My blood chilled. How did she know I’d moved?
The comment was on a post from the estate agents who sold me the house. They’d tagged me in a cheery smiling house photo with the message:
We hope you love your new home!
I probably missed the box to opt out when I skimmed the contract. I quickly untagged myself and hoped the damage was limited.
I watched the road outside the window, suddenly feeling eyes on me.
This was the worst thing about the internet. No matter how far you travelled, no matter how quiet you stayed, you couldn’t get lost anymore. I’d read about missing persons groups on Facebook. About how they’re causing problems for people genuinely trying to disappear. Adult children. Abused partners. Special witnesses. Folk just trying to start over where no one knows who they are or where they’ve been or what they’ve done. My fresh start, my transformation, would be in jeopardy if I was found out as the person I am—was. If I wasn’t careful, that would be the ‘me’ here too.
My reflection in the window stared back at me.
There’s the person you think you’re going to be. And then, poof, there you are. Undeniably you, for better or worse.
No. I couldn’t let that happen.
I deleted my old friend’s comment, blocked her, then slammed my laptop shut.
The noise echoed around me. The slam had been a bit more forceful than I’d intended. It took a moment for the high-pitched tone in my ears to settle long enough for me to notice the rest of the café had gone silent. I looked around. The young women behind me turned away suddenly, eyes averted to their coffees and cakes, mouths curling up a little at the corners, eyebrows raised. The woman who’d taken my order huffed and went back to her work. I saw myself as they must see me, hands shaking, muttering at my laptop, body practically humming with residual frustration.
Uh-oh, watch out for the crazy lady.
My cheeks felt hot. Oh God, I was going to cry.
Before embarrassment could completely take me over, I quickly packed up my things, keeping my head ducked down. I ripped my phone from its charger on the third try. Only thirty-seven per cent charged. That wasn’t going to last me a day. I left with my inadequately charged phone before I caused another scene.
I was out on the street before I realised I’d left my macaroni pie.
CHAPTER 7
I stood on the pavement and gave myself a moment to breathe.
That could have gone better.
Maybe it was a little soon to be diving into the community. Maybe a walk along the riverbank would help. Yes, calm down, get my bearings first.
I wandered back up toward the war monument next to the river. It was made of worn stone in the shape of a Celtic Cross. Two scuffed plastic planters sat at its base, holding half a dozen battered pansies. The flowers’ pathetic, wilting petals looked how I felt. I frowned at the sorry display. I’d assumed a nice village like this would put a bit more effort into their flowers. It was nothing like the cheery hanging baskets and window boxes I’d imagined. Perhaps I could volunteer to help out with flowers around the town. Maybe I could even—
“BRAH!”
The noise knocked me sideways. Nerves jangled, I stumbled into the road. A mud-splattered jeep swerved around me, horn blaring. I leapt back onto the pavement, very nearly falling over my own feet. My hands flapped uselessly in front of my face.
Laughter erupted from the monument.
Adrenaline abating, I turned to the sound. The gaggle of teenagers I’d seen go by the café were gripping their sides, teeth flashing, mouths wide and red. One held up her phone, filming me, her other hand hidden inside her sleeve, stifling the laughter that escaped the sides of her mouth like air from a balloon. The owner of the bark that had sent me careening into the road—a boy, barely out of his rompers—watched me with his hands in his pockets and a self-satisfied grin plastered on his smug face.
“Sorry,” he said, barely hiding a smirk. “Didn’t see you there.”
I stared at them, dumbfounded.
The boy frowned, all faux-concerned.
“You didn’t wet yourself, did you, pal?”
The high-pitched tone filled my head as a heat filled my belly and creeped up my chest and into my arms and throat.
“Oi!” A hoarse, angry voice called out from the doorway of the large pub.
