My hotel room is sandwiched between a stag party and a school trip but the noise doesn’t bother me. It’s almost reassuring, hearing the low ho-ho-ho of male laughter and the hysterical squeal of thirteen-year-olds at play against a soundtrack of blaring televisions and the low bass rumble of dance music.
I move my finger over the track pad of Brian’s laptop and click the ‘Start’ button, then ‘Programs’, and then pause. The only program I recognize is Microsoft Office. What’s a Filezilla? A Photoshop? A Skype? I reach for my handbag.
Oliver answers on the second ring. ‘Sue? Everything okay with Charlotte?’
‘She’s fine. I was just wondering if you could give me some technical help.’
‘’Course.’
‘What software would Charlotte use to chat to her friends on the internet?’
‘I don’t know,’ he says after a minute or so. ‘Me and my friends use Facebook chat or MSN Messenger. Maybe Skype. God knows about Charlotte. Why do you need to know?’
I double click a folder that says ‘Documents’ but it’s just Brian’s work stuff. ‘Someone told me she had a conversation with a friend using software on Dad’s laptop and I’ve got a hunch it might be important.’
‘Hmmm.’ I can almost hear Oli thinking. ‘Chances are you’re not going to find anything, not unless you know the application she was using. And even then you’d need to know her username and password. She was using Dad’s laptop you say?’
‘That’s right.’
‘I could be wrong but I’m pretty certain he uses MSN Messenger to have online chats with his constituents once a week and he logs the conversations so he can’t be sued for giving improper advice or making false promises or whatever. If Charlotte didn’t change the settings and that’s what she used then her conversation should be logged too.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah. Do you want me to talk you through how to find the Messenger logs? Actually,’ he pauses, ‘shouldn’t you be asking Dad this?’
‘I …’ I’m not sure how best to handle this. I don’t want Oli to know that his dad has moved out. He might be nineteen but the news would still upset him and he’s slap bang in the middle of some of the most important exams of his career. ‘I haven’t been able to get through to him today. Some tedious select committee meeting that goes on all day I think and it’s really urgent that I access these messages. If there are any.’
‘Okay, no worries.’ He seems reassured by my explanation. ‘Right, this is what you need to do …’
I concentrate hard as he tells me, step by step, where to click and what to open until, finally, we’re there, in a folder called ‘My Chat Logs’.
‘There are loads,’ I say as I scroll through the filenames. ‘Hundreds of the things. How am I supposed to know which one is Charlotte?’
‘You’re not. And if she noticed that Dad had the ‘save conversation’ box checked and unchecked it there won’t be any record of her conversation.’
‘Oh God.’ I keep my finger on the mouse and watch in horror as filename after filename flicks by. It’s going to take me a while to go through them all.
‘Need any more help?’
‘No, no. I’m fine. Thanks so much, Oli.’
We say our goodbyes and I open the first message log. It’s a conversation between Brian and a parishioner about school catchment areas. I close it and open the second message. This time someone wants to draw his attention to ‘the immigration problem’. Third message – a moan about benefits. Fourth message – a request for help renovating a local children’s park. Fifth message – abuse, calling Brian ‘an ineffective pretend politician from a party more concerned with planting trees than economic success’. And there are more messages. More and more and more. They never end. It’s fascinating and frustrating at the same time. I never realized quite how many small-minded, selfish people Brian has to deal with on a daily basis. I open half a dozen more messages and still there are hundreds more. Where’s Charlotte’s conversation? I begin clicking randomly, on this conversation and that, hoping to hit the jackpot. Instead I read about allotment battles, property wars, care home scandals and the death of the high street. Everyone is unhappy about something it seems and Brian is the … I stop clicking to re-read the line that’s just flashed up on the screen.
Charliethecat15: Soz, lappy crashed. Back now.
Charliethecat15. Could that be Charlotte? I read the entire message, my heart beating frantically in my chest …
Charliethecat15: Soz, lappy crashed. Back now.
Ellsbells: Like I give a shit.
Charliethecat15: Don’t be like that, Els
Ellsbells: I don’t know why you’re even bothering to contact me. Our friendship is OVER.
Charliethecat15: Fine, but we need to get our stories straight.
Ellsbells: Why don’t you get your story straight with Keisha seeing as you and her are SO CLOSE
Charliethecat15: This isn’t about Keisha and you know it
Ellsbells: Isn’t it?
Charliethecat15: No. Look Ella, I know I pissed you off and that’s fine, we don’t ever have to talk to each other again but if we don’t cover for each other and Mr E finds out he’ll kill us.
Ellsbells: Fuck Mr E, he’s a prick
Charliethecat15: I know, right.
Charliethecat15: You still there, Ella?
Charliethecat15: Ella?
Ellsbells: What?
Charliethecat15: Will you still cover for me? I will for you.
Ellsbells: Fine. Just don’t ever contact me again.
Charliethecat15: Fine. I won’t. Just wanted to clear that up.
Ellsbells: Whatever.
I read it again. And a third time. And I still have no idea what they’re talking about. Why do they need to cover for each other and who is Mr E? I glance at my watch. 2.45 p.m. I’m going to have to hurry if I want to catch Ella before school kicks out for the day.
I glance at Milly who looks at me hopefully.
‘Okay,’ I grab her lead. ‘You can come too.’
Chapter 16