Page 66 of The Friend Request

Jeff doesn’t even hesitate when I knock on his door at half nine in the morning and ask if I can borrow his car. He reaches behind him to the hook on the wall and hands me the keys before I’ve finished explaining why I need them. Just like that. No questions, no conditions, no fuss. He tells me it’s the green Land Rover in the yard, that the clutch sticks in third, the heating only works if I thump the dashboard, and that the petrol station on the way into town does a decent pasty if I’m hungry.

‘Take your time,’ he says. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

The collie watches me from the step, its head tilted. I cross the yard. Jeff raises a hand from the doorway as I reverse out of the gate, and I feel a stab of something warm and painful because I can’t remember the last time someone trusted me this easily. No suspicion. No checking. Just keys on a hook and a tip about the clutch.

The car smells of dog, hay, and engine oil – and the seat is pushed so far back my feet barely reach the pedals. I adjust the mirror, find the biting point, and pull out on to the lane. The cottage disappears behind me within thirty seconds, swallowed by the hedgerows and the curve of the hill, and for the first time in nearly a week I’m going somewhere.

The drive takes twenty-five minutes. The lanes are narrow and wet, and I have to reverse twice for oncoming tractors. The Land Rover handles like a wardrobe on wheels, but I don’t care. I’m moving. The world is getting bigger with every mile – more houses, a postbox, a farm shop with a blackboard sign, a bus stop that means people actually live out here and catch buses and go to work and do normal things. By the time I reach the town, I feel as if I’ve surfaced from underwater.

The town is small. One high street, a Co-op, a chemist, a charity shop, a café with steamed-up windows, a war memorial, a car park behind the church. Nothing remarkable. Nothing I’d look twice at in Keynsham. But right now it looks like civilisation itself. I find a spot in the car park and sit with the engine off, just looking at people. A woman with a pushchair. Two men in hi-vis jackets outside the pub. A teenager on a bike, no helmet, swerving around a bin. People. Unremarkable, beautiful people doing normal things within sight of each other.

I pull my phone from my coat pocket.

This is what I came for. This is the real reason I knocked on Jeff’s door, borrowed his car, and drove twenty-five minutes through lanes I don’t know – not the food, not the fresh air, not the change of scenery. The phone. The signal. The need to know.

Three bars. Strong and steady, the little icon sitting in the corner of the screen like a gift.

I unlock it, my hands trembling. I’m bracing for the grey bubbles, the unknown number, the filth and the threats, and Olivia’s name in a stranger’s mouth. I’m ready for it. The readiness has become its own kind of exhaustion – a permanent flinch, a held breath that never gets released.

I look at the screen.

Nothing.

No new messages from the unknown number. No photo. No threats. Nothing from Ross, nothing from any number I don’t recognise. Just two texts from my mobile provider about my data allowance and a promotional email from a stationery company I ordered from once three years ago.

I breathe. It comes out shaky and too loud in the quiet of the car. I press my hand to my chest and sit there, just breathing, my pulse slowing from a gallop to a canter to something approaching normal. No messages. He hasn’t sent anything.

Maybe it’s over. Maybe he’s stopped. Maybe he’s bored, or frightened, or whatever it is that makes men like that move on to their next obsession. Maybe the silence isn’t a tactic, isn’t a trap, and is just – silence. The unremarkable absence of a person who’s decided to leave me alone.

I don’t quite believe it. But I let myself sit with the possibility for a minute.

Then I call Alex.

He picks up on the third ring.

‘Kim.’

Not hello, not how are you, just Kim, said in that quiet, careful voice he uses when he’s not sure what’s coming next. I close my eyes, press the phone against my ear, and listen to him breathe, and the sound of it makes my throat close so tightly I have to swallow twice before I can speak.

‘Hi,’ I say. ‘I borrowed a car. I’m in a town – I don’t even know what it’s called. There’s a Co-op and a church and actual phone signal.’

A pause. ‘How are you?’

‘I’m all right. I’m – I’m okay. How’s Olivia?’

‘She’s fine. She’s good, actually. Mum’s taken her shopping in Leicester today. New trainers, apparently. She’s been angling for the expensive ones, and I think Mum’s going to cave.’

I laugh. ‘Of course she is. Your mum’s never said no to that girl in her life.’

‘I know, and it’ll be my problem. As usual.’

There’s a smile in his voice. I can hear it – faint, cautious, but there. He’s not performing or pretending for my sake. Something in the past few days has softened things between us, just enough that we can talk to each other without every sentence carrying the weight of what I did.

‘Has she asked about me?’ I say.

‘Every day. I told her you’re doing some work for a client in Wales and the signal’s terrible. She said that sounded boring and asked if she could have a hamster when you get back.’

‘A hamster?’