I glance around at the house, which is admittedly gorgeous but currently feels like the setting of a psychological thriller. “Sure. And you do… what, exactly?”
“I run a CCTV installation business,” he says, picking at his nails like he’s just told me he works in retail. “Keeps me busy. Plus, you’d be amazed at the stuff you see when you’re setting up cameras around other people’s houses.”
I smile weakly. I don’t know whether to laugh or be slightly afraid. “Well, it’s best to be safe. That said, I don’t even have a Ring doorbell to my name.”
“Oh, I’ve thrown up CCTV all over the place here. Because you never know,” he says, with raised eyebrows.
I just nod.
Sam suddenly snorts with laughter for no reason. “So, I went to an installation job today for this guy, and his actual name was Wayne Kerr. And no, it wasn’t a fake name. His driving licence confirmed it.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “That’s tragic.”
“I mean, who in their right mind calls a baby Wayne in the first place. But with that surname too; were the parents drinking or just high on coke?”
I laugh despite myself. “I went to school with a girl called Fanny Tucker.”
Sam cackles so hard he almost spills his wine. “No! That’s not a name, that’s a warning label!”
“Swear on my life,” I say. “Her parents apparently didn’t think it through until she hit Year Seven and everyone discovered euphemisms.”
“Poor thing, that’s just child abuse,” Sam says, grinning.
“Isn’t it?!”
“So, Pete’s ex…” Sam leans forward, conspiratorial. And my heart jumps out of my chest.
Pete’sex.
“I still can’t believe his name was Chris Christianson. Like, who does that to a baby? That’s not a name, that’s a witness protection identity.”
I feel my face going red, but try to keep it cool. “Chris… Christianson? Wow…yeah… funny name.”
“I mean, it’s no Fanny Tucker, granted,” Sam adds.
I nod and smile.
There’s a momentary pause in conversation.
Don’t ask about Chris.
Don’t ask about Chris.
Don’t ask about—
“So…Chris,” I ask, as casually as I can. “What happened there then?”
Sam lies back into the sofa. “Well, I mean, he was lovely. A right doll. Blond hair, cheekbones, the works. Proper catalogue model energy.” Sam grins wickedly. “And completely allergic to this house. Couldn’t cope with James. Couldn’t cope with Pete, in the end. One day he just… poof. Gone.”
“Gone?”
Sam shrugs. “Vanished. Not a text, not a note, nada. Pete was heartbroken for weeks, cried into his cereal. It was very sad—and also very boring. Don’t recommend.”
“And you never heard from him again?”
“Never, no. Just like that, he disappeared off the planet.” There’s a moment of silence, before Sam just waves his hands dismissing the mystery which is now playing out tenfold in my head. “But that was two years ago now, so Pete’s moved on.”
Sam stretches, clearly done with the topic of Chris like he’s flicking ash off a cigarette, and grabs his wine. “Anyway. Enough ghost stories.”
