I need to stop.
. . . But I can’t.
On autopilot, I glance at my phone screen. Ren’s Snapchat map icon is lit up. The dot of his location spinning around in a nearby village, moving quickly. He must be on a bus or something.
I rub my temples, hard, with my thumb.
Ren’s blob dances around on my screen.
The problem is, before I can stop, I need to know. So, if Jerome didn’t assault those girls . . . someone else did.
And I know that the dates don’t match up for either Jemma or Iulia’s stories, but I don’t know anything else. There’s not even a trail online between Ren and Maisie. I mean, did they even really meet?
How do I know what’s real any more?
I stare, hard, at the moving blob on my screen. An uneasy thought is beginning to form in my mind. If he keeps his location on, if he stays online, I’ll know where he is.
My heart starts to thump.
The longer he doesn’t clear his name, the more people are going to believe he actually did it. And I know he didn’t. Well, for two of them, there’s doubt, at least. And if I actually speak to him, I’m sure I can prove it was, in fact, Jerome who did it.
I picture Ren’s kind, smiling face, and it almost breaks my heart to think of him jobless and alone.
I just can’t let this happen.
At that moment, the blob starts doing something strange. A second ago, it was one village away; now it seems to be making a beeline for our town. My eyes widen.
Staring at the avatar, I watch, dumbfounded, as in jerky movements it speeds up, heading closer and closer towards me.
For one giddy moment, I imagine he’s coming to my house. He knows that I can help him. Maybe . . . maybe he just wants to see me. I imagine Mum’s face when he shows up. I imagine Seb’s. And Seb’s friends’.
I watch the screen for a solid thirty minutes, and now the blob has come so close, he’s mere streets away. I almost feel like I’m daydreaming. Like this is some bizarre fantasy where Ren is going to walk in, come upstairs, and ask me to help him. Then I’ll show him what I’ve found, we’ll take it to the gym manager together, and end up kissing as we celebrate him getting his job back.
My lip starts to tremble.
The blob has stopped now, near the skatepark. He’s so close, I could just walk over and see him. Tell him about Iulia and Jemma’s mismatched dates. Ask him about Maisie.
I can still hear Mum talking in concerned, hushed tones to Dad downstairs. I ignore her and slip into the bathroom.
Five minutes later, red-faced after having had the quickest shower known to man, I throw my laptop into a backpack, pick up my phone, and stare at the location.
Ren’s icon winks at me.
Yep. He’s still there. Still at the park.
Honestly, what choice do I have?
CHAPTER 43
Chloe
What are you supposed to wear to confront your stalker? It feels almost like a date. Some weird, sick date that is also somehow your worst nightmare.
If Sven does show up, then I want him to think that for me, this is a genuine date. At least for long enough to pinch his phone and slip it into my pocket.
He’s only ever seen Instagram photos of me – which is me looking at my absolute best. He also said I was a ‘slut’ in that tight, sequinned green dress.
A shiver runs down my spine at the memory.
I need to look good, but not too good. Usually tight, low-cut tops and short skirts make me feel confident – but recently all I’ve been wearing are loose jeans and hoodies. I pull on an old mauve vintage dress, which plunges down to reveal my cleavage, and feel slightly sick.
There’s a sudden flashback to the feeling of J grabbing my breast out of my dress, mingled with the sound of Sven chanting ‘slut, slut, slut’.
I throw off the dress and turn away from the mirror, not wanting to look at my bare body in the reflection.
In the end, I compromise by plumping for a tight, grey roll-neck dress.
It shows off every twist and curve – it looks like Instagram me; like I’ve made an effort. But everything is covered. It’s long-sleeved, and I’m wearing thick woolly tights, so there’s not an inch of me on show.
Shrugging on my favourite denim jacket, I swing my small backpack over my shoulders and grit my teeth.
This is it. This is the day I catch him.
The day all of this stops.
* * *
On the walk towards the spot in the park where we’ve agreed to meet at, my feet start to slow down.
What if I can’t actually do this? What if he’s like J, but worse, and just overpowers me completely?
What if he knows my whole ‘accounts being deactivated’ excuse is a load of crap?
What if it’s not even Sven who shows up?
Gnawing the inside of my cheek, I run through the plan one more time in my mind to try and steady my nerves.
Go up to him. Act like it’s a date. Be friendly. Flirty. Giggle. Gauge how dangerous this guy really is.
My teeth start to chatter.
Talk to him. Don’t mention Tom. Or any ex-boyfriend. If he asks, just be vague. Or say Tom is your cousin. Or gay.
I pull the dress sleeves over my fingertips.
Once he’s distracted, take out your phone. Show him some selfies. Maybe put your arm around him, if you can bear it. When he puts his phone down, subtly pick it up.
I’ve unbuttoned my tiny backpack in preparation so it’ll be easy to slip his phone inside.
But what if he keeps his phone on him the whole time?
There’s one thing I can do that will almost definitely work: I could kiss him. That would definitely distract him long enough for me to take his phone.
My stomach starts to clench uncomfortably, both with repulsion and nerves.
What about Tom?
Oh, screw it. What am I even thinking? I won’t have to kiss him. It’ll be absolutely fine. I know how to distract men. It’ll be easy. I will be able to get his phone.
The wind whips around my ankles. There’s a couple of stray crisp packets wrapping round the metal swing gate to the park. I cross my arms over my chest and walk through them. The bars give an eerie creak, which makes the hairs on my arms stand on end.
My hearts thumps harder in my chest as I approach the skatepark.
This is where we agreed to meet. I’m a couple of minutes late, so he’ll probably already be there. I keep my head down as I approach. Taking a low breath, I skim the surrounding area with my gaze.
I stop walking.
There’s no one here.
A tension is gently unknotting in my stomach. It almost feels like relief. Almost, but not quite.
Is he late?
Glancing behind me, I go and sit on the bench closest to the skatepark.
My eyes survey the bushes flanking either side of the tarmacked skate rink.
A wind rustles the leaves in the bush to my left. My face freezes.
Did I just see –
Is there someone hiding behind that bush?
I swallow and blink again. Fast.
But I can’t see anything. Or anyone. The park is silent.
I look down at my phone. No messages.
My fingers are shaking as they swipe the screen.
Oh, screw this.
Seriously, screw this.
If he is hiding somewhere watching me, then we’re never going to meet. There’s no point feeling scared. If he comes, he comes.
And if he doesn’t . . .
Well, then he doesn’t.
Clamping my hands tightly to my phone, I stand up, readjust my dress, and march over to the bushes directly behind the skatepark.
Awkwardly, I kneel down so my body is completely obscured by the foliage and separate a branch of leaves so I can peer directly onto the nearest bench.
Then I sit.
Waiting.
CHAPTER 44
Amber
My tee
th are chattering so hard, it feels like my whole head is vibrating. I try to purse my lips to stop them from shaking, but I almost bite the end of my tongue.
The air is cool against my cheeks, and icy against my wet hair.
Oh God, I should have worn something different. I should have put on some make-up, or at least dried my hair so it wasn’t still soaking. Individual strands are starting to dry now in weird, curling wisps across my face. I tuck them behind my ear, wishing I had a hairband.
Surreptitiously, I pull out my phone and glance at Ren’s location. I’ve taken several screenshots in case my internet signal cuts out or he goes offline, but so far, his blob is in the same place.
I actually know where he is in real time.
My whole body is trembling from head to toe. It’s been almost a month since I last saw him, that time at the gym when he rested his hand gently on my shoulder. It almost doesn’t feel real that I’m about to see his kind face again. I can’t stop my stomach from twisting, my hands from fidgeting, my lips from trembling.
I look up.
A horrible thought twists into my mind.
Do you think he’ll actually be there? Could I have somehow got his location wrong?
Is this all a complete waste of time?
I’m getting closer now. His dot is almost on top of mine.
Glancing up, I catch sight of a dark-haired guy in front of me, walking along. It takes a second for the sight to sink in, but then my entire body reacts, feeling like it’s on fire.
With a silent yelp, I scramble behind the nearest bush along the skatepark.
My stomach twisting, I peer out of the foliage, my knees scraping across the dry ground.
He’s just walking along, dressed all in black. He looks different to how he usually looks in gym gear. Not how I’d imagined his non-work clothes – cooler, somehow.
He turns to face the wind, and I see his profile.
My stomach somersaults way up into my chest.
It’s definitely him.
Definitely. Definitely.
He goes and sits on one of the benches. In the distance, there’s a stunning girl walking towards the same park benches, squinting at her phone. She’s dressed in a skintight roll-neck dress, which clings to every curve of her body.
I look down at my baggy ensemble. I can’t believe some people actually look like that. That their body curves in such a perfect, toned way, that their hair – so dark and glossy – falls over their shoulders like . . .
Wait a second.
I stand up from my spot and try to crane my neck closer.
Is that . . .?
OH-MY-GOD!
It is. Chloe. It’s Chloe MacNeil.
The closer I get, the easier it is to her characteristically high cheekbones. Her full, red lips. Her dark cat-like eyes.
No one else has such a distinctive look.
Oh God, what if she sees me speaking to Ren?
But before I have time to think about that, my mouth drops open.
Chloe is walking. Quicker now, closer and closer.
But she’s not coming to me.
She’s moving in the opposite direction, walking towards Ren, her hips swinging prettily from side to side like she’s on a catwalk.
And it feels like my whole world is crashing around my ears.
CHAPTER 45
Chloe
It’s been fifteen minutes, and there’s still no one here. I keep thinking the bush on the other side of the park is moving – but I can’t tell if there’s really someone there or I’m just going insane.
My knees are beginning to ache. I daren’t sit down completely in case I get grass stains on my dress, but I have to keep low to the ground, otherwise my head will peep up higher than the bushes.
I nibble the corner of my lip. The wind is making them dry and scratchy. I’m about to reach into my bag and pull out some lip balm when I stop.
Why does it matter if my lips are dry?
I drop the tube back into my bag and shift my legs so I’m putting my weight on the less-stiff knee. How long should I wait before I leave? Another five minutes?
My fingers brush a clump of dried mud off my tights. I’m not even paying attention when, through the foliage, I glimpse a tall guy in black tracksuit trousers, a jumper and a beanie hat pulled low over his face. He goes and sits on the bench, his head down.
Oh my God! Could it be . . .?
From this angle, I can’t make out his face. His jumper has a high neck, and his hat is so low, there’s only a glimpse of tanned skin showing.
He pulls out his mobile.
Almost instantly my phone buzzes with a message.
Sven_247 Here.
Sven_247 Where are you?
Crap. He’s going to hear the vibrations.
I stab at the screen, but he starts sending more messages, and it buzzes incessantly.
There’s nothing for it. I’m going to have to go over before he hears.
I leap up and brush away the blades of grass, stuck hair-like to my tights. Then I purse my lips together and step out so I’m facing him.
He’s still staring at his screen. I feel weirdly self-conscious. He’s only ever seen my Instagram photos, and I look way worse in real life.
What if he’s disgusted by the real me?
Well, then I guess that’s good. Maybe he’ll stop harassing me. Or maybe he’ll hate me even more. Like those angry guys online who say girls who wear make-up are ‘liars’ who are ‘tricking them’ into thinking they’re hot. I mean, as if anyone has black-ringed eyes and green sparkly eyeshadow naturally, anyway.
My heart is beating faster and faster.
He hasn’t looked up from his phone yet, his fingers still jabbing at the screen. My phone is twitching nonstop in my pocket. It takes all the will in the world for me not to just bolt. But I keep walking towards him, until I’m about a metre away.
He glances up momentarily – his lips are full, his nose flat, and his dark eyebrows handsomely arched. His mouth falls open when he sees me, and his face kind of jerks in surprise.
His admiring expression makes my chest puff out.
‘Hey,’ I say, hiding my chattering teeth with a broad smile. ‘It’s me!’ I force myself to give a little giggle.
‘Hey.’ His voice is low, gruff – and he speaks downwards, into his chest. He hunches himself inwards under the baggy material, and I realize that he’s seriously built underneath his jumper.
Why are his clothes so loose?
‘Chloe?’ His voice is so low, I can barely make out the words he’s saying.
I smile, and I can start to feel my old self filtering through the nerves. I can do this.
‘Sven! I can’t believe it’s you.’ I smile and sit right next to him. Close. My eyes swivel to his phone, which he immediately drops into his tracksuit pocket. Damn.
‘Um, yeah, I—’ He kind of chokes on his words as he speaks.
I eye him calmly, and two spots of pink appear on each of his tanned cheeks.
He clears his throat. ‘Wanna – I dunno – go for a walk?’
I nod. He stands up, much taller than I was expecting, and there’s something about the way he moves that puts me on edge. He keeps fidgeting with the collar of his jumper. And twitching like there’s a bug on his cheek.
I smooth my dress down over my hips as I stand up. When I raise my eyes, he’s staring at my hands.
‘Shall we head this way?’ I say politely.
He’s so quiet, and jumpy, that I feel the knot in my stomach start to loosen. I don’t know what I was expecting, exactly. But not someone who couldn’t meet my eye. He’s very tall – way over six foot – but walks as though apologetic for his height, his head bent, chest slumped.
‘You look nice,’ he says as a grunt.
It takes me a couple of seconds to decipher his mumbled words.
‘Oh, thanks.’
I catch his eye, and he immediately looks away.
The hairs on the bac
k of my arm tighten.
I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.
CHAPTER 46
Amber
I should just turn around.
Right now, I should just get up, walk off, and let them have their date.
But I can’t stop myself from following them.
The wind is battering against my ears. My fingertips are turning blue from the cold, and my wet hair has become a block of ice against my neck. But it’s like some weird, sick fascination. My feet follow their steps almost independently. As though I’m a puppet and there’s someone else pulling the strings.
Of course he would be meeting Chloe.
Who wouldn’t? She’s probably the prettiest and most confident girl you could ever met. Just like everyone who meets Ren falls in love with him – everyone who meets Chloe falls in love with her.
In a way, they’re the perfect match.
But, my God, I’ve been so stupid.
How could I ever think he’d want my help? How could I think that spending all those hours trying to prove his innocence would make him want to talk to me?
I’m starting to feel my stomach stir.
Did I only do it because I liked him? Was I hoping I would help him get his job back and he’d be so delighted, he would fall in love with me?
. . . Was Seb right?
Chloe and Ren have their heads together and are saying something quietly to one another. She’s leading him down the path, towards a clearing in the park.
There’s a creeping feeling across my skin. I shouldn’t keep following them; I should just go home.
As they disappear beyond the clearing, I stop.
What am I actually doing? Following two people who are on a date and don’t even know I exist.
My eyes start to fill with tears.
And then it hits me. Until I saw Ren with Chloe, I never realized how many of my daily thoughts were about him. How often I dreamed of when he touched my shoulder. How many times I fantasized about the moment I would see him again and tell him that I believed him.
Now I think back to that smile at the gym. The memory I’ve replayed so many times, it doesn’t even feel real. I no longer know what is actual memory and what is fantasy – but now, in my mind, the smile is a brief flicker of acknowledgment. A polite nod from someone just doing their job.
Follow Me, Like Me Page 13