@Kindlebooksandbargains: Your address has been shared on some scummy forum, Harper. Be safe!
10
In my haste to call Lily, I drop my phone twice before managing to keep hold of it long enough to dial. Breathlessly, I explain the situation.
‘Doxxed?’ Lily screeches down the line.
‘Yep. Our address was shared on some incel forum, apparently.’ I hold the phone close to my ear and peep through the curtains looking for – what? An angry mob? A lone guy with a dead-eyed gaze? ‘Is doxxing done mostly to inspire fear? Because if so, it’s working. Or do those creepy types only come out when it’s dark so they can hide out more efficiently?’ I don’t know whether to save my panic for later, or if I need to be alert 24/7.
Lily exhales a long breath. ‘It’s always the incels. Do you feel safe though, Harper? Do you want me to come home?’
‘No, I’m fine. It’s just disturbing. And now you’re caught up in this because of me?—’
‘I’m not caught up in it, Harper. They don’t know who I am. They know who you are and what you look like from photos on your Bookstagram though and that worries me.’
It’s strange to think I’ve never once worried about sharing personal photos online, until now. I’ve made it easy for these creeps to track me down with all the clues on my page. There’s a veritable treasure trove of information of all the places I tag in my posts – from my local Costa to the park I spend lazy days on a blanket with a book. The cheap and cheerful café where Lily and I enjoy boozy Sunday brunches. Even the front of our apartment building where I take book pics because they look so aesthetically pleasing up against the historic architecture.
‘I’m sure it’s more of an intimidation thing.’ I hurry to reassure Lily. ‘And anyway, no one can get upstairs without the door code and our apartment is like Fort Knox.’ Lily takes safety seriously so we have not one, but three deadbolts, which I once thought was overkill and the product of her reading too many thrillers but am now grateful for.
‘Be careful if you go out.’
Just as I’m about to reply our door buzzer goes.
‘Oh God,’ Lily says. ‘Don’t answer it.’
‘I’d rather know who it is.’
‘OK, answer it while I’m on the phone so I can get help if you need it.’
I press the buzzer. ‘Yes?’
There’s no response but the buzzer goes again and again.
‘Someone is out there, trying to scare me. And spoiler alert. It’s working.’ It’s not a ring camera, just an old-school buzz and chat doorbell that services all the apartments. Ours has a cute cat sticker with our names on it.
‘Turn the volume down so you don’t hear it and definitely don’t engage. It could be kids playing Ding, Dong, Ditch. We’ve had that before…’ Her tone suggests she knows it’s not kids playing silly games but her way of trying to ease my anxiety.
‘Yeah. Can you pull the sticker off with our names when you come home? I don’t want to walk down there.’
‘Sure. Call the police if you see anyone hovering out the front, Harper. I mean it. I’ve got two client meetings and then I’m coming home. Or maybe I should cancel?—’
‘No, don’t cancel.’
Lily only ends the call after I promise to keep checking in with her every hour. This online escalation makes it obvious that it’s best for everyone if I get out of London for a while. The last thing I want to do is put Lily’s safety at risk. Or my own.
Back at my laptop, I try to find the ad for the Barefoot Bookseller job with renewed determination. Nothing. I can’t remember Lucy’s Instagram handle and can’t find any hashtags they might have used. Defeated, I turn to a job-seeker website and gasp as the first ad pops up.
Barefoot bookseller wanted for bookshop on a tropical island. Comes with room and board and small stipend. Must love reading.
It fits the brief and then some, an island paradise with hopefully non-existent Wi-Fi. I could cool my heels there until the hubbub dies down. What are the chances this dream job is still available? No doubt there are thousands of other bookworm candidates vying for the position (who haven’t been cancelled, fired, dumped and doxxed). Still, I fill in the application as I go. The questions are a little quirky: Who would win in a battle of wits, Hemingway or Atwood? Is that a trick question – I type. ‘Atwood.’ There is one last instruction at the end of the questionnaire.
Interviewer Gus is ready whenever you are. Please email the application and then call the number listed below.
Gus! The juddering camera operator from the reel! I click the listing bio details. Just where is this tropical paradise? Knowing my luck, it’s the same uninhabited island the schoolboys got lost inLord of the Fliesand I’ll be marooned with some weirdo and be forced to beat him over the head with a conch to get away. Note to self: do a crash course in Brazilian jujitsu.
The Barefoot Bookshop is located within the grounds of the Last Chance Resort on the island Esperé in Seychelles.
SEYCHELLES!
