Читать книгу Perfect Strangers: an unputdownable read full of gripping secrets and twists - Erin Knight - Страница 22

16

B e relaxed . . . walk confidently . . . even if it can’t smell fear, it’ll smell a sweaty armpit, so chill out . . .

Isobel had Googled the best way to get her rubbish across Arthur Oakes’ yard to the bins he’d instructed her to use. No sudden movements or noises, no encroaching on its territory . . . The list of things to aggravate an unfriendly, nervous, protective dog was alarmingly extensive.

She lifted the rubber lid of the dustbin and slung her recycling inside, not even looking at Arthur’s ramshackle cottage, or the spot Wolf-Dog exploded from whenever the postman gingerly clambered out of his van. She started back along the track but could already sense it, a dark mass sweeping across Arthur’s lawn towards the wire fence between them. Don’t run! screamed through her head. The dog flew at the fence with a couple of serious warning barks and finally, a disappointed huff. She froze in case the sound of panicky flip-flops tipped it over the edge.

‘Petal! Get back in here!’ Arthur’s gravelly voice carried from inside his cottage. Isobel gave the dog a sideways glance. Petal? Petal snorted at her and trotted off.

‘Ooo-kay,’ she breathed, heart hammering like a piston. ‘That’s enough of that.’

She flip-flopped the last hundred yards of stony path to Curlew Cottage, skipped up the steps and threw the door shut behind her. Her mobile was buzzing on top of the cottage’s stack of Come Boating! mags.

‘Soph?’

‘Isobel, you sound out of breath. You okay?’ Sophie’s new weirdly matriarchal tone again.

‘Yep. Good. Everything okay there? How’s Ells Bells?’

‘She’s fine. Anyway. So?’

‘So what?’

‘So it’s been nearly a week. Any more thoughts on when you might be coming home?’

It did suddenly feel like a long time. She’d been confident Sophie would’ve made a move by now, found the right words to bring her home. ‘What are your thoughts, Sophie?’ Maybe Sophie had the right words now.

‘You know what I think. Pack your stuff and get in your car.’

Of course that’s what Sophie thought. So it looked like Isobel was staying in Fallenbay. Fine. She was a new person here at least. A faceless tourist.

‘I’m ready, Soph.’

‘I had a feeling you were going to say that. Shit, Isobel.’

She filled her lungs. ‘It’ll be fine. That’s the whole point, isn’t it? To start off bricking it, only to find out the Bogey Man isn’t as scary as I’ve convinced myself?’ There was laughter in her voice, but there really hadn’t been anything to laugh about. Nathan had said sorry. He wished he’d never set up the camera. But it was still too late. Way, way too late for them.

‘What if the Bogey Man is that scary, Isobel?’

Isobel lobbed a salmon-coloured cushion with a white boat motif out of her way and sank down on to the hard wooden window seat. Arthur’s devil dog was rolling around in a patch of blue cornflowers like a puppy. A puppy that would find your jugular before you could scream for help. ‘Then I really will be facing my demons, which is a good thing. Jenny said.’

‘Jenny didn’t mean it like that and you know it.’

‘I need you on board, Soph. I don’t have techy colleagues like you. You said you’d help.’

‘I should never have told you about all this. Just because some IT boffin who couldn’t take a joke managed to catch out one of our stupid interns doesn’t mean we should start gallivanting around like Sherlock and Watson. This whole idea is totally fucking stupid . . . Sorry.’

‘You’re right, it is.’

‘I should never have told you about it,’ Sophie repeated. But her revelation had galvanised Isobel, just at the right moment. There was a way to track the monster.

‘This idea dragged me out of the dark, Soph. The thought of wearing a deerstalker hat and puffing on a big old pipe was just too tempting.’ Sophie wasn’t in the mood for jokes. She hated it now, her own throwaway suggestion, every last part of it. And so she should. Any sister would. And yes, the landscape had changed since, but a fact was still a fact: Isobel would still be sitting in Jenny’s therapy sessions if Sophie hadn’t told her there were ways to hook a troll. ‘For the first time in nearly two years I feel like I’m taking control again, Sophie. Like I might take something back from him.’

She’d stared at DEEP_DRILLERZ’s profile picture until her eyes ached. It hadn’t shown his face of course, just his arrogance. She’d committed the image to memory. Ocean in the distance, war memorial on the right. Guitar slung across his back while he peed up a postbox painted gold in honour of the town’s resident Paralympian. He’d casually desecrated that monument the way he’d casually desecrated Isobel’s life, just because he could.

‘Okay, Isobel. Okay. Tell me what I can do to help this stupid idea along.’

Isobel returned the image of DEEP_DRILLERZ’s profile to that dark place in her brain where she kept it tucked into a little forensic file. ‘I was kinda hoping you had that side of things covered actually, Soph.’

‘Yes. I thought you would be. Okay, Isobel, if we’re going ahead with this, here’s what I think we should do. First, I’m going to set you up on Facebook again.’

‘Wait, I don’t want—’

‘I’ll set up some fake friends for you, too. Play out a little interaction between accounts.’

‘But won’t other people see? People who know me, I mean? They’ll think I’m online again.’

‘No, they shouldn’t do, because it’s fake. Yes, it’ll be your name and stuff, but there are millions of Facebook accounts and this one’s not going to be linked to anyone we know, so no one will get a suggestion to hook up with you. It’s just for background. Fake background.’

‘Sounds so easy. Faking it.’

‘I’ll do the same with a few other networks, but it’s the blog that’s the critical bit. That’s where we’ll look out for him.’

Heat crept up Isobel’s neck. This had all been hypothetical, until now. Now it had legs. She would have to log on again. Tumble down the rabbit hole where all the dirt and darkness and crap had nearly suffocated her last time. ‘How often will I have to go on all of these pages?’ Tiny beads of sweat were pooling behind her knees. She jimmied the iron latch beside her and pushed the cottage window open. Cool air greeted her.

‘Never by yourself. That’s the deal. I’ll man the accounts, buffer anything unpleasant if it comes. You are not doing anything that could undo any of the progress you’ve made since last summer, understood? Or I’m out.’

The coolness blowing through the cottage and Sophie’s no-nonsense stance were strangely calming. ‘Understood.’

‘So we need to catch his attention. It’s not like he’s going to spot you hanging around and ask if he can join you for brunch.’

‘Wasn’t actually planning on letting him get that close, Soph.’

‘Good. That’s good. So we need to draw him out. First online, then . . .’

‘Then?’

‘We’ll think about that if we get to it. So I’ll set everything up, get Isobel Hedley back out there again, living, breathing, doing normal stuff. Enjoying life. See if it’s enough to prick his interest. Chances are he’s not going to just stumble across Isobel Hedley, not unless he’s still looking you up. Which is a pretty freaking creepy prospect. My guess is he’s moved on to his next target. Scrotbag.’

The thought of him ‘looking her up’ made Isobel want to heave. ‘Then what? Either way, I mean? What if he’s not looking out for me? What if he is?’

‘Either way, we bait the hook. See what bites.’