Джоан Харрис: Blueeyedboy

Bip! It’s the sound of the mailbox. That bittersweet electronic sound. One of my friends has messaged me. I knew they wouldn’t leave me here. I knew they’d come round eventually.

I crawl back to the keyboard. I click on the symbol for message .

Someone has commented on your post!

I flick back to my most recent entry. A single line has been added there. No avatar. Just the default pic; a blue silhouette inside a square.

Post comment:

JennyTricks: NOT BAD AT ALL FOR AN AMATEUR. NOT TOO REALISTIC, THOUGH.

She ends it with an emoticon: a little winking smiley.

No way. No way! A finger of sweat runs down my spine. My stomach’s filled with broken glass. It has to be a joke, right? Nothing but a bad joke. Right from the moment she first logged on, thinking she was so clever.

Oh, please. As if I could have missed her, with that ridiculous username —

JennyTricks.

Genitrix.

And its colour is sometimes Virgin-blue, and sometimes it’s green, like market-stall baize, and it smells of L’Heure Bleue and Marlboros, and cabbage leaves and salt water —

Post comment:

blueeyedboy: Ma?

No. No. Of course not. I heard the explosion, for God’s sake. Ma isn’t coming back, not today, not ever. And even if she had escaped somehow, then why would she choose this medium, instead of simply driving home and dealing with me face to face?

No, someone’s trying to mess with my mind. My guess is Albertine . Nice try, Albertine . But I’ve been playing these games for much too long to be freaked out by an amateur.

Bip! Someone has commented on your post!

I consider deleting the message unread. But —

Post comment:

JennyTricks: SO HOW ARE YOU FEELING,blueeyedboy?

blueeyedboy: Never felt better, Jenny, thanks.

JennyTricks: Y OU NEVER COULD LIE TO SAVE YOUR LIFE.

Well, that’s a debatable point, JennyTricks . In fact I’ve survived for as long as I have by doing precisely that. Like the princess Scheherazade, I’ve consistently lied to save my life for rather more than a thousand and one nights. So, Jenny, whoever you are —

Post comment:

blueeyedboy: Tell me, do I know you?

JennyTricks: NOT AS WELL AS I KNOW YOU.

Seriously, I doubt that. But now I’m beginning to be intrigued, in spite of the pain that comes and goes like the waves under Blackpool pier. In pain . What a phrase. Like a mouse inside a bottle. In any case I’m trapped here, and rather than think about my circumstances — which, let’s face it, don’t look good — it’s easier to stay here, to grab the line that’s being offered, to keep up the dialogue, which at least is preferable to silence.

Post comment:

blueeyedboy: So, you think you know me?

JennyTricks: OH YES. I KNOW YOU.

blueeyedboy: Is that you,Albertine?

She responds with another smiley. The pixellated yellow face looks like a grinning goblin. It hurts to type, but the silence is worse.

Post comment:

blueeyedboy: Albertine? Is that you?

JennyTricks: NO, THAT BITCH IS GONE FOR GOOD.

Now I’m convinced it’s Bethan in there. How did she get Ma’s password? Where is she logging on from? It’s good she doesn’t know I’m sick. She may not even know I’m here. For all she knows I’m at the airport, logging on from the business lounge.

Post comment:

blueeyedboy: Well, it’s been fun, but I have to go.

JennyTricks: YOURE NOT GOING ANYWHERE.

blueeyedboy: Oh, but I am. I’m flying south.

JennyTricks: NOT IN THIS LIFETIME, YOU LITTLE SHIT. WE HAVE THINGS TO TALK ABOUT.

Bitch, I’m not afraid of you. In fact, I’m feeling better. I’m going to get up in a minute, pick up my bag, call a taxi and then I’ll be off to the airport. Who knows, I may even find the time to deal with those dogs before I go. Still, for the moment I think I’ll stay here, crunched up like a contortionist, keeping the pain at bay with words as it opens its jaws to swallow me —

Post comment: J

ennyTricks: YOU WAIT HERE. I’M COMING HOME. I’M COMING TO TAKE CARE OF YOU.

She’s bluffing, of course. She has no idea. But if I didn’t know better right now, I might even feel a little afraid. She has Ma’s voice down so accurately that I can feel my hackles trying to rise, and the back of my shirt is clammy with sweat. But all the same, it’s just a bluff, based on what she knows of me. She knows it’s a weakness of mine, that’s all. She’s shooting in the dark. I’ve won, and there’s nothing she can do about it —

Post comment:

JennyTricks: THINK YOU’RE SO SMART, DON’T YOU? YOU SHOULDN’T HAVE TRIED TO CHEAT ON ME. AND IF I FIND THAT YOU’VE LAID AS MUCH AS A FINGER ON ANY OF MY CERAMICS I’LL BREAK YOUR FUCKING NECK, OK?

OK, game over, JennyTricks . I think I’ve exhausted my tolerance. Places to go, people to see, crimes to commit, and all that jazz. There are plenty of opportunities for a man of my skills in Hawaii. Plenty of places to explore. Perhaps I’ll message you from there. Till then, Jenny, whoever you are —

You are viewing the webjournal ofblueeyedboy

Posted at: 05.32 on Friday, February 22

Status: restricted

Mood: scared

Listening to: Abba : ‘The Winner Takes It All’

OK. Joke over , thinks blueeyedboy . This isn’t funny any more. She knows too much about him, of course; it’s almost beginning to get to him. He stands up, though it hurts terribly. The room does one of those choppy swoops. He holds on to his desktop to keep from falling over.

Bip! That mailbox sound again. This time he ignores it. He slings his bag across his shoulder, still leaning on to the desk for support.

Bip! Another message. Someone has posted on badguysrock!

But he’s halfway across the landing now, leaning on the banister. Badguysrock is an island from which he is suddenly desperate to escape. Each step he takes is an effort, but he’ll walk out if it kills him. No crawling for blueeyedboy . He’s going to make that fucking plane —

He’s concentrating so hard that the sound of the car hardly registers, and when it stops on the driveway it takes him some seconds to react.

Police, here already? thinks blueeyedboy .

A car door slams. He hears the crunch of footsteps approaching in the snow. A door key ratchets and turns in the lock. The front door opens quietly. He hears the sound of boots on the mat. A double thud. Then the sound of bare feet across the parquet hall floor.

They found the keys. That’s all , he thinks. They let themselves in. Two detectives. He can see them in his mind’s eye: a man and a woman (there’s always one). He will be plain and businesslike; she will be kinder, more sensitive. But — why did they take their boots off, he thinks? And why on earth didn’t they ring the bell?