A lump swells in her throat as she types the last sentence: I am starting to feel unsafe, and I need help.
There is a reassuring ping as the message is sent. She takes a sip of wine, enjoying the warm fire slip down her throat. Across the couch, she can see her phone repeatedly lighting up.
‘Maybe I should start a drinking game where I have to take a sip of wine every time I get a message?’ she wonders, more to herself than to Kate.
A new email from Spark takes the edge off her despair. This is it. They will ask her a few security questions, she will authorize for the account to be shut down and this nightmare will be over.
The contents punch the breath out of her.
Hi there, Freya,
We are sorry to hear you’ve been having some trouble with Spark. We love what we do, and love that we have matched over 600,000 couples in the few years that we have been online.
Spark works through a secure online system that protects the account holder’s privacy at all times. That’s why we are password free. Every person that sets up an account with us does so using their own Facebook account. This is why your images have pulled through to our website.
If you want to shut the Spark account down, you need to contact Facebook or trace the person who set up the account in the first place. We’re sorry, but our hands are tied. We can’t help you.
Chapter 60
Isla
Fifteen days after the murder
When Simon’s number flashes as an incoming call, Isla almost doesn’t answer. Just thinking about the debacle of dropping off his gift at the station makes her cringe. What if she got him in trouble? In retrospect, a gift to any member of the police from a journalist does not look good: it smacks of a bribe.
‘Wow, that cookbook was such a great surprise when I got back to the office this morning!’ She can hear him smiling over the phone. Despite her embarrassment, she smiles too.
‘Really?’
‘Yeah! I’ve only discovered Ottolenghi recently but I think I’m his biggest fan. If I ever get to London one day, I’m going to eat at one of his cafés. My mom made his apple and olive oil cake for my dad’s birthday this year.’
‘I wasn’t sure if I was off the mark . . .’
‘You were spot on. Thank you for the wonderful gift.’
He doesn’t ask why she spontaneously bought him a present, and she doesn’t say. Mainly because she is not sure why herself. She changes the subject.
‘I saw Jay Singh at the station. It looked like he was about to leave?’
Given her last conversation with Freya, Isla is not surprised. The killer is still out there. Jay’s alibi was, in fact, correct. Freya’s constant harassment only adds fuel to the fire.
Simon’s voice goes quiet. ‘That happened this morning. The prosecutor said we didn’t have enough concrete evidence for a trial. Can you believe it? His smart watch literally placed him at the murder scene! But he holds that the evidence of sleeping with someone isn’t enough to accuse Jay of murder. And with the best lawyer in San Francisco on his side, there was no way that Jay was going to stay behind bars.’
‘I’m sorry, Simon, you seemed so sure.’
‘I think I was hoping that we had enough to draw a confession out of him, but he pushed back during the entire questioning.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘Not sure. While I may not be able to prove that Jay is guilty just yet, the whole encounter with him made my skin crawl. One thing is for sure, he is definitely not innocent.’
Chapter 61
Freya
Sixteen days after the murder
Freya runs into the office. She’s late for a meeting. She bursts through the doors. The table before her is already strewn with sketches. Julian and Ruth are both standing at a whiteboard, battling it out over a minor issue. This world seemed so unattainable a few months ago. Now the distractions outside these four walls have her battling to remain present. She takes a seat and smiles at Ruth. While her relationship with Julian may feel strained, at least she has one mentor who seems to understand her and have her back.
Her head is ringing and her body aches. She hasn’t been sleeping as well as she used to.
A big red number seventeen flashes and nags on her cell phone. Seventeen unread messages.
I’m standing outside your house.
I saw you walking into work today – you were so close I could almost taste you.
You can’t ignore me forever, one day I’m going to break the door down and take what I deserve.
The messages are becoming impatient, violent. Something sinister crackles between each word.
You better watch your back, Freya.
She forces herself to read each one. If Spark can’t help her, she will have to face her fears and report it to the police. Two weeks of this torture is long enough. But the thought of reporting it makes her want to faint.
The last message is from Jay. For a moment, time stops.
My lawyer got me out. The police were wrong. I owe you an apology and I know I have some explaining to you. Please can I see you? I have a few days off and then I’m back at work on Tuesday. I don’t want to do this in the office.
He’s out? Freya can’t bear the thought of seeing him. She wants to both hit him, and run into his arms, begging for confirmation that this was all a terrible misunderstanding.
Jay still cares. It’s the longest message he has ever sent her. Freya can feel the worry pressing on his words. But she puts the phone down, and does not reply. He slept with the woman who made her life hell. And later that same evening, he got into her bed. She was drunk, turned on, and in love. As she stripped his clothes off, she didn’t smell Nicole on him. Perhaps she didn’t want to. But the betrayal fouls the air now.
She sends Virginie an email from her phone. Jay’s out. I don’t know how to feel. The cops think he did it, but if Jay killed Nicole, wouldn’t I know deep down? How much can you trust the one you love?
Her reply, instant. You can’t trust him anymore. You shouldn’t have trusted him in the first place. Je suis desolée, mon amie, I should have been a better friend and warned you.
Warned me? What do you mean? Freya is confused. Sweet, light Virginie who never looks ruffled by office politics? Who always has the perfect comeback? Why would she be so ruffled by Jay?
Nothing. I’ve just always had a bad feeling about him, that’s all.
Freya wants to press her for more information but she is interrupted by fingers grazing her neck and digging into her shoulders.
‘Freya, why are you so tense? These neck muscles are hard as a rock.’ Julian’s voice frays at the word hard, and it brings back that uncomfortable incident in his office. Did she imagine that? She looks to Ruth desperately, but she is focused on the presentation in front of her.
‘Freya, you have done an amazing job running with Nicole’s project. Somehow, despite all the trauma you have endured over the past few months, you have put the project back on schedule and within budget. As we get closer to deadline, we want to give you every opportunity to focus’ – Ruth’s usual composure is replaced with the bubbly excitement of a young girl. She can’t hold it in much longer – ‘which is why we are giving you your own office!’
‘Excuse me?’ Freya finds this information hard to process. She’s been working through a fog, pushing through all the anxieties crowding her mind. If she managed to come up with anything great, it must have been by fluke. Her mind, body and heart has never been so compromised.
Julian wraps his arms around her. ‘You heard right. Today, we’re going to turn your experience of Atypical around.’
Freya untangles herself from Julian’s grip. ‘Sorry, I need a minute to process this.’ An office is nice, but it would have been nicer if they had listened to Freya the minute she informed Julian of Nicole’s bullying. It would have been better if he had set up the meeting with HR, had acknowledged Nicole’s aggressive tendencies and protected Freya.
‘Are you OK, Freya? You look a bit strange . . .’ says Ruth.
‘I do?’
‘Yes, you look as if you’re being hunted.’
If only Ruth could see the incessant trickle of messages on her phone. Or the selection of nude photographs of herself that she received yesterday. In the pictures, she is angling the phone so that her nipples are visible, and her hand flicking her shaved crotch. In the background, she can recognize the blue spine of her second-year computer programming textbook. The images are not recent, they were taken while she was at college and was not streetwise enough to crop her face out of her sexts. The only way somebody could have accessed them, is if they hacked into her personal phone.
She turns away from Ruth and sends another message, to Kate this time.
Sometimes, I worry that I willed Nicole’s death into being.
There is a boiling hot rage within her, a foreign feeling she has never quite experienced with such intensity before. It’s strange, because it’s not as if she hasn’t experienced adversity before. Her four years of study were filled with the minor and major challenges that make up a life. However, every little snag in her path felt as if it had a purpose, as if she was moving towards something bigger than she could comprehend. The drama of the past few months – while punctuated by more success than she could have hoped for – just feels pointless.
She takes a deep breath and forces a smile. She will be more grateful, she will stop allowing the negativity to bring her down and do her very best at her job. At least the code before her always makes sense.
‘I’m just overwhelmed,’ she says. ‘This is the best news I have heard all day.’
Julian smiles. ‘I’m glad we can make you so happy. We want to do everything we can to help you focus on your job. We hope you feel safe here.’
They all sit, smiling at one another. Freya feels many things, but safe is not one of them.
‘Well, go on then!’ says Ruth. ‘Pack up your desk and move, right now!’
Freya walks carefully back to her desk, feeling dizzy. This is all happening so much faster than she expected. She knew deep down that she was good, but after so many years of struggle, she thought that success would take a little longer. It’s only been four months!
Four months, and her desk looks like it survived a recent earthquake. Papers and notebooks are strewn everywhere. The succulent Julian gave her as a welcome gift has shriveled and died. She shakes her head at herself. If she is going to become a tech maven one day, she is going to have to keep a tidier space. How she will manage this, she’s not sure. She is not the kind of person to think in a straight line.
Four months and she has one picture up. It’s of her and the girls at a Cuban-themed restaurant on the beach. There are fairy lights everywhere and they are laughing about something. Freya’s wearing a red, off-the-shoulder dress she designed herself, and can still remember how light and feminine it made her feel. Her skin still burned from her fresh tattoo. The triangles. It’s a great memory, of a time when everything was pure, and everything was possible. It’s also from before she started at Atypical. After all this time, she never got the courage to put up a picture of her and Jay. He asked her to be his girlfriend, he said he loved her, but according to the display on her desk she was always alone. A petty part of her seethes. Nicole probably had a picture of Jay on her desk.
She opens her drawer. Its contents have been untouched since her first day at Atypical, so it is much neater. The collection resembles the hopeful desk of a schoolgirl at the beginning of term: lip-gloss, chewing gum, vanilla-scented hand cream and a box of tampons. Four months, and the box of tampons has remained unopened. She turns it around, over and over, in her hands, fingers growing numb. The world around her is drained of color and sound. Her only focus on the plastic seal, still intact. No, no, it can’t be. She could have brought some from home, or borrowed from a friend. She hasn’t felt . . . she can’t say the word . . . surely she’d know it if she was? There are signs, for God’s sake. Symptoms. They were careful, weren’t they?
There was one night where the sex was a blur, where Freya danced the line between comfort and discomfort, pleasure and pain. It felt dangerous, risky and passionate. They’d got caught up in the moment and . . .
Now, sitting in this unnerving stillness, she can’t remember the last time she craved chocolate or felt bloated. When last did she feel that never-ending hunger? When last did she wake up to the shock of blood?
Later, she buys a test and struggles to pee on the stick in the small Starbucks bathroom next to the pharmacy. She knows the result in her heart before she looks down.
A new crisis, a new curveball, a new future quivering with uncertainty.
A question and an answer that stares back at her, bold and unwavering.
Chapter 62
Freya
Seventeen days after the murder
Freya drums her fingers on the table in front of her, waiting for the call. Yesterday, she called up her doctor, secured his last appointment for the day and took a blood test. He said it would take up to twenty-four hours. It is now hour twenty-two.
She tries to focus on the sewing project in front of her, a sweeping satin kimono made of sari fabric. It’s very loud and bohemian. Very San Francisco. And if the blood test result is what she suspects, it will be just the ticket.
Her phone rings. An unknown number. Usually she wouldn’t pick it up, but she’s expecting the doctor to call any minute now.
‘Hello?’
Silence, save for the sharp intake and exhale of breath.
Anxiety hums in her ears, a swarm of bees.
‘I said, hello? Who is there?’
A cough, a whisper, ‘Freya . . .’
‘Who the fuck is this?’
‘Don’t swear,’ says the voice, ‘it’s unbecoming for someone so beautiful.’
A tear rolls down her cheek. Freya doesn’t dare make a sound, doesn’t dare move. ‘Where are you?’
‘I’m watching you sew. I love the way your fingers move.’
‘Please tell me who you are,’ she asks, trying to mask the pleading from her voice.
‘But you know who I am? You asked me to watch you. You said it turns you on. Oops, your nightdress has slipped over your shoulder . . .’
‘Leave me alone,’ she hisses, and hangs up the phone. That’s it. She will change her number today, just as soon as the doctor calls.
Another ring. ‘What the hell do you want from me?’ she shouts.
‘Uh, Freya Matthews? It’s Dr Fraser speaking. I have your blood test results in front of me.’
‘Dr Fraser! Shit, I’m so sorry. I thought you were—’
‘No problem. So your HCG levels are through the roof. This means the outcome of your test is very clear.’ Dr Fraser is prone to speaking in science jargon, as opposed to English.
‘Which means?’
‘Freya, you’re five weeks pregnant.’
Chapter 63
Isla
Eighteen days after the murder
A soft, rapping on the door. Probably a delivery guy with some random décor item Isla has forgotten she ordered off the Internet. Purchasing throw pillows out of loneliness has become an unfortunate habit lately.
But there he stands before her, strong, sheepish and clutching a shopping bag.
‘Simon, hi?’
‘Hey, uh, sorry to bother you,’ he stutters, sweat glistening on his brow.
Isla’s not sure what to say. ‘Have you had another breakthrough on the case?’
‘No . . . sorry. We’re still working on it. I was just in the area and thought I could drop this off for you. There was a book sale at the station and this one was written for you, I think.’
He thrusts it towards her, an offering. It is a thick, hardback encyclopedia of criminology. Her heart soars as she fingers the navy, gold-embossed cover. It’s beautiful. It’s also a message. A book for a book. His way of return
ing her gesture. She needn’t have felt nervous about giving him a present.
‘Wow, thanks . . .’
‘You’re really good at your job, Isla. You’ve got a great investigative eye. You should work on that, nurture it so it doesn’t go to waste.’
Today, of all days, Isla needed to hear these words. She has been feeling deflated, and unsure what to do next. There is something else about the gift, and Simon’s face when he hands it to her, that makes her throat swell with emotion. It feels good and uncomfortable all at once.
‘This is incredible,’ she says, forcing cheer into her voice. ‘I’m going to use it a lot!’
He smiles broadly.
She wants to invite him in, and page through the book together. She wants to pour them each a coffee and argue over their theories about America’s most chilling cold cases. She wants to spend the day in his positive, hopeful company, instead of whiling away the time alone. But yet, she can’t stop herself.
‘Listen, Simon, I’m sorry but I’ve got a thing I need to get to. It’s Saturday, you know. Super social day for me.’
He looks down, disappointed. ‘Yeah, of course. Me too, lots going on. My family beckons.’
He turns to leave and Isla watches him out of the window as he lingers a bit, finally turning left and pausing at a newsstand. She could have hugged him, at least. But the gift presses on a wound that makes her whole body heat up. To be lonely hurts, but moments like this make her remember that opening herself up hurts even more.
Chapter 64
Freya
One year before
She lies curled on her bed, a thin, pale comma.
‘I can’t do it,’ she whispers. Her belly churns and aches, her body shakes with the chills. It’s a nasty bout of gastro, and although she has an antibiotic, it doesn’t help that she has a final computer systems analysis exam tomorrow.
Jasmin strokes her head. She, Hattie and Kate have been taking turns to sit by her side since she fell ill. Her best friends, so different that together they work seamlessly as a foursome. ‘Let me make you some peppermint tea. That should soothe the cramps.’
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