The Day I Died. Polly Courtney

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СКАЧАТЬ her life remained a mystery. She knew exactly what first-class stamps looked like and how the UK postal system worked. She knew what Facebook was and how to use it. How, then, could she not name a single one of her friends?

      She applied the stamps and looked at the swarthy young man behind the counter.

      ‘I don’t suppose you have an internet connection?’

      He nodded over to a large, bulbous monitor in the corner of the store. It looked like a TV from the 1920s.

      ‘Could I just…?’

      ‘One pond for fifteen minutes.’

      ‘But I only—’

      ‘Three pond an hour.’

      ‘What about two minutes?’ She smiled virtuously.

      Reluctantly, the man smiled. ‘OK, but quickly. Log in as Admin. Password is password .

      The internet connection was even more sluggish than the one she’d used before. Jo waited for the Facebook login to appear, wondering whether perhaps, by some sort of administrative error, Radley had been left off the UK broadband rollout map.

      She logged in and clicked on the Friends tab. Her face fell.

      You have 0 friends.

      Then she noticed the message. She clicked on her inbox.

       Saskia Dawson

       Today at 03.49

       Who R U?

       Do I know U Jo Simmons?! I don’t accept friends who ain’t got no profile pic…

      Jo drummed her fingers against the makeshift desk, frustrated. Of course Saskia hadn’t clicked Accept. The request had come from an anonymous stranger. For all Saskia knew, Jo Simmons was a dirty old pervert looking for cheap online thrills.

      ‘Time’s up,’ called the guy from behind the counter.

      ‘I’ve hardly logged on!’ she yelled back, fingers hovering over the keyboard.

       Jo Simmons

       Today at 09.11

       Re: Who R U?

       Hi Saskia, sorry for the randomness–I’m using an alias…Long story. Haven’t got round to putting up a photo.

       Here’s a clue–long, black hair with a red streak at the front. Know who I am? :-) xx

      Jo logged off and ran through the door, the adrenalin still pumping from the brief correspondence. She was so busy devising an excuse for her boss that she slammed straight into somebody on the post office forecourt.

      ‘I’m so sorry!’

      She squatted down to pick up the letters, which had scattered in the breeze.

      ‘No worries.’

      With relief, Jo realised that the man she’d knocked flying had not been one of Radley’s aged inhabitants; in fact, the man seemed quite youthful–early thirties at most. He laughed as she handed over the gritty pile.

      ‘I’m used to being rugby-tackled.’

      She smiled. It wasn’t that she was flirting, exactly, but…well, OK perhaps she was, just a little. The man was handsome: tall, with coiffed light brown hair and a tan. He could well have been a rugby player.

      ‘Hope they weren’t important.’ She nodded at the letters as he pushed them into the post box.

      ‘Oh, just replies to my fan mail. Standard responses, you know.’

      She laughed uncertainly. Gosh, maybe he was a sportsman, like, maybe the captain of the England rugby team…

      He shook his head, smiling and revealing a row of pearly teeth. ‘I’m kidding. It’s bills, mainly. Are you heading for Trev’s Teashop, by any chance? Want a lift?’

      Jo was confused again. He must have been a customer at the café. She had probably served him coffee.

      ‘How did you know where I worked?’

      He shook his head and smiled again, motioning for her to get into the passenger seat of a slick little BMW parked on the road. ‘Well I wasn’t deliberately looking at your chest, but…’

      Jo groaned at her own stupidity. Of course. The aertex shirt.

      She wasn’t sure whether getting into a complete stranger’s car was entirely sensible, but neither, probably, was accepting a job from a complete stranger, or a place to stay. And besides, he had an honest smile.

      ‘It wasn’t just the shirt, actually,’ he confessed, pulling out and accelerating to quite a speed.

      ‘No?’

      ‘No. I’ve seen you in there.’

      ‘What, you’re a customer?’

      ‘No. I’ve seen you through the window. I work from home quite a bit so I walk around town. Stops me getting cabin fever.’

      ‘Oh, right.’ Jo wanted to ask what he did for a living and where in Radley he was based and a whole load of other questions, but they were already at the teashop. ‘Well, thanks for the lift.’

      He laughed. ‘Saved you all of thirty seconds.’

      ‘Well, yeah.’ She released her seatbelt and opened the door. Then, in a moment of boldness, she added, ‘Pop in for a coffee some time. I’ll give you a freebie.’

      He raised an eyebrow.

      ‘Free, er, coffee, I mean.’

      ‘I look forward to it,’ he said, winking through the passenger window. She slammed the door, feeling the blood rush to her face.

      She heard the whirr of his electric window behind her as she re-entered the café.

      ‘By the way, I’m Stu. What’s your name?’

      She turned back and smiled.

      ‘Jo. See you around.’

       Chapter Eight

      Jo punched in her login and password and looked around the empty internet café as the page loaded up. A sign hung above her head, advertising ‘FAX–PRINTING–WEB @ CCESS’ in spiky handwriting. Appended to the last point was an additional explanation: ‘Check your email! Chat!’–presumably to СКАЧАТЬ