by Jenni Regan
My friends couldn’t get enough of this ‘fun Alice’ and were liking and commenting on all my new posts about the people at the party and my wild antics. It was actually easier describing partygoers when they were on the screen in front of me, and I went to town. I felt as though I could be in the room with all of them at this time and wondered if this wonder liquid could ever get me out of the house and into the situation for real.
Then, in amongst all the lovely feedback from my adoring fans, I noticed an enemy. It was a Twitter user, @blackgun, who had a pistol as his avatar. I didn’t follow him and I had never seen him before.
@blackgun Such a FAKEE Fat bitch
I froze as my heart beat fast and I felt sick. I dropped my phone as though whoever it was could see me. Before I responded, he posted again.
@blackgun All you hos are the same fuckin cunts pretendin u r so much better than us
I noticed that some of my followers were leaping to my defence with plenty of smiley faces but also realised with dread that others liked and retweeted his vile words.
@blackgun Ino for a fact that u r just a fat bitch who fucs men 4 money
Despite the alcohol swishing around my body, dulling my senses, I could feel a sense of dread overwhelm me as I started to gasp for breath. My heart thrashed around in my chest and I clutched it, scared it would burst with the sharp pain and the effort of my breathing. Then there was the blackness which started around me in the room but soon crept inside my brain until I felt as though I was drowning in the blackness, falling with no one to save me.
It could have been seconds or hours before I began to feel conscious of my surroundings again. Now the alcohol was making me feel sick and dizzy, but I knew how good it was at dulling the senses, so I poured myself another glass, with more pink stuff and less vodka this time. My usual way of dealing with these ‘funny turns’ was to remove myself from the situation. But how could I do that here? My whole life was online, and without that, I had nothing.
I glanced at my phone and could see that my whole feed was filled with the hatred and vitriol being spouted by my nemesis. The usual heart emojis, celeb gossip and cute kittens were replaced with ugly words and accusations. Trying not to read them, I blocked him and again turned off my phone, this time not because I didn’t want to take part in life but because I feared the power it held, scared that the perfect life I had spent so long creating was being ripped to shreds by one little person.
After a few minutes of silence, I could no longer bear not knowing, so I turned my phone back on. The original poster was joined by a few others, all calling me horrific names. I felt sick when I realised that one of them was sharing a screenshot from my night with Stan. Luckily it was pretty blurred so no one could really see what I looked like or how I looked nothing like any of my profiles—well, I did, just several stone heavier. Thinking straight away that Stan must have been hacked, I felt relieved. This may have been why he hadn’t responded for so long if he had been locked out of his accounts.
The posts had turned even more sinister, with people telling me that girls like me were only good for one thing and that was being raped and killed. One faceless poster in particular was describing exactly how he would shove sharp objects inside me and then strangle me slowly. Every time I tried blocking them, someone else would turn up and start abusing me. It was like that game of hungry hippos, although in this case, I was trying to starve rather than feed my attackers.
Suddenly, I felt sick again, but unlike my panic attack, I knew this wasn’t just in my mind. I launched myself into the kitchen but didn’t quite reach it as I vomited all over the floor, feeling as though my dreams and hopes lay stinking all over the lino alongside my stomach contents. I couldn’t face the mammoth task of cleaning this up, so I stumbled off to bed and passed out into a dark, dreamless sleep.
Stan
28 September 2018, 4 p.m.
Stan had almost closed the door and run when he had first turned up on Alice’s doorstep. He knew most girls would airbrush pictures to make themselves look better, but the difference between the girl he had been flirting with online and the obese monster in the flesh were so marked that they may as well have been two different people. In fact, Stan wondered if she had picked out a random fit girl and stolen her identity. She also looked far younger than the twenty-something he had been chatting with—she still had boyband posters in her room, for god’s sake! Still, Stan had driven all the way down from London and had spent money on petrol for his precious car and lunch for his ‘date’, although it didn’t look like she needed any more McDonald’s. It was ironic, really, that he had chosen the salad for her. So Stan didn’t want a wasted trip.
He knew there was a market for BBW—or Big Beautiful Women. It wasn’t exactly his cup of tea, but he had heard that some men would even pay to be squashed by fat girls. Never one to miss a business opportunity, and he had to admit curiosity himself, Stan had decided he would at least screw her before he left. Her size obviously left her grateful for any attention. There had been something else really strange about the house. She clearly wasn’t house-proud, as there was rubbish all over the lawn, but it was fairly tidy inside. She smelt good, but the house had a really strange whiff in it—there was the smell of air freshener but also something really nasty. He couldn’t put his finger on it.
Now he was leaving her house to carry out some stupid errand like some kind of pussy. He blamed his mum; she had always instilled manners in him. Still, at least he could get his petrol money back, and that, along with the money he was hoping to make from his little film, should mean that he was quids in after this little trip down south. Stan even wondered if Alice had any other ugly, fat friends he could meet to make it even more worthwhile.
Despite the letter in his pocket, Stan felt dodgy just walking into the bank. He had been directed towards the type of high street that probably hadn’t changed since the eighties with a yellowing department store and run-down shops. He had also noticed that he stood out like a sore thumb with his dark skin, and he could swear people were clutching their bags that bit closer as he walked near. He almost chickened out but then thought of his petrol money and pushed the door to enter. He was accosted almost immediately by a smiley woman with far too much makeup on.
‘Good morning and welcome! How can we help you this morning?’ she said without breaking her smile.
‘I need to transfer some money on behalf of my great aunty,’ Stan mumbled, and the smiley lady practically frogmarched him to the counter. He seemed to be the only customer in the building, which made him feel even more nervous. He could hear the clock ticking and was sure it was being drowned out by the sound of his heart beating.
Stan got to the counter and handed over the letter and explained the situation. He told the lady behind the counter that his great aunty was in hospital after a fall, so she had asked him to move money around for her. The woman behind the counter was silently looking at the letter. Her lack of communication was making Stan more nervous, so he gabbled. ‘Yes, she had a terrible fall in her house. Lucky I was visiting her that day, really; otherwise, who knows what kind of state she would have been in. You know you have to watch out for older relatives, especially when it gets colder.’
Eventually the woman looked straight up at Stan. ‘I was wondering where Mrs Carmichael had got to, as she is usually in here every Thursday, regular as clockwork. Is she in the general, then?’
Stan guessed she meant a hospital and nodded.
‘She never mentioned that she had a grandson; of course, she always talked about her Alice.’
Stan almost added the ‘black’ before the grandson as he knew the clerk had wanted to. ‘I am actually her great-nephew; my granny is her sister.’
‘Oh yes, is that Rose? She moved off abroad somewhere, didn’t she?’
Stan nodded hoping that this might explain the colour of his skin to the nosy clerk.
‘Unfortunately we can’t go around accessing bank accounts without t
he proper checks.’
Stan was almost relieved as he put his hand out to get the letter back.
‘I will need to see some form of ID, young man, so you can prove you are who you say you are.’
Stan almost choked as he got his driving licence out and showed it to the woman.
‘Now, how much did she want to move over to her current account?’
‘She said £5000, please. She was not sure how long she was going to be in hospital,’ he said as a way of explaining such a high amount.
‘Yes, she usually only moves a couple of hundred pounds a week.’
Stan wondered if he should revise down the number, but the clerk was busy typing something into the computer in front of him.
‘You know, to be honest, the interest rates are so low at the moment, your granny—I mean, great aunty would be better off keeping her money under the mattress. I shouldn’t really say that, working in a bank and all, but if she is going to be in the hospital for a while, you may as well move a lot more over. Doesn’t really make much difference where it’s kept.’
‘OK, shall we move over £50,000 then? Just so I don’t have to come back and do this again in a couple of months?’ A plan was forming in Stan’s head that went well beyond covering his petrol money. He still expected them to catch him out, so he smiled his most charming smile.
She clicked a few buttons and it was done. ‘Now, would you like a printout of the balances for your great aunty, as well as a receipt?’
Stan nodded and then added a quick, ‘Yes, please’, just to sound polite. He took the papers handed to him and began to walk away. He was almost at the door when he heard the clerk call out.
‘Young man, can you come back here for a minute, please?’
Stan thought he had been rumbled and thought about ignoring the woman and walking away, but that would only look even more suspicious, so he turned back and smiled politely.
‘I wonder if you would mind filling in a survey to say how we did today? It is all electronic on the terminal over there. I don’t see the need, but head office loves it.’
‘Oh, yes, of course. You have been very helpful.’ Stan now sounded like an Eton graduate, which was just as out of place in this West Country town as his London twang was. He was able to leave without any other interruption and went straight to the cash machine and took out £200. Again, there were no sirens, no police waiting to pounce.
It wasn’t until he reached the safety of his car that he felt he could breathe normally again. He looked at the pieces of paper in his hand and gasped out loud when he realised what one balance said. It was sitting there in black and white, all £117,000 of it. Lucky Granny was sitting on one hell of a nest egg. Stan wondered cruelly why her granddaughter was going around looking like a tattered streetwalker when Granny was clearly not broke.
Stan then looked down at the cash card he had along with the letter, and the idea that had started in the bank became real. Alice and her granny clearly didn’t appreciate the money—that was obvious from the ramshackle old home. Stan also guessed that if this was the amount that Granny had in the bank, then she would have a stash around at home somewhere too. Alice apparently had a good job as an air hostess (although Stan was doubting this after meeting her.) Stan knew he could do so much with that money, and it seemed a shame to waste it all on a lady that would probably die any minute and her obese granddaughter. So, he may even be doing Alice a favour; after all, she might eat her way through a few thousand. He didn’t owe her anything; she had lied to him.
All the excuses seemed to him perfectly plausible, but Stan was still hesitating. He had only ever dabbled in minor criminal activity, whereas this was grand theft and fraud. Stan wondered how he could get away with it. Would he need to carry on being nice to Alice or was it best to cut her off altogether? Stan decided he would leave it for a day or two to see what happens; after all, she had given him the letter and he hadn’t yet taken any money out, apart from the £200 that she had more or less promised him. Feeling equally scared and exhilarated, Stan started the car and headed home to London.
Alice
28 September 2018, 1 p.m.
When the front doorbell rang early that afternoon, I could feel the stirrings of a panic attack, both at the thought of having to open the door again and also, of course, knowing who was standing behind it. I eventually controlled my breathing and checked myself in the hallway mirror by the front door. I tried to open it casually as though inviting men into my home was something I did all the time, but I was sure he could hear my heart hammering. There on the other side was Stan.
He was a lot shorter and skinnier than I had imagined, but I guess I, more than anyone, knew how to project an image online. Trying to act like the sophisticated woman he thought I was, I smiled and invited him in. He looked unsure to begin with, and I wondered if this was new for him too.
‘Um, Alice?’ he asked, looking uncomfortable.
‘Hi,' I replied wondering whether I should kiss him on the cheek or shake his hand.
‘I bought us some lunch,’ he explained, shoving some McDonald’s bags into my hands. I breathed in the heavenly scent of oil and carbs gratefully and quickly shut the door so he couldn’t change his mind.
I was glad now I hadn’t laid the table, as that was far too formal for this type of date, but I stupidly felt almost too shy to eat in front of him. Maybe this was the answer to my diet dilemma. If Stan was sitting in front of me for every meal, then I may just eat like a normal person. As I unwrapped the bags, it became clear that there was one portion of chips and one salad, which I presumed was for me to accompany my quarter pounder. I almost asked him if I could share his chips but then realised that the girls Stan usually went for probably didn’t eat chips. In fact, nor did Online Alice, apart from at the end of an all-day bender. The conversation didn’t flow as I hoped it would, and we sat to eat our lunch in silence. I almost suggested that we both get on our phones to message each other since we had never had a problem communicating that way.
When we'd finished, I cleared up the rubbish and then had no idea what we could do; after all, I hadn't had a visitor of my own in the house for many years. I suggested that we go to the living room to watch some TV, thankful for the new sofa.
'You mean Netflix and Chill?' said Stan with a smile.
I knew what he meant, but I ignored this, trying to buy time. ‘My gran doesn’t have any streaming, sadly. You know what old people are like!’ He looked like he wanted to tell me what he really meant but let me lead him through.
I let him flick through the channels. I figured he was the type of man who liked to take control. Finally he landed on some MTV show about people who did up their cars. He seemed engrossed, so I asked him about his car. It was as though a light had switched on as his excitement levels jumped, almost as if he was talking about his own child. He told me he had an old school Mercedes that he had ‘pimped out’ and asked if I wanted to come and see it in the driveway. I hated to disappoint him but knew I would never make it outside and didn’t want to shame myself by having a panic attack in front of my potential new boyfriend.
'Let's watch the rest of this show first and maybe you can show me some pictures,' I said, buying myself some time.
‘So where is your gran then? You said you were visiting her, but I thought she had died?’
I thought quickly. ’Oh, yes, that was my other gran; this is where my nanny, my mum’s mum, lives.’ I crossed my fingers knowing it was a white lie. Of course, Stan had seen my posts of the death; he had even comforted me.
‘Oh sweet, she clearly likes her TV,’ he said, pointing at the massive box on the wall. It was actually quite old fashioned. It definitely wasn't a flat screen, but what it lacked in technology it made up for in size.
‘She’s had to go into hospital, unfortunately, so I am house-sitting for her.’
‘And you said you were ill too? Better not be something catching,’ he said moving away on the sofa slightly.
‘No, don’t worry, it is just a migraine type thing. I get them all the time. It means I can’t really go outside.’ I thought this sounded like a very sophisticated illness to have.
Stan looked more comfortable and moved closer again, his hand inching over my leg. I thought it was as good a time as any to try to get his help.
‘I was wondering if you could do me a favour while you were here,’ I dropped in casually. ‘You see, I would usually do it, but my car seems to have packed up and is in the garage, and with this headache, I am probably best not going out. I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind going to the bank for me. It’s for my grandma, really, as she needs some money moved from her savings account into her current account. Can you believe she hasn’t yet embraced online banking?’
Stan looked horrified at the idea of having to run an errand. Not wanting to lose him, I quickly tried to sweeten the pill.
‘I can pay you. If you take along her card, then you can take £100 or so for yourself.’ I hoped this wasn’t a tiny sum for Stan as it still seemed like a fortune to me.
Stan looked like he was thinking about it. ‘The money is all very well, but you know what I really want and you know why I am really here, so how about we come to some other kind of arrangement and then I think I would be happy to go out and help your granny. After all, my mum always said you should respect your elders.’
I tried to look alluring as my heart sank. I guess I had always known what was on the cards if I invited Stan into my home; after all, I had been leading him on for some time. I knew the payment and I knew what men really wanted.
‘Yes, of course, I can give you what you want too, since you have come all this way. It really is nice of you to visit me.’ I put on a smile for him.