her, pretending to be a journalist. He shouldn’t have done that.
But she’d said nothing. “No comment.” In that stuck-up, clinical voice. And he’d come from the phone with buttoned fury.
His mind is blankening rapidly, like chalk words being washed away by rain. He needs something to drink. He goes to the kitchen and puts the kettle on. Perhaps the caffeine hit will wake him up. The angry shriek of the coffee grinder gets under his skin. He keeps the button pressed for as long as it needs. Now he inhales the rich bitter smell. Goes through the coffee-making process carefully. For he is always careful in things like this, routine things that keep his mind on track.
Perhaps he needs to go for a walk. Or to cycle?
He feels a chemical rush, a need to act, a grating desire to lash out: the caffeine only strengthening it. He feels his thoughts scatter.
There is only one thing to do to calm himself down. He takes a key to the specially crafted cupboard. The lock turns with a soft, satisfying clunk, and the double doors reveal the shallow drawers with their elegant labels. He pulls open the drawer with his favourite dragonflies. He takes the lids from a few boxes and pauses to choose. Which will he look at? Which will be his pleasure this evening? Will it be the stunning blue and green patterns of
Aeshna cyanea
or the vivid red of
Crocothemis erythraea
?
He cannot choose. He knows them all too well. He needs a new insect for his collection. He will go on the internet to decide which one he will search for.
Topping up his mug of coffee, he sits down in front of his computer, leaving the drawers of his insect cupboard open. But as the internet page spreads across his screen, the doorbell rings. It jangles his head unpleasantly. Who could this be?
He goes to the intercom and snaps, “Yes?”
“It’s me.”
Damn. He’d forgotten that his nephew was coming round this evening. He’d forgotten to get his favourite biscuits in. Never mind, he must have something suitable in his kitchen for a nearly fifteen-year-old boy, and his nephew could help him choose his next insect. He liked that.
“Come up, Danny.”
He smiles. His insect collection would soon have a new addition.
CHAPTER 19
ATHLETICS
SATURDAY morning. Almost the end of September and an autumn chill in the air. Athletics club – training, not a competition this week. Thursday and Friday were best forgotten, thought Cat. On the other hand, Marcus seemed to have got rid of the virus. Without her parents discovering that she’d been on Phiz. She’d found the disks that Ailsa had mentioned and had put them back without problem.
What Marcus did to her laptop had involved her losing all the documents. He had taken it back to this thing he and Ailsa had called “factory settings”. Bit like having a new machine, they said. Except that I lose everything on it, she had replied, grimly.
Not that she wasn’t grateful. She was extremely grateful, and told them so. With the virus gone, she could make a fresh start. And yes, she’d lost a few bits of work, but she could do them again. All her photos were on Phiz and her music on her iPod, so that hadn’t been a problem. And she had her older files on the one back-up disk she’d done after that warning at the start of the year.
So a couple of rows and mild punishments for mislaid work. She’d live. Punishments were nothing more than an irritation. No one died.
She’d been back on Phiz and found her pages. Everything was fine. No spiders. No one watching her. And she wasn’t worried about that any more; because she wouldn’t be so stupid next time.
Things were looking up. She hadn’t particularly wanted to come to training today, but she had. Too difficult to get out of, and since Ailsa was playing in a hockey match and Bethan was baby-sitting for her sister, her friends weren’t going to be doing anything without her so she wasn’t so bothered.
She decided to run well, please her coach. Here he was
But she’d said nothing. “No comment.” In that stuck-up, clinical voice. And he’d come from the phone with buttoned fury.
His mind is blankening rapidly, like chalk words being washed away by rain. He needs something to drink. He goes to the kitchen and puts the kettle on. Perhaps the caffeine hit will wake him up. The angry shriek of the coffee grinder gets under his skin. He keeps the button pressed for as long as it needs. Now he inhales the rich bitter smell. Goes through the coffee-making process carefully. For he is always careful in things like this, routine things that keep his mind on track.
Perhaps he needs to go for a walk. Or to cycle?
He feels a chemical rush, a need to act, a grating desire to lash out: the caffeine only strengthening it. He feels his thoughts scatter.
There is only one thing to do to calm himself down. He takes a key to the specially crafted cupboard. The lock turns with a soft, satisfying clunk, and the double doors reveal the shallow drawers with their elegant labels. He pulls open the drawer with his favourite dragonflies. He takes the lids from a few boxes and pauses to choose. Which will he look at? Which will be his pleasure this evening? Will it be the stunning blue and green patterns of
Aeshna cyanea
or the vivid red of
Crocothemis erythraea
?
He cannot choose. He knows them all too well. He needs a new insect for his collection. He will go on the internet to decide which one he will search for.
Topping up his mug of coffee, he sits down in front of his computer, leaving the drawers of his insect cupboard open. But as the internet page spreads across his screen, the doorbell rings. It jangles his head unpleasantly. Who could this be?
He goes to the intercom and snaps, “Yes?”
“It’s me.”
Damn. He’d forgotten that his nephew was coming round this evening. He’d forgotten to get his favourite biscuits in. Never mind, he must have something suitable in his kitchen for a nearly fifteen-year-old boy, and his nephew could help him choose his next insect. He liked that.
“Come up, Danny.”
He smiles. His insect collection would soon have a new addition.
CHAPTER 19
ATHLETICS
SATURDAY morning. Almost the end of September and an autumn chill in the air. Athletics club – training, not a competition this week. Thursday and Friday were best forgotten, thought Cat. On the other hand, Marcus seemed to have got rid of the virus. Without her parents discovering that she’d been on Phiz. She’d found the disks that Ailsa had mentioned and had put them back without problem.
What Marcus did to her laptop had involved her losing all the documents. He had taken it back to this thing he and Ailsa had called “factory settings”. Bit like having a new machine, they said. Except that I lose everything on it, she had replied, grimly.
Not that she wasn’t grateful. She was extremely grateful, and told them so. With the virus gone, she could make a fresh start. And yes, she’d lost a few bits of work, but she could do them again. All her photos were on Phiz and her music on her iPod, so that hadn’t been a problem. And she had her older files on the one back-up disk she’d done after that warning at the start of the year.
So a couple of rows and mild punishments for mislaid work. She’d live. Punishments were nothing more than an irritation. No one died.
She’d been back on Phiz and found her pages. Everything was fine. No spiders. No one watching her. And she wasn’t worried about that any more; because she wouldn’t be so stupid next time.
Things were looking up. She hadn’t particularly wanted to come to training today, but she had. Too difficult to get out of, and since Ailsa was playing in a hockey match and Bethan was baby-sitting for her sister, her friends weren’t going to be doing anything without her so she wasn’t so bothered.
She decided to run well, please her coach. Here he was
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