‘Don’t confront him,’ Katy says. ‘Mike doesn’t recommend it.’
It’s Monday-morning recess. The bell will go in five minutes. Katy has no time to beat around the bush.
‘Who the hell is Mike?’ Zach exclaims on the other end of the line.
‘Brigette’s husband.’
‘Dead Brigette?’
Zach used to be like this at school. Inappropriately sardonic. Shockingly insensitive.
‘Show some respect, Zach,’ she says, using her teacher tone. ‘Brigette left behind a little boy and a lot of people who cared about her.’
‘Sorry. I didn’t mean any disrespect to Brigette, I’m just confused about why her husband is offering his opinion.’
Katy supposes that’s fair enough. ‘I’ve told Mike about what’s going on. He works in security, knows all about surveillance techniques, and even the type of personality that would do something like this.’
‘Someone with a grudge,’ Zach supplies.
‘Yes, someone who’s held a grudge for a long, long time. And, going by your latest note, someone who at least thinks about being violent.’
One thing has become blatantly clear: the reunion must be cancelled. Katy will send out a message when she gets home tonight. She notices some female students heading towards the toilet block, checking over their shoulders, looking like they’re up to no good. She’s about to tell Zach she has to go when he suggests, ‘Why don’t you come with me? Might be better if there are two of us.’
Katy’s first reaction is no. Mike – who has read all the messages with the exception of this latest one to Zach – is concerned that this person poses a real danger.
‘Either way, I’m going there,’ Zach declares without waiting for her answer. ‘I’m not sitting on this for any longer.’
The truth is, Katy is curious. She wants to see the man that Robbie has become and struggles to believe he would be capable of this: being so devious and vindictive, sabotaging the reunion and all her work to date, making Zach feel unsafe enough to talk to a detective. Her instincts tell her Zach’s wrong: it’s not Robbie. It doesn’t fit with the boy she remembers as being so gravely insecure. Katy herself was awkward and self-conscious, but she blossomed outside the constraints of high school. Maybe Robbie has too.
‘Let me think about it,’ she says, striding towards the girls’ toilets. What is she going to find? Cigarettes? Drugs? Some inappropriate content on someone’s phone? ‘As far as I know, Robbie’s staying with his sister. Maybe it would be better to speak to her instead.’
Mike leans forward and kisses her on the mouth as soon as she opens the door. Then he hands her an expensive-looking bottle of wine.
‘Come in,’ Katy says, indicating the way with a flourish of her hand. ‘It’s pretty small.’
It’s his first time coming around to her apartment, and soon – going by the intensity of that kiss – it will be their first time sleeping together. Things have been progressing quickly. Four dates in five days. That first time at the tapas bar. A couple of days later, a few drinks at her local pub. Then yesterday, a walk in the park and an ice cream with Toby, his son. Katy is nervous. Scared of being disappointed. Trying hard not to think of all the times she’s got to this stage only to be let down. Sex is such an intimate, revealing act. Someone’s skin on your skin. Their hands touching every inch of your body. There are so many ways to be turned off. Their breath, their smell, the noises they make.
Stop. Keep thinking like that and you’ll be celibate for the rest of your life.
Katy has made a light dinner. Cajun chicken, green salad and crusty bread. Dessert is a store-bought lemon meringue pie.
‘Who’s babysitting? Fiona?’
Fiona is the flaky sister. According to Mike, she allows Toby to eat unquantified amounts of lollies and biscuits, and blithely ignores his bedtime.
‘Toby’s at a sleepover with Mum and Dad.’
This means it’s happening: Mike is staying the night. Katy’s body responds positively to the certainty. A tensing between her legs. She wants this. She wants him.
Conversation over dinner is not as free-flowing as usual. The atmosphere is heavy with anticipation. She hasn’t finished her dessert when he lays his hand over hers on the table. She feels a jolt of attraction, of longing. She gravitates towards him, their lips meet, and suddenly they’re kissing fervently. He manoeuvres her on to his lap. His hands are inside her top. Cutlery goes rattling to the floor.
‘Let’s go to bed,’ she murmurs into his neck.
They slow down once they reach her room. Undress little by little. Kiss deeply. Explore each other. Everything is right. His smell. The weight of him on top of her. The fact that he barely makes any noise – she hates the grunters. He is good at this. Expertly brings her to the most exquisite orgasm.
She falls asleep afterwards. Wakes up feeling disoriented. The room is shadowy and smells of sex. She checks her watch: 9.36 p.m. Where has Mike gone?
She gets up, throws on a dressing gown and pads into the living room. There he is. Sitting at her desk. Tapping on her keyboard.
‘What are you doing?’
He turns his head. Seems taken aback at the sharpness of her tone. ‘Running some diagnostics on your laptop.’
She comes closer and peers over his shoulder. A scan of some sort is fifty per cent complete. Apparently, four threats have been found.
‘You mentioned that you were concerned about spyware,’ he says. ‘It looks like you were right to be worried.’
This is true. It was on their second date, at the pub. When she’d handed him copies of all the notes and emails and felt compelled to elaborate on Luke’s in particular. ‘I still can’t figure it out. Either it’s an educated guess that I’d like to have a child or they have some way of seeing my online activity.’
At the time Mike suggested she run some diagnostics. Now he has taken matters into his own hands. The night has lost its sheen of perfection. He did everything right over dinner and in the bedroom. But now this, a blatant invasion of her privacy. The assumption that she can’t sort it out herself.
‘Don’t go on my laptop again without asking, okay?’
His face fills with remorse and embarrassment. He stands up, moves away from the laptop, which seems to have identified another threat. ‘I’m sorry, you’re right. I didn’t want to wake you up ... but that’s no excuse.’
They stand facing each other. Katy unconsciously squares her shoulders.
‘I don’t like men thinking they can waltz in here and take over. I’m perfectly capable of sorting out my own shit.’
‘I don’t doubt it.’ He risks a smile. ‘Does this mean I’m in your bad books, Ms Buckley?’
‘Consider yourself on a warning,’ she says, not even joking.
She flicks on the television and offers him a drink. They watch a travel show and finish a bottle of wine. Mike nuzzles her neck, plays with her hair, drops kisses on random parts of her face. They go back to bed, where he proceeds to do everything exactly right, as before. When she wakes the next morning, she’s relieved that he’s beside her, not off doing something on her laptop.
‘I need to get going,’ he sighs. ‘Toby wakes early. Mum and Dad will have had enough by now.’
She needs to get going too; it’s a school day. She stays in bed, watching him get dressed: last night’s jeans and shirt, slightly wrinkled. She doesn’t offer him breakfast.
He kisses her before he leaves. ‘Do you want to come over to my place on Wednesday night?’
She shakes her head. Has an excuse ready. ‘Sorry, I’m meeting some friends.’
Luke sent a text when he touched down Saturday, suggesting they meet up for drinks. Katy is slightly apprehensive about seeing him but is confident any awkwardness will quickly dissipate. She’s still surprised that he chose to stay with his father. Luke and his father have never seen eye to eye.
Mike lets himself out. Katy stays in bed for another few minutes, dissecting the night. She should be happy. It went well, very well in some respects.
She finally gets up, showers. Her body feels good after the sex: alive, womanly. She washes her hair, exfoliates, moisturises, gets dressed. Emerging into the living room, the first thing she glances at is the laptop. There’s a Post-it stuck to its screen.
Dear Katy. I don’t want to upset you again, but you really do need to put a password on your network. X Mike
She immediately bristles. He means well, that’s obvious, but still. He’s having the last word. Asserting himself in her business, her life, her right to do whatever the hell she wants with her internet security.
She sighs. This is what happens. They always, always do something to disappoint.