Let's not play this game
Something has to fit the puzzle, doesn’t it? But what, why, and how?
The third and final part from ‘Better luck next time’. If you haven’t read part one click here. For part two click here. Did you guess correctly?
The station’s quieter than usual, and a family sits on the bench where we first met. Two kids push and pull at each other. I can’t tell whether they are at the start of their holiday or the end of it. Either way, the parents look exhausted. I’m here much earlier than before, and there is a lot of time to kill before rush hour arrives, chased by the well-dressed herd. There’s a kiosk on the platform, it’s where I go for lunch - it’s expectedly unremarkable. While I’m there, I pick up a notepad and a pen.
The bench is empty now, and I wonder where the family’s gone. There’s a train to Frankfurt leaving in two minutes, and I assume it’s their ticket out. The kids will be fighting in Germany soon enough. My new notepad is lineless and has red and orange tulips growing on the cover. So, I start, what do I know? What are the facts?
Day one - the evening we met in person. She rushed through the crowd to get to her train and leapt over the gate to make it. But she didn’t. Then after she didn’t, what did she do? Look around and pull out her phone. Then after that, she sat down next to me. We never got close enough for her to reach my pockets. So she couldn’t have swapped my phone for a dummy. But we sat together for a good ten minutes, maybe even fifteen. Is that enough time to infect my phone wirelessly? Is that even possible? Had it been set up just before she sat down next to me. Had she meant to miss the train all along? Was the theatre of jumping the gate just an act to catch my eye?
Maybe I’m thinking about the wrong thing, I write and begin to wonder what I might have done to warrant the attention of a spy. Secrets, none. Valuable data? Nope. Unless you want to include my extensive spreadsheets of that year's Cheltenham odds or the list of Airbnb’s I want to visit one day. Who have I pissed off? Who haven’t I pissed off… I’m probably adding another name to that list as we speak, I think, realising I never called in sick like I had meant to. I suppose I could explain a day away. My ex is probably the most pissed. At least she was. Maybe that’s wrong, but she’s certainly the person most likely to hold a grudge. She went to great lengths to ‘get her own back’ after our break up. But that was months ago, almost a year. I’m not sure burning all my things was a fair response after I told her I didn’t want to move across the world with her. It’s a big ask, especially after two years. And what was I supposed to do in Shanghai anyway? If she had just thrown my things from the bedroom window into the street. I might have tipped my cap. Everyone needs a cathartic release now and again. But burning everything felt so aggressive, not to mention wasteful.
Suspects - Sophie (ex/bitch), misguided scammers? The secret service of Cheltenham race course. All governments? Who knows, maybe I have something tucked away in a file somewhere that I never knew was important. Maybe all those years of trolling people on Reddit were finally here to haunt me.
Day one, I write again, circling it for some emphasis. - She leaps the gate, checks her phone, sits next to me (not too close), and gets on a train a few minutes later. I get on my train. She sends the first message. I turn off my phone and go to sleep.
Day two - Wake up, turn my phone on, and Ross has texted. Then she replies to his text. She’s in my phone. I leave the phone at home and come to the station for rush hour. Somehow she figures that out. Did she see me yesterday, or was it a lucky guess?
Something has to fit the puzzle, doesn’t it? But what, why, and how?
What is she after? Information, I assume. But couldn’t she get that without messing with me, wouldn’t it be easier?
Why? I guess the information is valuable somehow? Or perhaps the what is the why, and she’s not after anything physical. If there's anyone who would mess with me just for the fun of it, it would be her. But saying that, I can't even imagine she has the anger in her now to sustain such a plan. She’s emotional but not unhinged. But then again, my burning jackets would argue differently. When she was here she’d worked for some data company or telecommunications. I never really understood it, and I suppose, my lack of enthusiasm helped me decide not to leave with her. Was it possible that she could... did have access to things that could hack into my phone. Into my whole digital life? Panic is setting in now, I can feel my chest swell with its energy. If I’m right and it is her, and she has, not only found a door to my phone but to all my digital world, then she’ll have a way to route money too. My messages on Instagram, Twitter and Reddit. She’ll have everything. Does she want to burn all that too?
I’m so deep in my notebook, filling page after page, that I’ve only just noticed how full the platform has become. There’s something in me telling me to move. I’m sitting in the one place she’ll be looking. The kiosk is busy now, filled with tired-looking eyes scanning the shelves for something to carry them home or soothe them on their journey. But from here, tucked among the padded shoulders and backpacks, I have a view of the platform. And more importantly, a sightline of those coming through the ticket gates.
She’s got fifteen minutes.
“Can I help sir?” The man behind the counter asks me.
“I’m just looking,” I say, not taking my eyes off the platform.
“Sir if you aren’t buying something, can you move to the platform? The shop is very small.”
“Oh yeah, sorry,” I say, picking up a couple of Mars bars. “Just these for me please.”
“Anything else?” There’s a coffee machine behind the counter, so I ask for one. He’s slow, giving me some valuable minutes. Then as he’s asking me whether or not I want a lid, I see her. There’s a sparkle among the stomping feet. It continues past the kiosk, then past the bench and now it’s out of sight.
“Keep the coffee,” I say, and follow her direction around the corner.
She’s dressed differently, apart from the silver-tipped knee-high boots. It’s her first mistake, a sign her guard has been lowered. I want to call Ross but realise he has my phone. She’s different too, and now she looks like someone I’ve seen before. Like a face from a dream, too far from consciousness to name. I’m unsure what to do or even what I can do. A part of me wants to run up to her, pull her shoulder and confront her. But the more conservative side wins the battle, and I elect to follow. She’s made her way along the platform to the other side where the train to Frankfurt once waited. I glance at the timing board and see there’s a train heading to Brussels in thirty minutes, but it’s not here yet. I’m hidden between a loose huddle of commuters and a tight group of boys not too much younger than myself. They're swapping videos from Tiktok, each one bringing more noise than the last. Every so often, she checks her shoulder or uses the reflections in the windows to check her surroundings, but she hasn’t seen me... not yet. Her hair's most definitely blonde, I note before looking away quickly. She’s on her phone again, but that doesn’t tell me much. Everyone around me is on their phone, and they can’t all be spies out to steal the secrets not even I know I have. I’m watching the time board again when I feel her tap me on the shoulder. The boys next to me have gone quiet, expecting something unusual, or maybe you’ve run out of ten-second videos to watch.
“Come and sit down, would you?” She is saying, and I can’t quite believe it.
“You knew I was here?”
“Of course, you brought two Mars bars from the kiosk.” That was silly.
“But how do you know that?”
“How do you think I know?”
“Please, let’s not play this game again.”
“But it’s my favourite,” she replies, smiling too much for someone with sanity.
“Can you just tell me what you want?”
“What makes you think I want anything? You know, you never guessed my profession.”
“If you don’t want anything, why are you torturing me like this? And yes, I know.”
“I’ll give you one more guess, if it’s a good one, I’ll tell you. And don’t be so dramatic, we’re just having fun.”
“Fun? This is your idea of fun?”
“Well, it’s more interesting than your typical weeks. Trust me I’ve seen what they look like. I thought I was boring, but you take the biscuit.”
“I guess it’s all about perspective.”
“And you have the perspective of what? A celibate pub drinker with one friend?”
“That’s a bit specific.”
“Look, I know you what to know what I do and why I am ‘torturing’ you, so stop being so melodramatic. I’ll give you three guesses.” I sigh as loudly as I ever have and pull out the tulip-covered notebook.
“Oh fancy. So you got more than Mars bars? What’s in there, your moody poetry?” I flick to the second page, the one with my second attempt scribbled all over it. I only have two guesses at this point. Maybe three, but the third is a wild one. “Well, at least I’ve made you think.”
“Are you a spy?” I ask, looking into her eyes, watching for a tell. I’ve read somewhere that liars look left, but I suppose, if she was a spy, she’d know that too.
“Flattered, you really do think highly of me.” She said, looking straight at me.
“Do you work for the phone company? Any of them.”
“Oooh, I like that guess. You’re on the right lines. Better make this last one count.”
The train to Brussels pulls in. The first-class carriage stops right in front of us, and I watch its passengers step onto the platform as I think of my last guess. It was going to be a friend of Sophie’s, but she had none outside of work. The boys next to us start walking further down the platform, looking for carriage 10. They’ve got a long walk.
“So?” She says, impatiently. An idea comes to me, and I trust it.
“You work for the data agency. And you’re just a bored employee with access.”
“Why so sure? And that doesn’t explain why I’d pick you?” Now I’m filling in the gaps and adding colour. It’s a picture I recognise, I've seen it before among twinkling lights and glasses of red wine.
“Did we meet at a Christmas party in the city?
"You remember."
"I told you I was in a relationship, and you said…”
“... as soon as you’re not, I’ll come and find you.”
“I thought you were joking.”
“I was, but after a few months, I saw you here and wondered if I could find you. So I went looking. Your idea of internet privacy is laughable, so it wasn’t difficult.”
“But how?”
“Can’t tell you anything I’m afraid. I crossed a few lines to get to you, and while I might be bored sometimes, I like my job.”
“Who wouldn’t like a job like that? So you know everything about me?”
“Not everything. But I know a lot, some things I wish I didn’t.” My cheeks feel hot now, and I pull my eyes away from her and flick them around the station. The platform's empty again, and the train to Brussels is about to leave.
“Like my boots?” She asks, and now everything seems sinister. I think about last month when I was searching for horse riding lessons. Not that I wanted to learn, but I had met a woman who worked at a stable close by. She’d given me her number, and I’d never called back.
“They’re nice. Did you get them especially for me?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“That’s normally the purpose of a question.”
“Don’t be like that.”
“Like what?”
“Defeated. Upset. Angry.”
“I’m one of those things.”
“And what good will it do you? Do you remember the end of that night?”
“Not really, I’d been drinking a lot,” I lie. I never drank a lot at work events. Okay, I was a little drunk, but I had by no means been 'drinking a lot'.
“Well I do, and we went outside at one point. You were talking about your ex. By the way, she got fired a few weeks ago.” I look up, moving my eyes from the floor to her lips.
“And?”
“Nothing, I thought you’d be interested.”
“I’m not.” I was, and I was trying hard not to smile.
“Well, anyway. When we were outside, you told me it was crazy
for her to expect you to move across the world for her.”
“It was.”
“I agree, plus you never liked her.”
“True.” She didn’t have to go digging that much to learn that.
“Anyway, when you said that, I thought, this is a guy I wouldn’t mind being with.”
“Why?”
“Because every other man I’ve met would have started talking shit about her. Then you sealed the deal for me.”
“When?”
“At the end of the night, you honestly don’t remember?” I did.
“Nope.”
“I tried to kiss you, and you told me even though you weren’t moving across the world with your girlfriend, you still had one.”
“So you waited a year and came to find me?”
“Something like that. There’s a lot of in-between, but you’ll have to buy me a drink for that story.”
“Buy you a drink?”
“Yeah, you’re good for it. I’ve seen your bank account.”
“You have!”
“No. I mean, I could, but I haven’t.”
“So that’s it. The big reveal. You’re just someone I met at a Christmas party, and you work for some data company?”
“I don’t appreciate the just, but yeah. Disappointed?”
“A little.”
“So, what about that drink?”
Love, Luke