Chapter 4
Chapter Four
T he world was indeed brighter in the morning, but that was mostly because I’d forgotten to close the curtains when I went to bed last night.
I was woken at an unreasonable hour by the sunrise streaming through the big bay windows of the ground-floor studio flat I rented from Moira and Rami at mates’ rates.
I flinched at the light and pulled a pillow over my head, trying to block out the noise of the birds who seemed to be holding some kind of rave on the fence which separated my meagre patch of scrubland from the road.
I could still hear their muffled chirrups as I groaned, the shame and embarrassment of yesterday flooding back to me.
Was it acceptable to stay here hiding under my pillow for the rest of my life?
I probably would have spent the whole day like that, if my phone hadn’t pinged a couple of hours later with a message from Moira.
MOIRA
I prescribe Paracetamol, a strong coffee, and a good attitude. Thanks again for agreeing to pick up my shift today.
The text ended with a cheerful-looking emoji blowing a kiss.
I had zero recollection of agreeing to the switch.
The idea of having a duvet day seemed like a much better one, but I couldn’t let her down, especially not after she’d sacrificed her Friday night with Mr Moira to allow me to cry on her shoulder.
Normally the library was my safe haven, but I wasn’t particularly keen to return to the scene of my humiliation so soon.
What if Mr Leo Taylor, former policeman, current pain in the neck, was visiting again?
I knew I owed him an apology for the rude way I’d spoken to him, but I could do with a few days to build myself up to it first. I’d had enough of feeling vulnerable.
But I comforted myself with the thought that, as he’d been in the library every day this week, he probably had other plans for the weekend.
I just hoped those plans didn’t involve laughing at my plight with his clever-clogs mates, who’d undoubtedly never be foolish enough to fall for a romance fraudster.
I double-checked the time, then swore. I would have to forgo the prescribed strong coffee if I didn’t get a move on.
Hurrying over, I closed the curtains so I could change out of last night’s outfit, hoping that no early-morning passer-by had seen me passed out face down on my bed.
Normally in a student town it was a safe bet that nobody would be around at this time on the weekend, but the road I lived on was on the way to the university gym and the rowing teams were notorious for being up and about at stupid o’clock for training sessions.
An ultra-speedy cold shower did at least make me feel halfway human again.
I dry-swallowed the Paracetamol, then realised I didn’t even have time to dry my hair or put my contacts in.
After pulling on fresh clothes, and leaving the polka dot yellow dress crumpled up on the bathroom floor where it belonged, I jumped on my bike to get to the library.
Helmet hair was bad at the best of times, and wet helmet hair didn’t bear thinking about.
The warm spring breeze would sort that soon enough, although the result would be equally questionable.
But it wasn’t like I was trying to impress anyone anymore, and I had more important things on my mind.
The cold light of day hadn’t lessened the feeling of utter humiliation and hurt, but I was determined not to think of myself as a victim.
Instead of wallowing in the denial stage of the grieving process, I was going to make myself fast-forward to the anger stage.
And boy, was I angry; although the jury was still out on whether that rage was directed more at Brian, whoever he really was, for his deceptive manipulation, or at myself for being such a fool.
Would I ever be able to trust my own judgement again?
Once I’d opened the library and welcomed the first visitors, I plugged my phone in to charge at the front desk and navigated to the terms and conditions page of the SO Ox website.
I knew a lot of people didn’t bother to read the boring legalese before clicking to accept them, but I was not one of those people.
After I had finally acknowledged that it was highly unlikely that my Mr Darcy was going to rock up in the library or the usual places I hung out at outside of work, I’d reluctantly conceded that joining a dating app was the best way forward.
I’d gone with a popular one to start with, but found it full of bots and weirdos.
Then I did my research, figuring quality was better than quantity, and chose SO Ox instead because everything about it seemed so thorough.
The terms and conditions set out a standard of behaviour expected by members, it was an app founded in Oxford, for real people in Oxford, and most importantly, it promised to screen every single person who joined to make sure they were who they said they were.
Well, something had seriously gone wrong, then.
How had the alleged Brian James, or whatever he was really called, slipped through such an apparently watertight system?
I needed to get in touch with customer services immediately and warn them so they could take the necessary action before he could cause more harm.
As I navigated to the ‘Contact us’ section of the app, a little green dot on my screen lit up to indicate that my match was online.
I miss you. I’m sorry we didn’t manage our date last night. Are you okay? xoxo
The message flashed up before I could block him.
‘No, I am very much not okay. And neither will you be by the time I’ve finished with you, Brian bloody James,’ I said out loud in lieu of typing it. ‘You can take your xoxo and stick it up your?—’
‘That’s the spirit.’
I looked up to find Leo Taylor standing in front of me.
‘Oh’ was all I managed in response. Why did he have to be here, once again catching me at a vulnerable moment?
Didn’t he have other things to do on a Saturday?
Five-a-side football or something else equally energetic and noisy?
He struck me as being exactly the type to be grunting in Christ Church Meadow doing show-off squats or ridiculous one-hand push-ups, while the rest of the world tried to enjoy a peaceful picnic brunch in the park.
‘I wanted to check that I’m okay to go back to my usual table. I’ve not been permanently banned or anything, have I?’ he asked. To my sensitive ears, it sounded more like a pass-agg statement from a man used to getting his own way, than a question.
I pretended to be considering my answer. In truth, the decision to ban a patron was way above my pay grade, but a wicked part of me wanted to make him squirm after the ‘Kat Fisher, catfisher’ comment yesterday.
‘I’ll try to keep my feet off the furniture,’ he added, in a manner which I’m sure he thought was utterly disarming.
I glared at him, wishing I dared tell him where to go. I’d much prefer not having him around to remind me of my momentary loss of control yesterday. But I was self-aware enough to know that he was merely the convenient whipping post for my Brian James-related anger.
‘Try isn’t good enough. How about you’ll promise to keep your feet off the furniture?’ I said sternly.
‘Yes, ma’am,’ he said. His arm twitched as if he was fighting the urge to salute.
I frowned. Was he taking the mickey? Who, in the UK, said ‘ma’am’ in normal conversation?
‘Kat will do just fine,’ I said.
‘Yes, Kat. Happy to obey.’
‘Good. Because I’ll be watching you.’
‘Lucky me,’ he said, deliberately misinterpreting my comment. ‘Great chat. I’ll be over there again.’ He gestured in the direction of the business section.
‘We close at four on Saturdays,’ I responded, wishing I had a better comeback.
‘Duly noted.’
I watched him walk away with that irritatingly easy stride of his, so perfectly sure of himself. Just before he sat down, he turned to look back towards me and I quickly pretended to be checking the clock on the wall. There was no need to inflate his robust-enough ego.
Right, what was it that I’d been doing before Leo Taylor came and distracted me with his demands for attention?
Ah, that was it. The complaint to SO Ox.
I needed to get a move on. Another message from the Scammer Soldier had pinged up on the screen in the meantime, which made it clear that he hadn’t given up on trying to win me over.
I’m so sorry about the misunderstanding yesterday, hon.
I really want to explain everything to you, but I have to go through a post-mission debrief so unfortunately I’ll be out of contact for a couple of days.
Take care in the meantime, gorgeous, I’ll be thinking about you every second until we can be together at last. Speak soon xoxo.
He was sticking to the plausible excuse playbook, just as Leo had said he would.
I flashed a V sign at the screen. The sheer cheek of the guy to still be trying it on with his excessive use of pet names and flattery.
What did he take me for? How had I ever fallen for someone who ladled it on with a trowel like that?
It was so obviously dodgy now I’d woken up to reality.