And the messages went on much like that. Sometimes short, sometimes longer. Frequent, rapid-fire exchanges, lighthearted and fun. Betty teased and Catherine teased back. Ridiculous, really, flirting with this random woman in cyberspace. But it had its appeal, not least because it was contained safely within her devices; she could turn them off and engage on her own terms.
This was a way of getting herself back out there — dipping her toe in the water with zero risk of drowning. And for all Catherine knew, Betty77 wasn’t even a woman;shewas probably ahairy bloke called Malcolm who still lived with his mum. Or, even more likely, a scammer sitting in a fraud factory in Myanmar. As such, Catherine wasn’t about to disclose any personal information. And in the instance of Betty asking for her bank details, or anything else along those lines,“Betty”could bugger off.
But even from their brief exchanges, Catherine could tell Betty had female energy.Queer female energy.Betty was definitelyflirting.
Other than a bit of cyber-fun, Catherine couldn’t understand what Betty had to gain from their interactions. Nothing would come of it; how could it? So where was the harm in enjoying thisharmlessonline flirtation? Yes, it was a professional blog, and there was an ethical consideration, but Catherine couldn’t stop her face splitting into a silly smile every time Betty’s name popped up in her inbox.
Dr.T:
Alright then, Betty, if my breathing tips have helped with your commute, are there any topics you’d like me to cover in my next blog?
Catherine pressed send. Then, for two whole days, she waited for a response. What on earth was the other woman doing?
Perhaps Betty actually had a life, unlike Catherine. There were only so many times she could refresh her messages without feeling like a complete loser. When a message finally did ping through, it took her so much by surprise she spilled coffee over her keyboard.Shit!
Betty77:
Hmm, what about mindful eating? I have a mad, busy lifestyle, so I rarely get the chance to enjoy food. More often than not, it’s just fuel x
Catherine tried — and failed — not to respond too quickly. Sixteen minutes didn’t look too desperate, did it? Perhaps she should’ve waited two bloody days like Betty had done.
Dr.T:
Great idea. Let me see what I can rustle up for you x
Betty77:
I look forward to it, Doc! x
5
IMPOSITION
PRESENT DAY
Returning from a soggy walk, Catherine shook the rainwater from her umbrella and propped it by the door in the shared hallway.
She stilled as she turned and noticed the shelf above the radiator. She traced her fingers over the now-empty spot, where, for the past year, she’d stacked all the post addressed to the upstairs flat.
So, there actually was a new neighbour, and she hadn’t just summoned the Spice Girls in a dream. Standing motionless, she tilted her head to listen out for any signs of life from above, but heard only the familiar groans of the old building she’d lived in for so many years she’d lost count.
Catherine stepped towards her apartment; as she turned her key in the lock, she spotted a pink note slipped under her door. She bent to pick it up, her eyes quickly scanning the words that seemed to have been scrawled in a hurry.
Hi!
Just moved in above you — Knocked, but you weren’t home. Sorry to ask, but I have to leave town for work for a couple of days. Would you mind popping in to feed my cat?
Food’s in the fridge. Key’s under the doormat.
Sorry again, J x
P.S. Excuse the mess.
P.P.S. His name is Juniper.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Catherine turned over the slip of paper, which looked as if it’d been torn from a fancy notebook.
She shook her head as she re-read the note.
