Читать книгу I Know You - Annabel Kantaria, Annabel Kantaria - Страница 12

I know where you live

You think you’re so discreet, don’t you, so internet-savvy, never posting your details online, hiding behind a screen name. But you leave a trail wider than a jumbo jet streaking across the summer sky. You leave a trail so clear I could follow it with my eyes closed.

You probably don’t remember taking that picture, do you? The one of the oak tree with the winter sun rising behind it back when you first found the house? Très arty. I agree, the image was stunning, the austere branches silhouetted against the sky like some prehistoric monster rising from behind the row of roofs. You could almost feel the frost in the air. It really deserved all those Likes. But what you forget, my sweet, is the double whammy of Instagram location services and Google Maps, and how useful they are to people like me.

It takes me half a day. In the general scheme of things, that’s not long. It’s seconds. Milliseconds. Insignificant. Edging along Street View, looking for that tree, in front of those houses, those parked cars, that bus stop, that crack in the road, those paving stones, that manhole cover, I even find myself enjoying the challenge. Do you remember those childhood games of hide and seek? I loved those, too. But this is way more fun.

And then, when I think I’ve found it, I spin my point of view around and there I am, looking at a house. Your house. The upstairs window from which you took the picture. Is that your bedroom? I think it is.

A door and a window downstairs, two windows upstairs. That’s all. Nothing in the windows to give a clue: no picture frames, perfume bottles, nothing. A few terracotta roof tiles cantilevered out above the step to give shelter to callers. Below those tiles, a navy front door that could do with a fresh coat of paint. It’s on your to-do list, isn’t it, to get out there and paint it yourself? Oh, come on, admit it – you’re already imagining the Instagram shots: a paintbrush balanced across a tin of paint; brushstrokes of paint on wood; a close-up of the smudge of paint on your adorable little nose. What else can I see? New PVC windows not in keeping with the style of the property. White paintwork. A garden fence that could do with being re-stained. Dirty-grey paving slabs in the front garden. A big, black wheelie bin. Outside, oh look, there it is: your car.

Nothing remarkable but, to me, it’s gold.

I walk the Street View back down the road, check the street name, then examine the map of the local area. Nice.