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  My eye was caught by Fickle logging on, just after Twiggy had logged off. I chuckled, knowing that the two voices of reason were about to change to one voice of reason and one voice of lunacy!

  I grinned as a message flashed up for me.

  Fickle: Hey!

  Barnaby Rudge: Hey!

  The minute I saw Fickle’s name flash up in front of me, all the tension of the last few hours gradually left me and I began to relax for the first time that night.

  Fickle: How was your evening?

  Barnaby Rudge: Yeah, okay.

  Fickle: Enthusiasm, I love it!

  Barnaby Rudge: Sometimes I don’t feel so enthusiastic!

  Fickle: Oh. Everyone’s gotta have enthusiasm! Wanna talk about it?

  Did I?

  Barnaby Rudge: I guess.

  Fickle: Go ahead. I’m listening.

  Barnaby Rudge: Gah, I dunno! I just worry sometimes that I’m not as into my boyfriend as he’s into me.

  Fickle: Goes like that sometimes.

  Barnaby Rudge: Really?

  Fickle: Hell yeah! I’ve been in relationships where it’s been one-way traffic.

  Barnaby Rudge: What did you do about it?

  Fickle: Well, to be honest, it was usually me that wasn’t as into the other person, so…

  Barnaby Rudge: Ah! Heartbreaker, are you?!

  Fickle: Something like that.

  She added one of those poked-out-tongue icons, so I wasn’t sure if she was being serious or not.

  I looked back at my screen and remembered Joey had told me a few days before that she was doing assignments at her college that week. Realising I’d been ignoring her while I’d been speaking with Fickle, I hastily switched back to my conversation with Joey, and asked her:

  Barnaby Rudge: So how did your assignments go, Joe?

  Joey: Ah, not bad. Get the results next week, so, fingers crossed, hey?

  Barnaby Rudge: I’ll keep em crossed for ya!

  Joey: Thank you! LOL. So, how was your evening?

  Barnaby Rudge: Yeah, okay. Went to a gig in town.

  Joey: Wicked! Who’d you see?

  Barnaby Rudge: Ah, local band. Anathema they’re called.

  Joey: Kewl name. Any good?

  Barnaby Rudge: Yeah, not bad. My boyfriend’s the lead singer.

  Joey: So you gotta say they’re good, right?!

  Barnaby Rudge: ! Something like that, yeah.

  Joey: How long you been seeing him?

  Barnaby Rudge: Not long.

  I briefly wondered if Joey might be interested in listening to me about Matt, but before I could figure out what to say to her about it, Fickle had messaged me again.

  Fickle: Hey, I just had a thought. You got a picture of yourself? Be good to see who I’ve been talking to all this time.

  A photo? Me and Fickle had only just started talking to each other—it hadn’t even crossed my mind to send her my photo just yet. I frowned. I had some photos on the computer that I’d uploaded ages ago; they were taken about a year ago, so I guessed they’d be okay.

  Barnaby Rudge: I’ll send you one if you send me one!

  Fickle: Sure! Wait there!

  While I waited, I searched my computer for something half-decent, finally settling on a photo of me taken by Dad during our holiday in Scotland back in August. I peered at it, screwing up my face, wondering if it was suitable to send. Was it a good likeness? I had my hair up in the picture, but you could still clearly see that it was long and blonde. I wanted her to see that, I dunno why.

  I wanted her to be able to see my eyes as well ’cos I’ve always kinda liked the way they are—blue, but with nice, long, dark lashes that never need touching up. Matt always said other girls would give anything to have eyes like mine…

  Just then, Fickle flashed me another message.

  Fickle: K, just sent one to your in-box.

  I grinned, switching screens to bring up Hotmail, and found Fickle’s e-mail.

  Fickle: You got it? Now you gotta send me one!

  Barnaby Rudge: Give me a chance! Just uploading it now.

  Her picture appeared to me on my screen and I felt my breath quicken. I don’t really know what I’d expected, but the person appearing in front of me wasn’t at all what I expected, but I really liked what I saw. I mean, I really liked it.

  I shook my head, as if to try and shake a thought that had just entered back out again.

  Fickle was cute. Not beautiful, but cute, you know? Elfin, almost. Small face, freckles, and a cheeky, mischievous grin.

  And pretty. So damn pretty.

  You know how you can talk to an anonymous voice and build up a picture of that person in your head? Maybe you don’t, but that’s what I’d done with everyone I spoke to on the message board; Twiggy, Fickle, Joey, Betty Blue Rinse (God only knows what she really looked like!!), and Fickle definitely wasn’t what I’d expected.

  Fickle: You got it yet, slowcoach?!

  Barnaby Rudge: Yeah, just looking at it now.

  Fickle: So where’s my picture?

  Barnaby Rudge: Ahh, just sending it to you. Patience, woman!

  Fickle: I’m not known for my patience…

  I attached the Scotland photo to my e-mail and pressed the Send button, then looked back at Fickle’s picture.

  Fickle: At last! Got it now, just downloading it.

  Barnaby Rudge: K, it was a windy day, so ignore my crazy hair!

  Fickle: Coo! Nice! You look like you were having fun.

  Barnaby Rudge: I was.

  Fickle: You’re right about your hair, BR! It’s wicked. I like blonde hair…

  I stared at her picture again, barely registering her comment about my hair, and tried to take in every detail of her face; her dark brown eyes, her skin, slightly tanned, her highlighted hair, tucked neatly behind her ears. I looked at her impish grin, the look of mischief in her eyes, then I looked at her perfect nose and nice lips.

  My heart beat faster just looking at her lips. Lips I could imagine myself…

  Jesus! Where the flip did THAT come from? Suddenly I felt a wave of sickness. I could feel my heart pounding in my head, so I got up from my chair and walked over to my bed, sitting down heavily on it. I puffed out my cheeks, trying to quell the feeling of nausea, and looked back over at my computer, where Fickle’s photo was still smiling out at me. I saw she’d messaged me again, her name flashing on and off on the screen.

  Fickle: You still there? Or has my picture frightened you off? LOL!

  Now I’d seen her picture I could imagine her sitting at her computer, probably looking at my photo and wondering why she was even bothering to talk to me still, now she knew what I looked like. I wandered back over to the computer.

  Barnaby Rudge: Soz! Hey, you’re pretty, you know!

  Fickle: Yeah, right! Shame you can’t see my tongue piercing on it, though. Everyone always seems to like that…

  Barnaby Rudge: You have your tongue pierced? Whoa!

  Why did the thought of that suddenly make me feel weird? Good-weird, I mean!

  Fickle: Sure do! You like?

  Barnaby Rudge: Uh, yeah, I do.

  Fickle: Good! That’s what I like to hear. Hey, I like your picture too! Where was it taken?

  Barnaby Rudge: Erm, Scotland. Some place near Edinburgh.

  Fickle: Mmm, niiiice!

  Nice? Why did she keep saying that?

  My head was spinning and I suddenly knew that I needed some time out, time away from Fickle and her picture.

  Barnaby Rudge: Hey, Fickle, I’ve gotta go.

  Fickle: Oh, okay. Everything good?

  Barnaby Rudge: Yeah, just don’t feel too great so I’m going to go to bed.

  Fickle: K. You sure you’re okay?

  Barnaby Rudge: Yeah.

  I said my good-byes to her and logged off quickly before she could say anything else to me, suddenly needing to be in my bed, away from the computer, away from her, away from thoughts of Matt and the evening I’d just had.


  Kicking off my shoes but not bothering to remove my clothes, I crawled into bed and pulled the duvet up over my head, wanting to block out the feeling of nausea and anxiety that threatened to overwhelm me. Every time I closed my eyes, images of Fickle swam in front of them, as if her picture was burned onto the inside of my eyelids or something, images that were interrupted by flashbacks of Matt kissing me and shoving his tongue in my mouth.

  I tried to breathe more regularly and slow my heartbeat, but panic engulfed me and I couldn’t do a thing about it.

  Just what the hell was going on?

  Chapter Five

  What makes one person’s features more attractive to you than another person’s? What is it in someone’s face that you can be instantly drawn to, that straight away makes your heartbeat quicken, your palms clammy? Is it their eyes? The smoothness of their skin? The way they look at the camera?

  I didn’t know. All I knew was that the second Fickle had sent me her picture and I’d seen her brilliant, expressive, cheeky, animated face smiling out at me, I’d been smitten. But why her? Why Fickle? I wasn’t gay, was I? I was dating a guy, for God’s sake—how could I be? But there was something about Fickle that sent shivers down my spine every time I looked at her photo.

  I chose to stay away from the computer for a few days after that night, opting to use the equipment at college for work rather than logging on at home and risk seeing Fickle on MSN. The abrupt disconnect was total agony, though; everything inside me yearned to go online and talk to her, but I figured a few days away might sort my head out. I was obsessing…over her, over her picture. I’d spoken to her for hours on end for the last few nights but I could already feel an addiction towards her—an addiction that was out of control. I needed a few days’ breathing space, and then I’d look back and laugh at just how stupid I’d been about it all, right?

  I mean, it’s not as if I’d ever fancied girls before. Okay, so I’d take the odd sneaky look if I ever saw a fit girl when I was out and about in town. God knows, I’d even found myself on occasions looking at girls when I was out with Matt, but that didn’t mean I fancied them. The two women on Lovers and Sinners didn’t count either; I just admired them for the way they were acting out this perfect love story on my TV. That certainly didn’t mean I was gay.

  But with Fickle it was different, and by the third night of my self-imposed cold turkey from the message board, I was missing her like I’d never missed anyone in my life. It was much more than missing just Fickle, though; I missed the message board itself and everyone else on there—Twiggy, Joey, even Betty Blue Rinse—so much it was beginning to hurt. I particularly missed talking to Joey and Twiggy on MSN, I missed the banter on the message board, I missed catching up with everyone’s news.

  Whatever it was that was going on with me, I did know that I needed to do something about this growing fascination with Fickle and decided there and then that I must find enough willpower not to speak to her anymore. If I didn’t talk to her, then I couldn’t be confused by my feelings for her, and I’d have more time to focus on being a better, more attentive girlfriend to Matt. The more I saw of Matt, the less I’d think of Fickle, and that was the way I wanted it. Simple.

  I snatched up my phone and on an impulse rang Matt.

  “Hey, babe.” Matt’s familiar voice sounded at the other end.

  “Hey.”

  “What you up to?”

  “Nothing much.”

  There was a short, awkward silence.

  “You fancy doing something?” I found myself saying, trying to make my voice sound light, as if I really meant it.

  Matt sounded pleased.

  “Sure! I can meet you in town if you want?”

  I did want. I had to want to see him. It made sense.

  “Cool. See you at the usual spot?” I looked at my watch. It was 6.30 p.m. “Seven-ish?”

  “I’ll be there, babe. Looking forward to it,” Matt said before ringing off.

  I looked at my phone and bit my lip. This was the right thing to do. Matt was my boyfriend; Fickle was nothing to me. I knew nothing about her. She was a stranger on the other end of a computer, so she shouldn’t even be in my head. She could be married for all I knew! I didn’t even know what her name was, for goodness sake! Matt was real. Fickle wasn’t. Matt wanted me; he was flesh and bones, he was there. What was Fickle? A photo on my computer screen, that was all.

  I hauled myself up off my bed and grabbed my coat, taking the stairs down to the hallway two at a time, jumping the last three steps just for the hell of it. I poked my head round the kitchen door, watching briefly as Mum loaded our dinnertime crockery and pans into the dishwasher.

  “I’m heading out,” I called from the doorway.

  She swung round.

  “Matt?” she asked, raising her eyebrows.

  “Yeah,” I said, hauling my coat on and stuffing my beanie on to my head. “We’re just gonna grab a quick drink in town. I won’t be back late.”

  She nodded, smiling.

  “And he’ll walk you home? Your dad’ll want to know in case he has to come and pick you up.” Mum jerked her head in the direction of the lounge, where I assumed Dad was sitting watching TV.

  “Yeah, he’ll see me home okay.” I grabbed my purse from the kitchen sideboard.

  And he would. Matt was nice like that. “A good lad”, as Dad would say.

  I left the house, ambling down over the canal bridge, the same one Matt would walk me to later and stand on to watch me as I made the short trek back up to my house. The same bridge that we would kiss on, like always…

  I squeezed my eyes tight shut and opened them again quickly, trying to shake the thought from my head. I walked under the railway bridge and rounded the corner, seeing Matt already waiting for me by the fountain where we always met. He was sitting on the steps of the fountain, fiddling with his phone, presumably texting someone; he seemed lost in thought and jumped slightly as he heard my footsteps next to him.

  I looked down at him and nodded at his phone.

  “Secret admirer?” I have no idea what made me say that.

  He lazy-grinned up at me.

  “There’s only you, Immy. You should know that by now.”

  He hauled himself to his feet and kissed me on the cheek, linking his fingers in mine as we walked together towards a pub on the corner that we both liked. After fetching us both a drink, he straddled his long, lean legs across either side of a stool and sat heavily. He pulled his hand through his hair and looked at me. “So how’s your day been?” he asked, taking a long sip from his beer.

  “Yeah, okay,” I replied. “You?”

  “Not bad. Better since hearing from you. That was a nice surprise.” He eyed me over his glass.

  I didn’t want to tell him that the only reason I’d rung him was because every part of me had been aching to log on, to talk to Fickle. If I hadn’t arranged to meet up with him, I would have ended up going online to find her. I didn’t want to tell him, either, that it had taken every last ounce of my willpower to come away from the house, away from the computer. Away from her.

  Matt and I talked that night about nothing in particular. He told me Anathema had a string of gigs coming up in the following weeks, and as he was telling me about the band and the gigs I could see the excitement in his eyes—eyes that were alive with the joy of doing something that he loved. That pleased me.

  “It might mean I’m a bit quieter than normal, you know?” Matt reached across the table and took my hand in his. I looked down at my hand, sitting limply in his, and wondered why I didn’t feel dismay or upset at what he’d just said.

  “Don’t worry about it.” I stared kinda blankly at him.

  “It’ll just be a bit mad for a bit, practising, moving gear around, shit like that.” Matt squeezed my hand. “But it doesn’t mean I won’t be thinking about you all the time.”

  I nodded.

  “Like I said, don’t worry. I got heaps of work for college anyway, so�
�” My voice trailed off.

  “Well, our first gig isn’t until Saturday, so if you fancy doing something Friday?” Matt cocked his head to one side.

  “Sounds good.” I smiled tightly, aware I was being pretty monosyllabic, but struggling to find additional words.

  It was amazing, I suddenly thought, how I never struggled for words with Fickle, yet here I was with my boyfriend, racking my brain to find something, anything, to talk to him about. I looked over at him and wondered why I’d bothered dragging him out, encouraging him, making him think I wanted him when all along I wanted…

  What did I want?

  I wanted Fickle.

  *

  On the fourth night away from the computer, I finally conceded defeat and logged on, bored with night after night in front of dull programmes on the TV, and even more bored of all the work I’d been doing during my abstinence. Anyway, I figured even if Fickle was there, I didn’t have to talk to her, did I? I could just tell her I was busy. My life didn’t have to revolve around Fickle.

  But even as the computer booted up, I couldn’t help but think about her sitting wherever it was she sat to talk on the Internet. I closed my eyes and pictured her as I’d seen her in her photo, looking out at me with those incredibly expressive and beautiful eyes. Before I’d even had the chance to see who was around, and before I could even disable my MSN, Fickle had messaged me.