The Passengers(93)

‘Hello, Libby,’ Jude began and he offered her a thin smile. His tone was a combination of friendly but assertive. She had not met this version of him before.

‘How have you been?’ Jude continued but Libby wasn’t yet ready to respond. It didn’t appear to concern him. ‘I’m glad you came. Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer to sit?’ He pointed to a chair opposite him. Libby shook her head and eyed him up and down like it was the first time they had met. And in many ways, it was. This was not the man she once had feelings for; this man was a stranger. ‘You must have a lot of questions,’ he said. ‘Go ahead.’

She nodded and cleared her throat but try as she might, she couldn’t stop nerves from catching her vocal chords.

‘Of all the places you could have brought me, why did you choose this street?’ she asked.

‘We’ll get to that soon, I promise,’ he replied.

‘How long have you been following me?’

‘In person, it’s been around a couple of weeks now. Through your phone data, tracking devices, spending patterns, internet usage and your public profile, I suppose I’ve never stopped following you. Not from the night we met in Manchester, or even the months leading up to it.’

‘So we didn’t meet by chance then?’

‘No, we didn’t.’

Something inside Libby sank. She was almost disappointed to hear him admit to what she had already assumed. ‘How did you know I’d be in that pub?’

‘We had access to all your personal details, including your emails and diary.’

‘You mean you hacked into them?’

‘Yes.’

‘And when you found out where I’d be spending the weekend, you followed me?’ Jude nodded again. ‘How did you know I’d talk to you?’

‘I didn’t. I pursued you from bar to bar and I waited until after you’d had a few drinks before trying to get your attention. I knew from Facebook photos you enjoyed karaoke and your Spotify playlists told me Michael Jackson was your favourite artist.’

‘The friends you were with. Were they in on this?’

‘They weren’t my friends.’

‘I saw them. You were standing with a group of men.’

‘No, I was standing behind a group of men. I had no more of an idea who they were than they did of me. Like my driverless car, you didn’t think to question what you were seeing.’

‘Why would I? I trust people until I have no reason to. My first instinct isn’t to assume everything I hear or see is a lie. Well, at least it wasn’t until you came along. How could you be sure I’d be attracted to you?’

‘From the profiles you’d filled in when you joined online dating websites. We looked at the type of men whose pages you visited, how long you hovered over each picture, we analysed their personality traits and of course, we took a look at your ex, William. We studied your turn-ons and turn-offs, recreational interests, the online conversations you had and what qualities someone needed before you’d consider meeting them. I adapted my appearance accordingly. I cut and coloured my hair, wore contact lenses and dressed in the style of clothes you preferred your men in. I became everything you were looking for. The only thing we couldn’t engineer was chemistry. And you cannot deny we had that. When you left, I took your glass with me from the pub and did the Match Your DNA test on it to see if we were genetically designed for one another. Would you like to know the result?’

Libby’s eyes blazed with fury but she kept her fingers rigid so they wouldn’t ball into fists and reveal to Jude how violated she felt. ‘No, I do not,’ she replied through gritted teeth. Quietly, though, she was terrified she might be Matched with a psychopath. ‘The conversations we had that night, they were engineered too?’

‘Some of them, yes.’

‘Like what?’

‘Like my love of foreign films, baking and knowledge of Michael Jackson songs.’

‘But you knew all the words.’

‘My team sent the lyrics to my Smart lens and I was reading them. Then I quickly took it out as you came over to talk to me. But not everything was staged.’

‘What was genuine?’

‘My interest in what you had to say.’

Libby laughed. ‘Do you expect me to believe that?’

‘I don’t expect you to believe anything I say. But if you’re so convinced that I’m going to lie to you then why did you come here tonight?’

Libby opened her mouth, then stopped herself. She didn’t have an answer. ‘What do I call you?’ she asked instead. ‘I assume Jude Harrison isn’t your real name?’

He shook his head. ‘Continue to call me Jude, if it makes things easier.’

‘No, I want your real name.’

‘It’s inconsequential. I’m already buried so deeply in the World Wide Web that by the time you’ve left here – and should you choose to inform the police of our encounter – my real name won’t matter. They’ll be no closer to finding me.’

‘I don’t care. You owe it to me.’

‘It’s Noah Harris.’

The name felt familiar to Libby but her head was swimming with too much information to pinpoint from where.