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‘Got it,’ calls Jack. ‘So, what do you think? See anything you like?’
Chapter Twenty-Five
‘So, what’re we saying?’ asks Cate, folding her legs beneath her on the sofa. ‘Owen’s a little lying freak?’ We’re in our living room at Four, The Logans, somewhere I’ve been dying to be ever since I saw that post. Jack had to get back, a visit from his landlord, and sitting alone in the treehouse, in silence, the creaking of the trees, holding me up, I felt something just heave out of me. ‘Perhaps it was your last fuck to give,’ Cate had texted back earlier, and I’d gazed around, at the trees, at the thick, thick forest, shielded from everything beyond it, and wondered if she was right. But I think it was realising .?.?. I really don’t love Owen anymore.
There I was, in this safe, honest bubble with Jack.
And there in the centre of it, like a stain, was Owen. His profile. Beautifully curated photos, perfect captions, and all posted while his life apparently imploded because of my email .?.?. it’s like I suddenly saw it. His profile an emblem of him; how he lives his life. Perfectly fake. A story he’s peddling. And that pizza-box IT picture. He could still be telling the truth, of course, but I suddenly realised – why wouldn’t he lie? What evidence, in his life – work aside – is there, that he is the perfect, rounded and pure-hearted human being he portrays himself to be?
‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘The whole thing just left me feeling cold. His profile. It was all just so .?.?.him.’
‘And he was in a photointhe office?’ asks Cate. ‘That night?’
I nod. ‘Brazen as fuck. Him and Leona. And Fundraising Steve. This caption sayingit’s all hands on deck here tonight.And they’d ordered pizza and Iknowthey ordered pizza the night the emails were sent because I remember boxes the next day. In the kitchen. Classic IT, they never clean up.’
‘Maybe he meant he’d been in Manchester earlier in the day?’ asks Ralph measuredly. ‘Oh. I’ll take that.’ Ralph jumps from the armchair, grabs the huge mug of steaming mint tea from Cate’s hand. ‘Don’t want you moving around.’
She smiles sleepily at him. ‘Ralph, I’m fine. Really,’ she says, and he gives her the smallest of knowing smiles. A doctor at the hospital diagnosed Cate with gall-stones. She has keyhole surgery in a few weeks but has been signed off for a week for rest, and given painkillers she has taken to calling ‘her babies’ because of how much they’re helping. She’s snuggled in a blanket, her hair scooped up in a bun that would make me look like I had an onion for a head, but on Cate, it looks so neat and purposeful. I’m so glad she’s here with us. I’m so glad she’s okay. And it was the only place I wanted to be today, after driving home. Here, with Cate and Ralph, our little flat by the vast November sea.
‘Plus, there’s what Nicholas said,’ I add. ‘About him being a liar. About the flirting.’
‘Oh, don’t listen to bloody Nicholas,’ tuts Cate.
‘I know,’ I say. ‘But also, what Chloe said. She said he’s manipulative. That he .?.?. writes his own story, pushesthatnarrative. He’d told me his flat was bursting with wedding stuff, but Chloe had no idea what I was talking about.’
‘Mm.’ Ralph nods. ‘Well. It’s certainly a very interesting theory.’
‘I don’t know what to think.’ I snuggle up next to Cate. I would normally feel elated after the night and morning I had with Jack. Every time I remember it, heat zooms down my body and I feel like I need to dunk myself in ice. But I feel weirdly flat and confused, and, shamefully, almost grateful to be home, as much as it means being away from him. Because my head is jammed full. Of Jack, mostly. About the fact I like him, and he’ll be moving countries for the foreseeable and we’ll have to say goodbye. ‘Ever since I found out that someone probably pressed send themselves, and it’s probablynota glitch, and not the bloody scheduled thingy, I just feel like I’m missing something.’ What is it Chloe said? About her gut.
Cate and Ralph exchange looks. Cate giggles. She always giggles with Ralph.
‘Well, it wasn’t me,’ Cate laughs. ‘Just saying.’
I laugh. ‘A ground-breaking twistthatwould be.’
‘And are you sure it wasn’t Ralph?’ Cate grins at him. ‘Did you break in? I can just imagine you in a spy outfit. All black. Sunglasses.’
‘I once broke into work,’ he says, leaning for a cauliflower floret. He’s roasted a huge tray of them in olive oil and salt, and arranged them in a big bowl the way someone would do with popcorn. He read online that Cate should stick to alkaline foods until her surgery and has taken the information and instantly, as is the Ralph way, soaked it up and become it.
‘Did you?’ laughs Cate. ‘Well, holy shit, Ralph Nobleman.’
‘Never told anyone,’ he says, chewing. ‘Used the code for the fire door. Borrowed a jiffy bag.’
‘Is that so?’
‘And twostamps.’
Cate reacts like Ralph just told her he bent an oak tree with his own bare hands. ‘Erm. Wow. And that’s legal fucking tender.’
‘Certainly is.’ Ralph winks and we all laugh, Cate giggling into my shoulder.
‘Anyway, screw it, do you know what?’ she says, straightening and loosening her bun. ‘I would just ask Owen. Like, you’d know if he was lying, wouldn’t you?’
‘I .?.?. think so? I certainly don’t really trust him to tell me the truth.’
And slowly, Ralph smiles at that, like he’s just witnessed his own child take their first steps. He has a look on his face ofwell done, I knew you could do it.
‘What?’
