“Noted.” I study his handsome, strong-jawed face as he checks down the street.
“The house you came out of, is that…?” I begin, without knowing where the question ends, because I’m not even supposed to know what he does for a living.
He winces before answering.
“Yeah, mine,also. I’m doing a complete gut-out renovation on this one. My design and I’m project-managing. I’m an architect by trade.”
I do not need to feign surprise at learning his occupation because I am genuinely surprised that Matt ownstwohouses in this neighborhood. “Wow, oh, that’s great,” I hear myself say.
“This one is bigger than my place on Northcroft,” he clarifies, clearly embarrassed to have to be explaining this shocking excess. “The period details in this one are insane. My sister and brother-in-law are going to buy my old house once I’ve finished this one. Planning and permits took forever, but most of the structural stuff is complete now so…”
Matt can afford two houses and full structural renovations. I try not to have a visible response to this.
“Oh, that’s great, so you’ll just move out of Northcroft Road and in here when that place is ready?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
I nod. He doesn’t know that I already know everything the internet can tell me about him, among them his degree results, a first in architecture from the University of Edinburgh, and his childhood dog, who died when he was at uni—Purdy, an energetic-looking brown-and-white springer spaniel.
“Well, I’d love to see the new place sometime,” I throw out. His embarrassment over the houses has weirdly afforded me more confidence.
“Yeah, sure.” He flashes that boyish, white-toothed smile. “I’m a few months away, but sure. Coffee this weekend, though, yeah?”
As I walk away, I try not to question too deeply why this man wants to get to know me so keenly. He has a family, a busy career, a house renovation, and while I totally get—and support—the idea that men and women can be friends, I struggle to think of a single straight male friend I’ve had who didn’teventuallytry to sleep with me.
But Matt doesn’t feel like a cheater, and since Ben fooled me, I have become a bit of an expert on that sort of thing.Matt isn’t Ben,I tell myself. And that is that.
—
When I get to the chic, almost Soviet-style 1960s Formica-clad coffee shop I had in mind, I order a coffee served in a ceramic canteen mug and slide into a quiet booth.
Everything around here is curated. It has a theme, a mood board, will have been researched and sourced and is no doubt run remotely by artistically but also commercially minded people dressed in pieces from Dover Street Market or repurposed from Daddy’s old wardrobe. I should hate it here, but I love it. It all looks so good, tastes so good, feels so good to be on the inside of, now that I am on the inside of it.
I pull out my laptop, slip on my headphones, and bring up the footage file from Blue’s collar.
I click on the bleary thumbnail, and it occurs to me that I might get a look through some of the windows of the other houses on my street, and certainly their backyards. I angle the screen away from potentially prying eyes.
I can see who has the nicest house. I can see who has a messy garden.
I can get to know the people who live around me, even if I never actually seem to see them in real life.
I realize, with an illicit thrill, how much more interesting this might turn out to be. The thought is delicious. I might see inside the movie star’s house; I might finally see Matt’s partner, beautiful and sparingly bejeweled, cashmere-clad, and as lithe as I imagine her. The feeling intensifies and shifts.
Filming people in secret does sound like it might turn out to be illegal. Maybe a little.
I scan the coffee shop. No one is looking. No one is interested in what I might be doing. I angle the screen away a little more. I press play.
Chapter 11
Cat Camera
Green flashes. We are atgrass level, a strobe of it whipping as we travel fast.
There is no sound.
Edging the shot, above, is Blue’s blue-gray chin as it bounces in and out of view.
We stop suddenly: an old moss-covered brick wall blocks our way. We tilt up; it ishigh.
