Obesssion (8 page)

All the same, I had another two reluctant ticks to add to my list. Today was supposed to be a day off, yet she claimed to be working. I’d check her mileage when she came home since I’d already noted what it read the day before. And more telling, I’d found her rings, abandoned on the dressing table. She normally took them off at night, but she usually put them back on in the morning.

For some reason today, she didn’t want to advertise the fact that she was married.

4.5 Josh

Suki was terrified of me, or something about me. Fear and stress rolled off her in waves so tangible I could practically touch them. I sat down to make myself appear less threatening, tried to avoid staring at her and struggled to keep my hands to myself. She’d melted so delightfully into my arms just a short time ago, yet now, I was akin to the bogeyman. I was confused.

I’d seen her swaying, her legs crumbling beneath her, and I’d run across the sand to help. But right this minute, I wasn’t sure what to do.

Abruptly, I sensed a change and snuck a look. Her eyes were locked on the horizon, her emotions subsiding to a hot swirl of embarrassment.
“I saw you earlier, I’m apologising for
that
. I was half asleep.”

I fought the grin threatening to escape.
“Oh. I didn’t mind.” It didn’t explain her gut-wrenching fear though.

“
I’m married. I don’t make a habit of crying on strange men.”

“
I should hope not.” I kept my voice light and teasing, hoping she’d smile at me. Instead, as she waved her left hand at me, she pulled a face.

“
Damn, I left my rings at home.” Her eyes met mine now, brown and warm. Anxious. “Can we forget it? Please?”

I had no wish to upset her any further.
“Sure.” I gave what I hoped was a reassuring nod. “Do you feel better now? Should we go and find Anita?” She hesitated. I tried again, at my most charming. “We’re just ships passing in the night, or rather, the middle of the afternoon. I doubt if I’ll ever have the opportunity again, but if I did,” I slipped in a cheeky grin, “we wouldn’t be strangers anymore, anyway.”

Her lips were curving up at the edges, and I pressed on.
“So if you ever need a shoulder to cry on again—which I’m sure you won’t—you’ll know I am qualified for the task.”

“
Hmmm. Do strange women cry on you often?”

“
Absolutely.” I gave a firm nod. “All the time. It gets embarrassing in Tesco. Droves of ‘em.”

This drew a tentative giggle.
“So how do you train for something like that? Do you have lots of sisters?”

“
Yep,” I lied. “Three sisters. My shoulders have been constantly damp for, oh, the past ten years or so.”

At last, she laughed, relaxing more by the minute.
“Well, thank you for the kind service you provided. It was much appreciated.” Dimples flashed briefly as a smile lit up her face. I caught my breath.

From cute to beautiful in the space of a heartbeat.

“Anita called you Mr. Summers?” It was a question. I smiled back.

“
Call me Joe.” I had to think for a moment which name I’d given Anita. “Do you, ah, live round here, too?”

“
No, I’m just visiting.” She hesitated a moment. “I’m Suki.”
I know
, I wanted to reply. Sensibly, I kept my mouth shut. She peered into the distance, hands restless in her lap, abandoned shoes on the sand. “Here comes Anita now, with Jon. I’ll go and reassure them.”

I scrambled to my feet before she could get up, and held out a hand towards her. Doubt clouded her eyes and she hesitated before taking my outstretched fingers for the briefest moment, releasing me as soon as she was upright again. It was enough. I felt her confusion and some unidentified worry, along with an easing of her tension. Something else, too, dazzling and sweet
—the moment our fingers met, she recalled me holding her, and longed for my touch again.

It gave me enough of an excuse to tuck her hand through my arm after I’d picked up her shoes.
“I’m used to carrying shoes and bags. Sisters, remember?”

Anita’s worried face cleared a little as she ran up to us, her sportsman husband by her side, their daughter held securely in his back harness.
“Suki! Are you feeling okay?”

I read her embarrassment as she tried to placate her friend.
“I just felt faint, I’m fine, really. I’m sorry for worrying you.” She smiled at the man. “Hello again, Jon.”

For the moment, I’d been forgotten. I listened to them fussing over Suki, and reminded myself that I was here to see Anita, that I was being paid to spy on her. I tried to focus on
her
instead of the girl tucked into my side, but it was hard. On the surface though, Anita’s body language was normal around her husband, affectionate, loving and relaxed. They touched each other, mirrored their positions and smiled constantly. I’d be very surprised if this was a marriage on the rocks, and I’d seen a few; I knew what to look for.

Jon spoke to me.
“Would you like to come back for a coffee?” His open smile looked genuine, Anita’s a little more guarded. I accepted.

Strolling along, our arms still linked, Suki found her tongue and started tossing questions at me. Too late, I remembered she interviewed people for a living. I struggled to keep up with her rapid-fire technique.

I’m here on holiday.

I bought the cowboy boots while on business in Texas. I think of them as my lucky boots.

Yes, I like children.

I’m good with babies, probably because I have three nieces. Umm, Tara, Julia and Candy.

She stopped momentarily and looked up at me, eyebrows raised and with a broad smile. “How bizarre! Two of my closest friends are called Tara and Julia. I don’t know anyone called Candy though. Is that a nickname?”

Damn
. Those names had popped into my head, and now I knew where they’d come from. “Umm, yeah. Candy’s not her real name.” I groped for another name, a sensible one. “It’s really Susan.”

If her eyebrows shot any higher, they’d take off. She laughed, it sounded a little nervous.
“That’s
my
real name. Suki is just what everyone calls me.” I could have kicked myself. I had to make do with a casual shrug and a smile. The interrogation continued.

I’m here on my own. I just split up with my girlfriend, Danielle. She went back to her ex.

We’d only been together a few months. It wasn’t serious.

I’m a writer. Freelance. Computer game reviews mainly.

Lying well takes skill. I’d been doing it successfully for years, mainly by sticking closely to one particular version of the story. Today though, I found myself peppering the conversation with fragments of the truth. The grey mansion that looked so familiar. The remembered photograph. By this time, we’d arrived at a pretty stone-built cottage and I didn’t know whether to feel relieved or disappointed at the interruption.

4.6 Gabe

The Geek flashed his feral smile at me again. I half expected to see a sharp pair of canines protruding from his lips. It was with a smug face that he handed over a small USB memory stick with Suki’s laptop, along with a thick bound document.

“I’ve copied all the data to this stick, and printed copies of most things, the emails and that, to make it easier for you to go through.”  I nodded, impatient.

“
Did you find any evidence of the chatrooms?”

“
Yep, just the one though, and only accessed three times. I’ve included printed transcripts of all three sessions. You’ve also got email addresses and passwords for Outlook and Hotmail. I couldn’t find any other accounts in use. And I don’t normally do this, but seeing as you paid extra, I spent some time configuring the keystroke logger.”

He had my full attention now. I gestured for him to continue.
“Yeah, I’ve set a number of triggers—codewords that it’ll look for. Chatroom. Hotmail. Email. If the logger encounters them, it saves the outputs into a separate file. This makes it easier to sift through, otherwise the data can look a bit meaningless. To non-IT people, that is.” He smirked a little, but I didn’t rise to his comment. I was too pleased at the weight of information I now held in my hands and I couldn’t wait to get home to start reading.

The first things I looked for were the chatroom transcripts. They were shorter than I’d anticipated and rather puzzling.

Suki’s user name was strange:
Obsession27
. And she spoke to the same person each time,
B.Brunheim
, later referred to as
Babs
.

In the first one, a few months ago, she apologised for leaving it so long between sessions and explained that she’d been thinking about Antony again. Feeling guilty about him.

I paused, stared at the name. I’d seen that name—that spelling of it—somewhere else. Flicking back a few pages, I found Suki’s Hotmail account details. Her password was Antony1988. Who the hell was Antony? I did some math in my head. Suki would have only been five in 1988, too young for a boyfriend. Unless that was his birth date? Did she have a boyfriend five years younger? A toyboy? I blinked, read some more.

Her chat-partner
Babs
suggested that she talk to her mother, a proposal quickly rejected by Suki.

Obsession27
: My mother is the one person I
cannot
talk to about Antony.

B.Brunheim:
Until you talk to her, you’ll never know the truth. If that’s what you seek, you need to be prepared to ask the hard questions. Either that or simply accept what you know, and move on.

Obsession27:
The weight of guilt is too heavy. Every time she looks at me she thinks of Antony.

B.Brunheim:
Who else knows about him?

Obsession27
: Just my father. I have no other close family. My husband has no idea.

Those five words leapt out at me and I recoiled in horror. The session finished a few lines later, after more virtual hand-wringing from Suki. I ran a highlighter pen through the phrase
My husband has no idea
, slowly expanding it to encompass the entire chat session.

I needed a drink before I read any more.

The next session was dated a couple of weeks later, but it became clear that Suki had been talking to Babs in-between. She must access the chatroom from another computer, quite possibly the one at work. The script was longer, it ran to almost a page and a half, but most of it looked mundane—Suki grumbling about not sleeping well and being stressed at work. I scanned over it, pausing when she mentioned panic attacks.

Obsession27
: I had another panic attack this evening. I thought they were under control, but obviously not.

B.Brunheim:
Did you use the techniques we talked about in our last session?

Obsession27
: Yes. I breathed into a paper bag and concentrated on relaxing. It wasn’t too bad. I didn’t actually get hysterical, although it was close.

B.Brunheim:
Do you know what triggered it this time?

Obsession27
: I’d been talking to my father. And I’d had an argument with my husband.

B.Brunheim
: Was it a combination of the two things?

Obsession27:
I don’t know. I get so scared sometimes. I feel as though the walls are closing around me. And I think about my mother and it terrifies me, completely and absolutely, that it will happen to me.
Oh God
, I’m getting panicky now even thinking about it. I need to go and do something else. I’m sorry, Babs.

B.Brunheim:
Take it easy Obsession27. You’re quite safe. You can quit this session any time you like. Now take a deep breath. Are you still with me?

Obsession27
: Yes.

B.Brunheim
: I’m going to give you some exercises to work through. I want you to schedule another session with me for next week and report back on how you’re progressing.

I scanned over the last few lines, puzzled and curious. Panic attacks. The walls closing in. Was she claustrophobic? That was easy enough to check. This mysterious Antony was another matter. Who the fuck was he? And what business did he have with my wife?

I read the text about her mother again, and frowned. I barely knew her. Martha Hubbard was a shadowy figure on the edge of our lives. Perhaps it was time to change that.

4.7 Suki

I sang along to the radio as I drove home in the evening sunshine. In complete contrast to my wretchedness this morning, I now felt relaxed and confident, almost happy. I pondered this shift in mood as I cruised along the deserted A55 through North Wales. Was it more evidence that I’d started the violent mood swings I’d seen in Mum? Or was there a more simple solution? That I’d had a good day spent with friends, people who made me feel relaxed and enjoyed my company. And I’d flirted with a cute guy. I blanked the memory of him holding me. I’d been half-asleep—that didn’t count.