble while they demolished a pot of tea and a packet of crumpets between them. Then he wandered upstairs for a nap, leaving Chloe in front of the fire watching a re-run of Come Dine With Me with Max snoring softly by her feet.
When her phone rang, she jumped. It was a mobile number she didn’t recognise and, as her finger hovered over the green accept button, she felt a creeping sense of disquiet. What if the photo had gone viral and some freak had managed to track her down? She stared at the phone until it stopped ringing. A red dot appeared on the phone icon. She pressed it cautiously. Someone had left a message. Telling herself that freaks didn’t generally leave voicemails, she forced herself to listen to it.
‘Could you give me a quick call? It’s Adam. Nothing to worry about.’ He gave his number, even though it was logged in her call history. ‘I’ll try again later, but if you pick up this message first, call me.’
Chloe threw another log on the fire, sat back down and dialled his number. He answered on the second ring.
‘That was quick. Were you screening calls?’ There was a teasing note to his voice, and Chloe found herself smiling.
‘I did wonder how you had my number.’
‘Ben used your phone to ring me after the accident.’
Chloe had forgotten.
‘That’s the reason I was calling, actually. About the accident.’
Chloe hitched her feet up until she was sitting cross-legged on the sofa. ‘What about it?’
Adam paused, then exhaled a breath. ‘I’m afraid we have a bit of a problem.’
Chapter Thirty-Two
CHLOE
Chloe’s mind raced. She should never have gone along with Adam’s story. Everyone knew lies tripped you up in the end. She blinked. ‘What sort of problem?’
‘It’s nothing to worry about, really. The insurance company is going to ask for a statement from you, that’s all.’
‘Me?’ she said faintly.
'It's a formality because it's such a big claim, but obvious
ly, I’m conscious we need to have our stories straight.’
A log shifted in the grate, sending a spark onto the brick hearth where it glowed red then died.
‘Chloe, are you there?’
She nodded, forgetting he couldn’t see her. ‘Is that normal? I mean, for them to want statements from everyone in the car?’
‘There were no other witnesses, you see. All you need to do is tell them exactly what happened. Just remember I was driving, Ben was in the front passenger seat, and you were sitting behind him. You do remember, don’t you?’
Chloe was silent. She still felt guilty she’d strung Ben along for so long because it had suited her. She also felt she was partly to blame for the accident because he probably wouldn’t have crashed if he hadn’t been so distracted and angry.
And then, at the party, she’d led him on again. So stupid. And suddenly he was back in her life, constantly texting, trying to FaceTime, leaving earnest messages declaring she was the love of his life, which she did her best to ignore. Although, weirdly, he’d not texted or called since Saturday.
Had he finally got the message?
Then over the weekend, someone had sent that photo to half of her year. Revenge porn, they called it. Could it have been Ben? Was he trying to even the score?
And now Adam was asking her to lie on record to make sure Ben didn’t end up with a criminal conviction, and a tainted reputation. To cover up for him so he could take up his place at Kingsgate, the university Chloe was so desperate to attend. Was that even fair?
No.
What if she told the truth? The insurance company and the police would want to know why she’d changed her story and, knowing her luck, she’d be the one in trouble. The lies she’d already told would tangle her up.
Chloe knew deep down that the moment she promised Adam she would go along with his deceit she was complicit. There was no way she was jeopardising her future for Ben. Lying would save his skin, but it would also save hers. She saw that now.
‘Chloe? Did you hear what I said?’
‘Yes. I’ll tell them you were driving, like you said.’
‘Good girl. I’m sure they’ll email you in the next couple of days asking for a statement. Call me if you’re not sure what to say. You have my number.’
‘Fine.’
‘And if there’s anything I can do for you - anything - let me know, all right?’
Chloe swallowed hard. She was helping Adam. Perhaps he could help her, too. ‘Actually, there is something.’
‘Name it.’
‘But my mum mustn’t know.’
He paused for a beat. ‘It’s OK, I’m good at keeping secrets.’
‘You know Snapchat?’
‘Of course. Ben’s on it all the time.’
I bet he is. ‘Someone sent a photo of me to some kids in my class. An… an inappropriate photo.’
‘Inappropriate?’
She licked her lips.
‘I need to know if I’m going to help, Chlo,’ he said so gently that she felt a stab of tears behind her eyes. Is this what it felt like to have a dad who could magically make everything better?
‘It was a… picture of me getting undressed in my room.’
‘Right.’
‘And it’s gone around half the school.’
‘Have you reported it to the police?’ he asked.
‘No. I don’t want Mum or Grandpa to find out.’ She rubbed her face. ‘I just want it to go away.’
‘Sure, I can make that happen. It’s the least I can do.’
He sounded so confident she felt a flicker of hope. ‘You can?’
‘I’ve represented a few clients who’ve been the victims of this type of thing. It’s not as unusual as you might think, unfortunately. Mostly disgruntled ex-partners posting explicit photos on social media. If it was without your consent it’s a criminal offence.’
‘It was taken through my bedroom window. Of course it was without my consent,’ Chloe said, then bit her lip. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap. I just feel so vulnerable, you know?’
‘There’s no need to apologise. I can’t begin to imagine what you’re going through. But I can make it go away. Do you have a screenshot of the photo?’
‘No, but my friend Annie does.’
‘Can you get her to send it to me? I’m afraid I’ll need to see it, so I know what we’re dealing with.’
The thought of Adam seeing the photo made Chloe’s toes curl, but if that’s what it took to get it taken down, it was worth the embarrassment. Besides, almost everyone at school must have seen it by now. It was too late to be prudish.
‘I’ll text her now.’
‘If Snapchat is slow to act, I can make an application for a Right to be Forgotten, which, in layman’s terms, is the right to have your name removed from online search results,’ Adam said.
‘You think if people google my name, the photograph will come up?’
‘We should cover all bases to be sure,’ he said.
‘Thank you,’ Chloe said in a small voice.
‘It’s the least I can do.’ He let out a long breath. ‘Do you have any idea who might be behind this?’
Ben, she wanted to tell him. Because there wasn’t anyone else who knew where she lived, who’d infiltrated her friends on Instagram, who had a score to settle. But what if she was wrong? Falsely accusing the son of a solicitor would be crazy. He’d probably sue her.
‘No,’ she said finally. ‘I have absolutely no idea.’
Chapter Thirty-Three
KATE
It was gone nine o’clock when Kate slipped in through the back door. She found Chloe in the snug, in her pyjamas and dressing gown with Max at her feet and her laptop balanced on a cushion on her lap. Love Island was on in the background, the volume set so low the contestants' voices were little more than a murmur.
Kate sat beside Chloe, pulled off her shoes and rubbed her feet.
‘God, that was a long shift. Where’s Grandpa?’
‘Gone to bed.’ Chloe angled the laptop away from Kate, but not before she caught a glimpse of a map of California.
‘I thought you were going to get off early?’
‘I did try, Chlo, but Patrick had already agreed to let one of the other girls go at seven. I had to stay. You’ve been all right though, haven’t you? No more funny turns?’
‘Panic attacks, Mum, not funny turns. I’m not a bloody geriatric. Christ.’
‘Sorry. Silly me.’ All Kate seemed to do these days was apologise to Chloe. ‘Why were you looking at a map of America?’
‘I wasn’t.’
‘I thought I saw it on your computer.’
Chloe folded her arms across her chest. ‘I don’t think so.’
Kate was too tired to argue. ‘If you say so. I’m going to make myself a hot chocolate. D’you want one? I think I have a packet of marshmallows somewhere.’
‘Yes, please.’ Kate was halfway through the door when Chloe said, ‘I was looking for my dad.’
Kate stopped. ‘Your dad?’
‘Noah the surfer. I wanted to see if I could find him, if you must know. But it turns out that California is a pretty big state. The third biggest in America. It’s almost nine hundred miles from Mexico to Oregon, and almost forty million people live there. I’m becoming a bit of an expert.’
She sounded like a tour guide, reeling facts from a crib sheet. Only Kate detected a tiny catch in her voice, so subtle you could easily miss it. Deciding the hot chocolates could wait, Kate sat back down, so close their hips were touching.
‘What’s brought all this on?’
Chloe picked at the skin around her thumbnail. ‘I don't know. I suppose I was wondering what it would be like to have a dad. And it got me thinking about Noah, about whether we could try to find him.’
‘You’ve never wanted to before. Why now?’
Chloe stopped picking and stuffed her hands into the pockets of her dressing gown. ‘I don’t know.’
T
here’s something you’re not telling me, Kate thought. ‘Is it something to do with the panic attack?’
‘No,’ Chloe said, a little too quickly.
‘Are you missing Uncle Rory? Is that it?’
Chloe gave a fleeting nod.
‘Oh sweetheart, me too.’
‘I looked on Facebook for Noahs from California. There are, like, literally hundreds of them. Will you tell me the story again? About the night you two met? There might be some clues we’ve missed that could help us narrow down the search.’
Before Kate could wonder whether or not this was wise, Chloe had turned off the television and was sitting cross-legged facing her, an expectant look on her face.
‘So, I’d been travelling round South East Asia for about eight months when I rocked up in Thailand. I was a seasoned backpacker by then. As brown as a berry with braids in my hair and henna tattoos on my ankles. I thought I was pretty cool.’
Chloe raised an eyebrow. ‘Debatable. I’ve seen the photos.’
‘Thailand was beautiful,’ Kate said, ignoring her. ‘I loved everything about it: the beaches, the jungles, the food, and the people.’
‘One person in particular…’
‘Do you want me to tell you the story or not?’
Chloe nodded. Sitting with her legs crossed and her chin resting on her closed hands, she looked like a Buddha’s pale and skinnier alter ego.
‘I did all the usual gap year clichés. I rode an elephant through the jungle in Chiang Mai, went to a full moon party in Koh Phangnan and visited the place where they filmed The Beach on Phi Phi Island. I ended up in a hostel in Phuket. I wanted to spend a couple of weeks there before flying to Laos.’
‘Is that where you met the two Aussie girls?’
‘Yes.’ Kate had been telling Chloe a squeaky-clean version of this story since she was about five. She trotted it out every time Chloe asked about her dad, which, come to think about it, hadn’t been for years. It was probably time to tell her the unabridged version.
