Chapter Twenty-Seven
Allie
I’m not sure what I expect when I enter the computer room.
Fanfare maybe. Some relief we’re together.
But, instead, it’s like walking into – something.
Something we aren’t yet privy to. Iris is standing excitedly, straight-backed, hands behind her back, and Jameson is nibbling on a fingernail, his eyes wide and eager.
‘Well, hello, you two.’ Iris beams. ‘Take a seat.’
She’s arranged two computer chairs beside each other.
This place always feels like a classroom, but it feels even more like it now.
A teacher’s classroom before a scolding.
Or before they tell you you’ve won a maths competition and get to watch a DVD on the TV on wheels as a prize. I’m not quite sure right now.
Milo and I sit down next to each other. Milo, like a schoolboy, is already laughing.
Jameson starts giggling too, but he seems nervous, both hands in a prayer at his lips.
Jameson’s computer, I notice, is connected to a larger screen on the wall.
I admit, it’s quite difficult to focus. My body feels as though it’s still in the bedroom, pressed against Milo.
Iris looks at me and wrinkles her nose. I know that look.
It’s a knowing sort of look. I’ve seen it a lot in our friendship, ever since we met in our second university year.
Birthdays. Got-the-gossip coffee dates. Post-date rundowns.
And I suddenly feel wobbly and uneasy. Exposed.
There’s something in the atmosphere of the room.
They’re smiling, but there’s a strange foreboding.
Something . . . isn’t right. Or is that just anxiety?
I’m not well acquainted with it, but it’s been a strange few days, and I am exhausted.
Fieldwork like Cote Rock leaves most feeling emotional.
Milo and I look at each other, and Milo leans in. ‘Oh dear,’ he whispers. ‘Are we about to get the talk?’
Jameson guffaws. ‘Waaay too late for that, I’d say, eh, mate? For you.’
Milo’s clearly amused, but I feel glued to the seat. There’s something weird going on – like the sudden change in the air that happens the seconds before the lights go down at a gig.
Then, there it is.
Jameson types.
And on the screen blinks a web page.
It’s our leak. It’s all our messages. Muscle memory means at the sight of them, my body instantly reacts as if it’s that time again. My limbs stiffen, my heart plummets . . .
Jameson stands and folds his arms. He blows a long breath that ruffles his hair. Iris joins him. ‘I guess . . . We’ve got something to tell you. Right?’
‘Right,’ says Iris. ‘Do, erm, you want to start?’