It had been a little over a fortnight since Mandy had learned the devastating news of her Match’s death.
She’d become frustrated at still not having heard from him, so she decided to make the first move. She was careful not to mention in her introductory email that she had looked him up on social media or that she kept a folder on her computer with photographs she’d saved. But she included a picture of herself, a flattering one taken three years earlier when she was lighter, and before the frown lines from her divorce appeared, as well as her email address and mobile phone number.
Much to her disappointment, she heard nothing in return. Her first thought had been that Richard hadn’t found her attractive, but then she reminded herself that if you’ve been Matched looks were unimportant – supposedly. Had he been bitten by the wanderlust bug again and had gone travelling? There was no evidence of that online … Maybe he was in prison, cripplingly shy, dyslexic or had broken both his hands so he couldn’t type … Mandy was clutching at straws.
It was only by chance when she clicked on his Facebook page – one of the many times that day – that she saw a message left by his sister, informing Richard’s friends of the date and address of his remembrance service.
Mandy had glared at the screen, and re-read the message. Remembrance? What the hell? It didn’t make sense. Richard couldn’t be dead. They’d only just found each other – how on earth could the one person in the world who was supposed to have been made for her no longer be living? And how had she not read about it sooner?
On further examination, Mandy discovered that while Richard’s profile pictures were public, not all his posts were. She requested to be friends with him, in the hope that his sister approved it so she could learn more. And after a tense couple of days, the friend request had been approved. There, she found thread after thread of tribute messages from Richard’s friends across the world, each paying their respects to a man who’d touched them all emotionally.
Grief threatened to tear her apart and she did her best to fight it. She poured herself a glass of Prosecco and carefully scanned local newspapers online, piecing together information about his accident. While he was out celebrating a victory with a group of hockey teammates late one evening, he had become separated from them, stumbled into a road and was struck by a hit-and-run driver. He’d been found a few hours later on a roadside verge with serious head injuries.
Mandy succumbed to her emotions and began to cry and for the rest of the night – and into the early hours of the morning. She pored over photographs of Richard, aching for all he was no longer able to bring to her life.
They would never meet for that all important first date, never would they make love for the first time. She would never hear him tell her that he loved her, build a life together or start a family. She would never know how it felt to be the single most important thing in somebody life. Mandy’s greatest fear was being realised – that she would remain where she had been since her divorce: alone, stagnating and washed up at thirty-seven.
She paced around her lounge wondering whatever she was supposed to do with her life now. She wasn’t ready to accept what had happened. She needed to know more about the man who’d been stolen from her. So, having missed his burial, she decided to gatecrash his memorial.
As the tributes to Richard came to their natural conclusion, his friends made their way down the aisle and towards an open door, where Mandy could see tables laden with bottles of soft drinks, plastic cups, paper plates and napkins. She hesitated, aware that she didn’t belong among the mourners, but nevertheless something compelled her to follow.
Soft-rock played softly through wall-mounted speakers as a mixture of people, faces old and young, helped themselves to food and chatted. Mandy was unsure where to stand, and found herself gravitating towards a lively group of men and a young woman. She was animatedly recalling a time Richard raised money for an abandoned dogs’ charity by skydiving – despite being terrified of heights. Mandy hovered on the edge of the conversation, and savoured the extra information she was gleaning about Richard from the woman’s story. Another in the group told how Richard had persuaded some of his personal-training clients to join him at London’s annual naked bike ride, again for charity. Everyone had a funny memory of Richard and as she listened to them regale these, she couldn’t curtail her envy.
‘Did he ever tell you about the time he got stung by jellyfish?’ The words were out of Mandy’s mouth before even she was able to be shocked by them.
‘No.’ A man with a fringe that hung down to his nose said, and all eyes fell on her. ‘What happened?’
Her mind raced back through the photos she’d seen of Richard, and one in particular stood out where he was standing beside a large, white catamaran, preparing to jump on board for a sightseeing tour.
‘We were swimming in the ocean in Cairns,’ she began, ‘when this school of jellyfish started floating in. He saw me struggling in the water trying to get back to the beach so he paddled out with his board and helped me to shore, even though he had to make his way through a cluster of them first and got his legs stung.’ She could picture everything she said with a crystal-clear clarity.
‘Typical Rich,’ said the young woman and the others nodded, smiling. Mandy smiled too, and felt goosebumps running up her back – she’d got away with it; no one could disprove her.
‘It didn’t stop him from going back in the water, though,’ she added. ‘I’ll always remember sitting in a restaurant opposite Sydney Harbour Bridge drinking with him until the early hours of the morning, swapping stories about travelling. I’ll really miss him.’ At least her final few words had a grain of truth in them.
‘Sorry, we haven’t been introduced,’ the woman said. She gently placed her hand on Mandy’s arm, leading her away from the others.
‘I’m Mandy,’ she said, and held out her hand.
‘Chloe,’ the woman replied. ‘And how did you know Rich?’
Mandy tried to disguise the panic that was swiftly rising inside her. She needed to think on her feet. ‘We … err … met in Australia when he was travelling, then we stayed in touch when we got back.’
‘How long were you out there for?’
‘Erm … a few months.’
‘And where exactly did you meet him?’
‘I think he was with some friends in Cairns to see the Great Barrier Reef, and then we hung out for a bit in Sydney.’
‘Really? That’s interesting.’ The woman feigned a smile. ‘Because I joined Rich for the Australian leg of his travels and we were never out of each other’s sight in Sydney.’
Mandy had taken her fabrication too far. She felt her stomach flip as the woman glared at her with an incensed expression.
‘Now you’re going to tell me who you really are and why you’re lying to people at my brother’s memorial.’
Chapter 17
CHRISTOPHER
Christopher prided himself on many things – his appearance, his determination, his skills in manipulation and the fact that he allowed very little to wrong-foot him.
He liked to think he had a firm grip on his emotions. If confronted with something that diverted him from a plan he’d set out to achieve, his instinct helped him to adapt where necessary so he could maintain his objective.