The Third Person

‘You had cybersex with her?’ Wilkinson asked me.

I tapped my fingers on the table a couple of times, wondering where exactly this was going. All the time, I was remembering things that I’d done my best to bury and forget. Unhelpful things.

[CLAIRE21]: why do you want to know that?

[JK22]: ?

[CLAIRE21]: well why are you asking?

[JK22]:

(getting all embarrassed…)

[CLAIRE21]: aw – blushing boy!

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘After a while.’

‘That night?’

I stared at the top of his head.

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Later on.’

[JK22]:

I don’t want to offend you.

[JK22]:

…

[CLAIRE21]: you think you could offend me?

[JK22]: maybe

[CLAIRE21]: lol

[CLAIRE21]: doubt it

[CLAIRE21]: feel free to try!

[JK22]: lol

[JK22]:

(still blushing tho)

[CLAIRE21]: y r u so worried about offending me?

Wilkinson was still typing, but now he was frowning slightly.

‘So you had cybersex with her that evening.’

‘Yes.’

‘Just the once?’

I almost laughed.

‘Of course.’

He looked up at me, not really smiling.

‘Jason, I don’t know anything about this kind of thing.’

And, although he said it in a neutral voice – deliberately neutral – I could tell that it was a loaded sentence. This kind of thing. This kind of disgusting thing, was what he meant. I checked out his hand. No wedding ring. I figured that Wilkinson was a real man: he picked up his ladies in bars or clubs. Never anywhere so sad as on-line, even though it was exactly the same.

‘You generally only tend to do it once,’ I explained.

He started typing again, his voice more normal.

‘Did you meet her again?’

‘Yes.’

‘On-line?’

‘Yes.’

The excitement, fluttering in my stomach as the train pulled into the station at Schio. The people milling around. My fingertips were pressed on the glass, with a phantom hand touching them from the outside and a slight reflection of my peering face almost cheek-to-cheek with me. Looking for that white dress in the crowd.

‘Yes,’ I said again. ‘It was always on-line.’

He tapped a key.

‘How many times did you meet her?’

I thought about it.

‘I couldn’t say for sure. Maybe eight or nine times, over a period of about… I don’t know. Two months?’ I shook my head. ‘But I’m not sure.’

‘You didn’t keep track?’

‘No.’

A few more keystrokes.

‘And did you continue to have cybersex with her throughout that time?’

A loaded question – again – fired like a blank.

I said, ‘A couple of times, maybe.’

‘So, yes?’

‘I suppose so. Yes. But not always.’

‘Sometimes you just talked?’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘That’s right. Just like in any other relationship. Sometimes we just talked.’

[CLAIRE21]: y r u so worried about offending me?

[JK22] because you’re nice

[JK22] you know?

[CLAIRE21]:

I think you’re nice, too.

[CLAIRE21]: you’re not like the other bastards on here

[CLAIRE21]: r u gonna blush now?

[CLAIRE21]: whaddyou think?

[CLAIRE21]: lol

[JK22] no. I’m glad you think I’m nice

[CLAIRE21]

(shocked) what would your gf say?

Wilkinson tapped in a few more lines of text, recording the strange fact that – from time to time – two people had actually managed to talk without having sex. I shifted in my seat a little. He looked up, then, catching my movement.

‘You okay? You comfortable?’

‘I’m fine, yeah.’

‘You want a coffee?’

Of course I wanted a coffee. But not as much as I wanted to be out of here.

‘No,’ I said. ‘No, thanks.’

‘Okay. You know – this is just routine.’ Suddenly, he leaned back in his chair and seemed more relaxed.

‘Your name was on her computer: a bunch of old transcripts and stuff. She’d erased a load of it, but some were still left. Not just you, by the way.’ He leaned forwards again. ‘A whole load of guys. She was on the internet a lot, huh?’

I shrugged.

‘I don’t know. Not that I know of.’

He just nodded, dismissing it.

‘She was on the internet a lot. Look, are you sure you don’t want a coffee? I mean, I want a coffee. Do you want a coffee? I’m going, anyway.’

‘In that case, sure,’ I said. ‘Black, no sugar.’

‘Virgin coffee.’ Wilkinson stood up. ‘That’s the way I have it, too. I don’t like people fucking with my coffee.’

‘Lol,’ I said.

‘What?’

‘I’m laughing out loud.’ I gave him a smile. ‘That’s all.’

‘Okay.’ He turned around, nodding to himself. ‘Laughing out loud. That’s very clever. That’s a computer thing, right?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Well, that’s very clever.’

He returned five minutes later with two coffees. While he was away, I tried to get my thoughts together. Claire was dead, and I didn’t know whether I felt much about that or not. I mean – she’d always seemed like a sweet girl, but when it came down to it, I’d hardly known her. She’d been there for me at a difficult time: that’s all. And because Wilkinson hadn’t told me anything about it, it seemed somehow less real – as though it wouldn’t have actually happened until I’d heard all of the grim details. Maybe I was just numbed from all the stuff I’d seen on the internet. Murder? Give me photographs and tape recordings, or don’t expect me to feel anything.

But that wasn’t true.