Michelle groans. “Oh, God, Matilda. Please don’t follow him. It’s only going to end in tears.”
“Saying stuff like that only makes me want to follow him more. It makes me want to know why there will be tears.”
“Can’t you just take my word for it?”
“I will consider my options. My bus is coming now, so I need to go. I’ll talk to you later.”
“You’re going to do it. I can tell.”
“’Bye!”
I hang up before she has the chance to dissuade me further. I’m doing this. I’m going to live up to the nickname Jay gave me, and I’m going to do some sleuthing. If anything, it’s his own fault for coming up with the nickname in the first place.
After dinner Dad offers to wash up, and I go to catch some soaps on the television. Jay saunters in and drops down beside me, too close, considering Dad could walk in at any moment. And yes, I’m quite aware of the fact that I’m an adult. It’s just that Jay is such an obviously sexual person, which means if I tell Dad we’re together, he’ll know we’re doing sexual things together. Just the thought of it makes me feel like crawling out of my own skin.
Yes, when it comes down to it, I’m a baby. A big, stupid, embarrassed baby.
Jay sits there all casual for a minute before randomly leaning in and licking me on the face. I laugh and wipe at my skin.
“What was that for?”
“Just felt like it.”
“Okay.”
“I have to go out for a little while soon,” he says, his voice lowering a notch. “Can I come visit you later?”
“You mean like how you visited me last night?” I ask, one eyebrow raised, a half smirk on the go.
“Kind of like that. Perhaps there’ll be a little more activity this time.”
Well, I don’t need to be a sex addict to know what that means. This is good news. If he’s planning to “pay me a visit” later, then it’s likely that the mysterious meetup isn’t a booty call. Shivers break out on my skin when he leisurely runs a finger down my arm.
“Maybe you can visit me then,” I tell him quietly.
Dad walks into the room at that moment, and Jay quickly draws away. Dad doesn’t notice a thing, sitting down in his armchair and flicking through the channels with the remote. Later on, I put on some dark clothes and find an old knitted hat to wear on my detective adventures. You know, so that I’m inconspicuous and all that. I have a taxi idling by the curb just as Jay leaves. I follow soon after him and hop into the taxi, telling the driver to follow Jay’s car.
The driver is a nosy one.
“Well,” he declares, “isn’t this all very mysterious.” If I’m not mistaken, there’s a touch of dry humour in his tone.
I scoff. “You don’t get out much, do you” — I crane my neck to look at his I.D. stuck to the dash — “Mr Paul Donnelly?”
He eyes me through the mirror and goes quiet then. I’m satisfied that I won the sarcasm war. The journey isn’t long. Jay drives out toward the docklands, finally turning into an old abandoned building site left over from the Celtic Tiger days. When the recession hit, there were a bunch of building projects that got left half-finished, effectively creating a sort of spooky ghost-town vibe.
“You can let me out here,” I say, handing the driver some money.
He gives me a concerned look. “Are you sure? There can be a lot of dodgy types out here, love.”
“I’ll be okay,” I assure him, and he finally takes the money, not without a few grumbles under his breath, though.
The cold air hits me as soon as I exit the vehicle. It was a warm day today, but the temperature always drops at night, and it’s even worse out here so close to the sea. I sneak around the corner of a building and watch as Jay parks his car and gets out. I quietly follow him as he walks across to another building, down the side, and around to a secluded corner. I hover by the other end of the building, and that’s when I see the men. There are about four of them, but only one steps forward to greet Jay. The others hang back, their postures belying some sort of security or bodyguard work.
The main guy is wearing a suit, but I don’t let that fool me. He’s got the look of a bad egg, a shoddy neck tattoo peeking out of his collar.
This isn’t what I’d been expecting at all. I’d been expecting something bad, but I think this might be worse. There’s no mistaking the dangerous, criminal air about the men Jay’s meeting with, and the mysterious, anonymous nature of THE TEXT makes it that much more worrisome.
Words are exchanged, but I’m too far away to hear. Everything seems to be going well, despite the shady location and nature of the meeting. But then it looks like the conversation is turning heated, Jay’s stance growing defensive as the man he’s talking with starts gesturing with his hands.
The bodyguards move closer to the two, surrounding the man who I’m imagining is their boss. Jay puts a hand up in a gesture that I’m thinking says calm down, then reaches inside his pocket. I catch my breath, because when he does, all three of the bodyguards whip out their guns. Guns!
My pulse is going ninety.
Jay doesn’t bat an eyelid, and when his hand emerges from his pocket, he hands something to the main guy that looks like a credit card or a key card of some sort. The man takes it and says a few words, and then he and Jay shake on it.
It seems the meeting is over when the men turn to leave in the opposite direction that Jay came from. When Jay turns around to return to his car, my heart jumps, and I scurry to find a hiding spot. Without thinking, I rush inside the abandoned building and hide behind a stack of wooden crates. I put my hand to my chest, willing myself to calm down.
I stay like that for about five minutes, waiting to make sure Jay’s definitely gone. It’s so dark in here that I can hardly see a thing. Getting up from my crouched position, I pull my phone from my pocket, hoping the light from the screen will illuminate my way out. When the light comes on and I hold the phone up in front of me, I let out a startled yelp to see Jay standing there, watching me with a furious expression.
I’ve been caught.
Note to self: Never try to out-trick a trickster.
The look in his eyes is murderous, and for some reason I don’t feel safe. I guess that’s because he’s associating with men who carry guns, which means he’s not the person I thought he was at all. Does he carry a gun?
“WHAT.THE.FUCK? What are you doing here, Matilda?” His voice is deep, raspy, and thoroughly pissed. He takes several long strides toward me, backing me up into a wall before slamming his hands down on either side of my head.
“I, uh…I came to ask if you, eh, if you saw my calculator anywhere. I seem to have lost it.”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” he swears, and I wince at my ridiculously obvious lie. “Did you follow me? How did you know to come here?”
I close my eyes and answer shakily, “I’m sorry. I read your text. I’m sorry. Please don’t hurt me.”
He exhales a long breath, and I open my eyes. “Don’t look at me like that. I would never hurt you.”
“That’s…that’s good.”
“But coming here was a seriously stupid thing to do, and I can’t pretend I’m not angry.”
“Who were those men?” I ask, swallowing.
Jay cocks an eyebrow. “Oh, no way. You’re the one in the wrong here. You don’t get to ask questions.”
“They looked shifty, like criminals. I don’t understand why you would be meeting up with people like that.”
“Necessary evils are everywhere in this world, Watson. And I’m not explaining this to you. Not now. You shouldn’t even be here.”