‘Well?’ Chloe said, staring at Ben, waiting for a reply.
She looked across at Elliot, behind the wheel, and nudged him with her elbow.
‘Ouch. What was that for?’ he said. ‘I’m driving here, love. It’s not a good idea to start poking me.’
‘It was a nudge.’
He rolled his eyes. ‘Oh, that’s all right then.’
‘Aren’t you going to back me up?’
‘Oh, right. I see.’ Elliot looked at Ben through the rear-view mirror. ‘Come on, mate. She’s right. Spill the beans. I’m going to need something if you want me to keep this hush-hush. By rights, I ought to tell your mum and dad.’
That got Ben’s attention. ‘No, please don’t.’
The mere thought of his parents finding out what he’d been up to turned Ben’s stomach. But telling Chloe and Elliot was little more appealing.
The secret to telling a believable lie was rooting it in the truth. He’d read that somewhere.
Digging his nails into the fabric of the car seat, Ben racked his brains for a plausible explanation for how he’d got himself into such a mess. But even as he started to speak, sticking to the facts initially as he told them how he’d used up all his phone credit, all he could picture in his mind was the ugly and embarrassing truth of what had actually happened earlier.
Ben flicked the Vs at the bus – and that bloody con artist who’d stolen his wallet – as it pulled away down the road.
No sooner had he got off the double decker than she’d appeared at the upstairs window, near where they’d been sitting together, gleefully waving his wallet at him. So that was what she’d meant by the strange parting comment about seeing her again sooner than expected.
That woman had some nerve! She obviously took great delight in pickpocketing her unsuspecting victims, lulling them into thinking she was harmless and then pouncing. He figured that must have been why she’d sat down next to him in the first place, when he’d appeared to be asleep and thus an easy target.
So at what moment had she swiped it? It could have been when she’d stood up to let him out, what with all the clamping her hands on his and asking the time. Or maybe it was earlier: perhaps when his eyes had still been shut, or the first occasion he’d pulled his phone out to tell her the time.
He had tried running after the bus for a few seconds, only to realise he didn’t have a chance of ever catching up. Instead he’d unleashed his fury with a string of expletives, which had turned more than a few heads, plus the only hand gesture that had felt appropriate in the circumstances.
Not that any of this made him feel any better.
Dammit. How had he been so stupid as to fall for her trickery? He’d actually felt sorry for the woman, mistaking her cunning act for genuine loneliness. He’d thought that by talking to her – listening to her prattle on – he’d been doing his good deed for the day. Now she had all his money.
Then it struck him: his student ID card was in there too, plus his return bus ticket and – shit – his bank card. How had he not thought of that straight away? He’d have to cancel that, wouldn’t he? Brilliant. How on earth did that work?
He managed to figure this out after getting a number off the Internet and phoning the bank up on his mobile, which luckily hadn’t also been swiped. Unfortunately, thanks to spending a long time waiting in a queue to get through, he managed to drain what was left of the pay-as-you-go credit on his phone, leaving barely enough to send a couple of texts.
‘Bloody hell!’ he shouted, smacking the palm of his free hand on to the wooden bench where he’d sat down; only just stopping himself from hurling his mobile into the distance. This was exactly the reason he needed a contract, like all of his friends. But would Mum and Dad listen? Of course not. They wouldn’t even let him get an iPhone. He had to make do with a damn Android.
What was he supposed to do now? No money. No phone credit. He was screwed. The bank had also said something about reporting the theft to the police, but stuff that. What was he supposed to do: ring 999?
‘Are you okay, lad?’ an elderly passer-by asked him, his eyes squinting with concern. ‘You look—’
‘I’m fine,’ he snapped, still smarting from his last run-in with a stranger. ‘Leave me alone.’
And although he didn’t retract his words, the look of shock – maybe even hurt – that he saw as the old man took a step backwards and continued on his way, jolted Ben to his senses. He had a friend nearby, who was no doubt wondering where he’d got to; there was no need to panic.
He knew where he was going. He’d memorised the directions after looking at a map online at home.
After a few tiring minutes of weaving through city folk, all of whom appeared to be in a rush, Ben turned into a quieter side street, and another, until he found himself at the entrance of the apartment block that was his destination.
It looked the same as it had online: a grand converted warehouse, eight storeys tall, with a suitably majestic arched entrance. The heavy wooden outer doors were open but, as he’d been forewarned, the glass ones inside were locked, requiring him to be buzzed in.
He pressed the silver button for apartment twenty-three and, a moment later, a familiar voice answered. ‘Hello?’
‘It’s me – Ben.’
‘Oh, at last. I was worried something had happened to you. Come on up. It’s the sixth floor. Best take the lift.’
‘Thanks.’
A buzzing noise and he was in. The empty lift was waiting and, as it rose, Ben adjusted his hair in the mirror and did his best to smooth out the creases in his T-shirt. His heart was pounding as he sniffed his armpits, glad to still smell his deodorant, before noticing the camera above him and hoping no one was watching.
‘It’s going to be fine,’ he told himself under his breath as the silver doors slid open and he found himself in an empty corridor facing apartment number twenty-one. The door of number twenty-three was ajar when he got there; hoping he didn’t look half as nervous as he felt, Ben knocked and walked inside. ‘Hello?’
‘Come in, Ben,’ a voice called from somewhere out of sight. ‘Grab a seat. Make yourself at home. I’ve just got out of the shower. I’ll be with you in a minute.’
This seemed odd to Ben, considering his late arrival, but he was too busy being impressed by the roomy loft-style apartment with its wooden floors, exposed beams and large cityscape windows. It was immaculate. Everything in the open-plan space, from the pair of brown leather couches and huge TV to the classy kitchen area, looked brand new.
‘Great place,’ he called, staring out of the window at the sprawling rooftops of central Manchester.
‘Thanks,’ the reply came. ‘Put some music on, if you like. There’s an iPad with Spotify on top of the hi-fi. They’re already connected up.’
‘Great. Will do.’
‘What took you so long to get here from the bus? I thought you might be having second thoughts.’
‘No, nothing like that. I had a bit of a nightmare, to be honest. I’ll tell you all about it later.’
‘Sounds intriguing. With you in a minute.’
Ben walked over to the stereo, on a neat but solid-looking oak unit near a window, and raised an eyebrow at the brand – B&O – as were the enormous floor-standing speakers.
Ben had expected a nice place, but nothing like this. It was a long way from his bland family home in Aldham. He could picture himself living somewhere similar one day, but he’d have to land himself a decent job first.
He picked up the iPad and, taking it back to the nearest couch, started scrolling through. What to go for? This felt like a test. He decided the best bet was to choose a saved playlist, but before he could pick one, he heard footsteps behind him.
‘Close your eyes, Ben.’
‘What? Why?’ he replied, almost turning around but managing to resist the urge.
‘Please. Just for a minute. It’ll be fun.’
Ben felt a bead of sweat trickle down his lower back. Nodded. And closed his eyes.
He heard the footsteps again, walking past and in front of him, and then a loud creak of the floorboards that made him gasp and almost open his eyes.
‘Sorry. Only me. Almost there.’ The voice came from right in front of him now. He could hear breathing that wasn’t his own. He could smell a mixture of things: toothpaste, shower gel, deodorant and a zingy, citrus-style fragrance. Underneath all that, subtle but still noticeable, was a hint of cigarettes. Not great, but not the end of the world.
‘Okay. Now before you open your eyes, I need to say something.’
Ben felt his heartbeat quicken. ‘Like what?’
‘We’ve had a great time messaging each other and chatting on the phone, haven’t we?’
‘Yes, of course. You know we have. That’s why I’m here. Can I open them now? This is getting weird.’
He felt a warm hand press gently on to his own, which was resting next to his leg on the cool leather of the couch. ‘Please, a moment longer. I need to tell you something. I—’
Ben couldn’t handle this. After everything he’d been through on the bus, he wasn’t in the mood. It didn’t feel right.
He opened his eyes and his jaw hit the floor.
There was a strange man kneeling in front of him who he’d never cast eyes on before in his life. He was small and skinny; pale and balding, with the remains of his ash-blond hair cropped short.
Ben jumped to his feet, knocking the man’s hand away. He felt like he was about to throw up. ‘What the—’
‘Wait,’ the man pleaded, remaining on his knees and holding his hands together in front of his face like he was praying. ‘It’s me, Henry. I know I don’t look like you expect, but everything else is—’
A shiver ran down Ben’s spine. ‘Don’t look like I expect? I thought you were seventeen! That you lived here with your dad. But you’re … old.’
‘I’m only thirty; people say I look younger.’
‘Only? That’s twice my age. Bloody hell! What are you: some kind of paedo? Have you been grooming me? Oh God, I can’t believe this is happening.’
‘No, Ben. You’ve got me all wrong. That’s not it at all. Come on, you know me. You recognise my voice, right? I’m everything you thought I was – just … not physically.’
Ben’s mind was racing. His thoughts were in a whirl. He ran a hand through his hair, no longer caring about messing it up. He needed to feel something – anything – to try to ground himself. To get to grips with what the hell was going on.
He and Henry – if that was even his real name – had been chatting online for weeks. They’d spoken on the phone countless times. But they’d never actually seen each other in person until now. They’d not even had a video chat. Henry had told him he felt uncomfortable talking to a camera and, although Ben had found that odd initially, they’d been getting on so well, he’d accepted it – brushed his concerns under the carpet like some kind of idiot.
What terrified Ben most of all was how much he’d told this man. Henry was literally the only person who knew his actual identity that was aware of the biggest secret in Ben’s life: the fact that he was gay.
He’d known this for some time now. And although he’d been open about it to others online – even done intimate things via camera with them – that had been anonymous. He’d never shown his face or given his real name.
Meanwhile, in his real day-to-day life, with his family at home and his friends at school, he’d never uttered a word or given a deliberate hint to anyone about it. He hadn’t known how to or dared to even try, for fear of what the reaction might be.
At first Ben hadn’t been a hundred per cent sure that he was gay. He’d hoped it was just a phase that he was going through. Now, although he still felt a long way from having the confidence to come out, there was no longer any doubt in his mind – and a lot of that was down to Henry.
Their relationship had been different to all the others. Despite meeting on a gay chat room, things had never got overtly sexual between them, as they had so quickly with other guys. It had never been about the thrill and release with them. There’d been plenty of flirtation, but it hadn’t ever gone further. Something deeper had developed: a close bond – a friendship – that Ben had convinced himself might be something more. He’d even toyed with the L word in the privacy of his own mind.
God, he’d been so looking forward to this moment. He’d been nervous, of course, but only because meeting Henry in person for the first time had meant so much to him. He’d thought today might be the first time he would actually kiss another boy; have the real physical contact that he so desired.
But that was when he thought Henry was a teenager like him. Sure, he’d seemed wiser and more comfortable with his sexuality than Ben. Come to think of it, there had even been times when the tone of his voice – expressions he’d used – had sounded unusual to Ben’s ears. But he’d put that down to Henry, who was already ‘out’, being slightly older than he was – and perhaps a little eccentric. Now the truth had emerged – and it was horrifying, shattering everything that had gone before into a million little pieces. He wanted to pinch himself to check he wasn’t in a nightmare, but he knew that wouldn’t help. This was reality, right enough, and it was awful. Today was a genuine contender for the worst day of his life.
Ben had a million questions he wanted to ask Henry, but he could barely bring himself to look at him, never mind hold a conversation. It made his skin crawl to hear the voice he recognised – that he’d confessed some of his deepest, darkest secrets to – coming out of the mouth of this creepy guy he was seeing for the first time.
The photo Henry used online, of a hot seventeen-year-old Ben had hoped might be his first boyfriend, didn’t look remotely like him.
‘That’s not even a younger version of you in your photo, is it?’ he spat, remaining on his feet and sliding to the right, so the couch was no longer blocking his exit.
‘I’m so sorry, Ben,’ Henry replied, his bottom lip wobbling like a toddler.
‘So who is it in the picture?’
Henry shook his head, breathing heavily. ‘I don’t know. It was a random photo I found online. I didn’t think anyone would be interested in talking to someone like me, so I—’
‘Lied. That’s what you did. Don’t pretend it was anything else. God, I can’t believe all the personal stuff I told you. You stole that from me. You’re disgusting.’
Henry moved to get up from his kneeling position on the floor, making Ben panic. ‘Stop. Don’t come any closer,’ he said, pulling out his mobile and brandishing it like a weapon. ‘Seriously, if you do, I’ll call the police and report you. I’m sure they’d love to hear how you tricked me into visiting you; how you impersonated a teenager.’
‘No, no, please don’t do that,’ Henry said, crumbling back on to the floor, squeezing his head in his hands and rocking backwards and forwards. ‘I didn’t mean for this to happen. I wanted to tell you the truth ages ago, but I could never find the right moment. I was afraid you’d freak out.’
‘Well, you got that last bit right.’
‘I’d never do anything to hurt you. You have to know that. We had such a strong connection. I couldn’t stop myself. I felt like I was falling in love with you.’
This comment was the final straw for Ben. He’d continued to back away and there were several metres between them now. Without warning, he darted for the door. His fingers fumbled with the latch as his eyes remained on Henry, who was on his feet and moving towards him, pleading even as Ben shouted warnings for him to stay put.
Then the door was open and Ben inhaled the cool stale air of the windowless corridor. He raced back towards the lift, saw a flight of stairs and hurtled down that instead, two steps at a time, not daring to look back to see if he was being followed.
Reaching the ground floor, he tore past the lift, terrified it might open and spit Henry into his path, and headed straight for the front door.
Ben shoved both palms against the cold glass, his panicked face reflecting back at him, but the door merely rattled in place.
‘What the hell is this?’ he said, looking back over his shoulder, relieved to see that he was still alone, and then pushing the door again in desperation.
Nothing. Shit. What did this mean? Did he need a key or someone to buzz him out?
Frantically he scoured the area around the door for some clue, his eyes finally landing on a large green button on the wall. Of course. He pressed it and, without another backward glance, pushed his way out on the street and ran at full speed back the way he’d come.
Ben didn’t stop until he was several streets away, by which time he was panting and coated in sweat. Still he scanned the area around him for any sign of Henry, checking each of the dozens of faces passing by.
He changed direction and ran again, continuing this time until he reached the busy open space that was Piccadilly Gardens. Only here was he finally happy to stop – to grab a spare spot on a bench and catch his breath. He wiped his brow with the thick hair on his forearms and, despite the very public setting, couldn’t stop himself from bursting into tears.
Once he’d calmed down, Ben spotted an icy can of lemonade changing hands between a drinks vendor and a passer-by. It reminded him of how thirsty he was. He wished he could gulp it down in one. But he wasn’t going to be buying any drinks without his wallet. He didn’t even know how he would get home. So he did the only thing he could think of: he used the small amount of credit left on his phone to text Chloe, begging for help.
Back in the present, still in the car heading home, Ben finished telling Elliot and his sister the heavily edited, fictionalised version of what had happened.
‘So you went to meet this guy to buy computer parts?’ Chloe asked, screwing her face up like she wasn’t convinced by his improvisation. ‘Why didn’t you get them off eBay or something?’
‘They were crazy cheap,’ Ben replied. ‘It didn’t occur to me until I met him, stupidly I know, that they were probably off the back of a lorry. We’ve chatted a few times before on this IT forum and he’s always given me good advice.
‘I thought he was all right, but in the flesh he seemed shifty. And when I told him about having my wallet stolen, I don’t think he believed it. He started having a go at me, saying I was a timewaster and asking me to turn my pockets out to prove it, which is when I got freaked and ran out of his flat. I overreacted really, but – you know – after what I thought had happened on the bus …’
Elliot hadn’t said much so far, which Ben was glad about. He had feared he might start asking him for specifics about the made-up computer parts, which could have proved awkward. But when he did speak, it was to point out that Ben ought to be more careful meeting people from the Internet.
‘It was dangerous meeting someone you didn’t know like that, mate,’ he said. ‘Especially not telling anyone where you were going. There are some weirdos out there.’
‘You’re not going to say anything to Mum and Dad, are you?’
‘By rights, I ought to. Especially knowing what I do now.’
‘Oh, come on. That’s not fair. I only told you because—’
‘Hold your horses. I didn’t say I would, did I? Are you going to learn from what happened today and do things differently – safer – next time?’
‘Definitely.’
‘That’s good enough for me. What about you, Chloe?’
‘Sorry?’
‘I want you to learn from this too. I don’t want you making similar mistakes one day.’
‘I won’t.’
‘Good. You’ve only got one life, kids. Don’t put it at risk needlessly. Now I’m not going to lie to your parents, but if they do find out what happened, it won’t be from me. That’s my best offer.’
‘Thank you,’ Ben replied. ‘What about you, Chloe?’
She’d just received a text – as indicated by that ridiculous cat meow she insisted on using for her notification sound. After frowning at her mobile for a long moment, she turned to him with hazy eyes. ‘Sorry. What was that?’
Ben resisted the temptation to snap. ‘You’re not going to say anything to Mum and Dad, are you?’
She shook her head. ‘Of course not.’
‘That wasn’t them, was it? The text.’
‘No.’
He breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Good. Cheers, sis.’