It Started With A Tweet(91)

But then it hits me.

The 1975.

Foo Fighters.

My dad’s death.

I think back to the Mail Online and how they’d ravaged my Instagram for photos to put on their website, and it dawns on me that I’d posted photos of those bands and a photo of my dad’s grave on my Instagram account. My unlocked Instagram account.

It suddenly all makes sense now. His daily walks up the hill. He’s being going to where he can get a signal to find out about us.

What an idiot. I can’t believe I was almost taken in by him, and if it weren’t for the others catching us in the act, I would have been.

‘Ladies,’ I say. ‘Hey, ladies.’

I try and pull them off each other and eventually they stop. I’m slightly worried that they’ll gang up on me, but they stroppily fold their arms and listen to what I have to say.

‘I think I’ve figured it out. Are you Facebook friends with Alexis? Or do you have Twitter or Instagram feeds?’

They both nod, rolling their eyes a little as if they couldn’t figure out the relevance.

‘Think about what you’ve got on your pages. Is there anything on there that would show Alexis about your love of Beyoncé or Daft Punk? About sailing?’

Trish suddenly starts to nod. ‘I’m always sharing what I’m listening to on Spotify.’

‘And recently I did a throwback Thursday photo of myself at a Beyoncé concert. And there are loads of photos of me sailing in the Lakes.’

They both turn to look at Alexis, who’s started to creep back towards the door, holding his hands up as if to protect his face from the onslaught he fears is to come.

‘You cannot blame me. I wanted to get to know you all. I am not here for long, and I thought it would, ’ow do you say .?.?. Plus vite.’

‘Speed things up,’ I say, guessing his meaning from what little I can remember from my French GCSE.

‘Exactly. I do like you all so much. In fact, there is no reason that we cannot, perhaps, all go out together sometime.’

‘What, after you make up that your family members have died?’ I say, shaking my head.

Jenny shrieks. ‘Did you make up your sister’s abusive relationship, too?’ she whispers in a wobbly voice, her shoulders starting to shake through the tears. ‘I haven’t let anyone get close to me in years,’ she says, and Trish wraps an arm protectively around her. ‘How did you even know about the abuse?’

Alexis looks at the floor. ‘You had liked a number of articles and blogs that follow other victims, and I suspected that was why.’

‘Do you want to thump him or shall I?’ says Trish to Jenny.

‘Oh, no, he’s all mine,’ she says, suddenly composing herself and walking slowly towards him.

The door swings open and Rosie comes out.

‘Hey, hey, hey. What’s going on?’ asks Rosie, as she pushes between the girls and stands with her back to Alexis to give him protection.

‘You should hear what he’s being doing,’ says Jenny.

‘He’s been dating us both,’ says Trish, her voice all squeaky. It’s miles away from the dulcet tones that sent me to sleep at the end of Wednesday’s yoga class.

‘And he kissed your sister,’ says Jenny, pointing the finger at me.

Rosie looks over at me and flashes a quick smile. ‘Perhaps dating is a bit more fluid in France. I’m sure he didn’t know what he was doing,’ she says, turning back to the angry women.

‘He was stalking us on Facebook. It’s darn right creepy,’ says Jenny, folding her arms as if she’s a tree standing firm. She’s not going anywhere. ‘He’s taken things that are really personal to me, and used them to get closer to me.’

Rosie flicks her head round and now it’s Alexis’s turn to get a scolding look.

‘I’m sure that he regrets what he did. But perhaps you should be flattered that he liked you enough to go to all that effort. How did he even get onto the Internet anyway?’

‘The hill walking,’ I say.

‘Oh, right,’ she says. ‘Look, I think it’s time everyone calmed down a bit. Maybe Alexis has been playing the field a little, but at least you found out before anyone got hurt, right?’

Looking at Jenny I’m not so sure that’s the case.

‘Why are you sticking up for him?’ asks Trish. ‘You’re not dating him too, are you?’

‘Of course, I’m not. I’m married,’ says Rosie.

‘Since when has that stopped people in this village? I mean, your husband’s not at the house with you, and you’re there with him day in and day out.’

‘Don’t forget Daisy’s there with us too.’

‘But she’s going tomorrow, isn’t she? How do we know that you’re not just trying to save Alexis all for yourself? It’d be all cosy, just the two of you rattling around on that dilapidated farm, curling up together by the fire.’

The wind flying through the vestibule alerts us to someone having come in, seconds before the door crashes noisily shut. I see the look on Rosie’s face and I know before turning round who’s walked in, and who’s just heard what Trish has said.

‘What’s she talking about, Rosie? Why would you be living with him at the farm when Daisy’s not there?’ Rupert’s voice is calm and measured, but I recognise the look in his eyes; it’s the same look of hurt and anger that’s in Jenny’s.