‘Oh, okay, never mind. Sorry to drop in on you at work. I just have a quick question.’
‘Sure.’ He gives me a look that says he’s wondering why I had to walk all the way over here on a Friday evening to ask him a quick question when I could just as easily have called or messaged.
The thing is, I don’t want to tell my brother exactly what’s going on. I’m not too sure how he’d react if I actually showed him the photos. He might believe they’re real and the last thing I need is my brother’s disapproval. And even if he didn’t think they were real, he wouldn’t have approved of me going out clubbing with the girls while I have a husband and kids at home. Don’t get me wrong, Ash is a lovely husband and he believes in equal rights for men and women. He’s a good guy. The same ethical code would apply to him as to his wife – basically he would never in a million years want to go out with his friends while his wife was at home. They do everything together as a family. Which is lovely. I adore spending time with my family too. But sometimes, every once in a while, I get the urge to cut loose for a night. Doesn’t mean I love my husband any less or that I want to do anything with anybody else, it simply means I enjoy having a laugh with my friends every so often. But Ash wouldn’t understand this. And I can’t face his judgement right now. So I’m going to be a little bit economical with the truth.
‘I was just wondering… how easy is it to fake photographs?’
‘What do you mean?’ His brown eyes narrow.
‘I mean, is there a way of telling whether a photo is real or fake? Like if someone else’s face was put onto a different photograph, are there ways to spot that?’
‘You’d have to show it to an expert.’
‘Isn’t that something you lot would be able to work out? Like, do you have special software or something?’
‘What? In Ashridge Falls Police Station? Most days we’re lucky if we can find the stapler.’
‘Okay, I get your point.’
‘What’s this about? Has something happened?’ His stare intensifies. My brother always has the ability to make me feel instantly guilty. There’s no way I’m telling him about the actual images and what they’re of. I feel sick at the thought of him or anyone else seeing them. But maybe he’s right. I probably need to get them checked out by an expert.
‘So how would I go about finding someone who can tell if the images have been faked?’
‘Tee, are you going to tell me what this is about? If someone’s uploaded images of you online without your permission, you can get them taken down, you know. Give me the link and I can investigate – or is it something you don’t want me to see?’
‘No, it’s nothing like that. This is just a hypothetical situation.’
He folds his arms across his chest. ‘Yes, Tee, you came halfway across town with two sleeping kids to ask me about a hypothetical situation.’
His radio beeps, and a male voice starts talking. Ash holds a finger up at me. He frowns. ‘I have to go, but this conversation isn’t over. We’ll speak later, okay?’
‘Can you give me the name of someone who could help?’
‘I don’t know off the top of my head. Google it. I’ll call you after my shift. You need to tell me what’s going on.’
I sigh and turn away to collect my sleeping kids. As Ash disappears into the back room, talking into his radio as he goes, I instantly feel more anxious and less secure. I don’t visit Ash enough. We need to make more time for one another.
Heaving Rosie into my arms, I realise I’m still no further on in my quest to discover who’s behind the images, and now I’ve also made my brother suspicious. He’s not going to let this drop. I didn’t think this through properly. I probably shouldn’t have said anything to him, and I should have warned him not to mention any of this to Ed. I’ll text Ash, just in case. Except that’s bound to make him doubly suspicious.
The walk home is slow and tiring. Rosie is a dead weight in my arms, and my mind and body are leaden. Ed won’t be home till late, so it will be just me alone at home with my thoughts. I only hope I don’t receive any more unwanted photos or messages. Maybe I’ll do what Ash suggested and try to find a photography expert online. But how will I have the courage to show the photos to a total stranger? To have someone judge me like that. This whole situation is hopeless.
Twenty-One
Lying on the floor, she flicks idly through the magazine her friends brought round, but the pictures are a blur and the articles may as well be written in Chinese for all the sense they’re making. She hasn’t been out of the house for three days. She’s been holed up in her bedroom trying to forget about what happened. But it’s not working. The walls feel like they’re closing in and no matter how many times she brushes her teeth, she can still taste his sour mouth on hers. It makes her gag.
She closes the magazine and eases herself up onto her feet. Walks over to her dressing table and looks in the mirror at her thin face and limp hair. She needs to get out of here and breathe in some fresh air.
She tiptoes down the stairs, hoping to sidle out the front door without disturbing her mum. Because, since it happened, her mum has barely stopped crying. And it’s exhausting having to cope with that on top of everything else.
Too late.
‘Are you going out?’ Her mum comes out of the kitchen into the hall.
‘See you in a bit, Mum. Won’t be long.’
‘Shall I come with you?’
‘No, I’m just going for a walk.’
