Story

Now following you...

Chapter one

Now Following You is a clever, chilling and compelling read, which skilfully weaves relevant issues – most notably, the power social media gives to stalkers and others who intend harm — into a captivating story with believable characters.

Jamie Burchell flexed her fingers, shifted in her seat, and forced herself to focus on the screen.
Part of her longed to jump up and make another cup of tea, check her Facebook page, let the cats in. To do anything, in short, that didn’t involve squeezing words out of the toothpaste tube of her mind and onto the screen. But it was already 9am and she needed to get this instalment posted.
Her eyes slid to the window. The jacaranda trees were starting to take on a faintly purple haze.
Then she frowned.
There was a toddler running around in the road. He seemed perfectly happy – stopping now and then to squat down and examine a tiny stone or whatever took his fancy. But the point was, he was right there in the middle of the road.
Jamie stood up and peered through the glass, sure she would spot whoever was looking after him. Toddlers didn’t go for walks all by themselves, not even in this quiet suburb.
A car drove past, close enough for the rush of air to knock the little boy onto his well-padded bottom.
“What…?”
Grabbing the remote for her gate, Jamie slipped on her shoes and rushed out of the house.
“Hey, little guy.” She crossed the road and scooped the toddler into her arms. “Hey, buddy. What are you doing out here all on your own?” Her eyes swivelled, looking for an adult who might be in charge of him.
There was no one around. Normally at this time of day, there were gardeners mowing lawns and domestic workers taking their breakfast breaks. Today the street was deserted.
“Where do you live, buddy? Huh? Where’s home?” A slight panic fluttered in her as she realised the child was probably too young to answer any of these questions. Jamie was no expert, but he seemed barely to be at the “mama” and “dada” stage. The chances that he was going to start reciting his name, address, and mother’s cellphone number seemed remote.
She tried pointing in different directions and saying, “Where’s mama? Where’s mama?” but he just grinned and bounced in her arms and pointed at whatever she was pointing at.
“Oh, dear.”
Jamie pulled herself together. Toddlers didn’t appear out of thin air. He must have come from one of the houses along the street. She shifted him onto her hip and walked up and down, looking for an open gate or a door left ajar. There was nothing. Every house was shut up tight.
“What am I going to do with you, little guy?”
He looked up as she spoke. She stared down into his chocolate-drop eyes and her heart stumbled in her chest.
“Dooce,” he said, as though he’d been considering her question. “Dzooce.”
It took her a moment.
“Juice?” she ventured. “You want some juice?”
From the way his legs kicked against her and the gummy smile that broke out across his face, it seemed she’d translated correctly.
“Well, I can’t leave you out here on your own…”
Feeling like a baby-snatcher, Jamie took one last look around and pressed the remote to open her gate.
“Okay, bud. Let’s go inside and get you some juice.”
She took him into her house and sat him down on one of her kitchen chairs. He promptly lurched sideways. She leapt forward and caught him approximately one second before his head connected with the tiled floor.
“Oh, my goodness! No, don’t cry. Don’t cry, sweetheart. I’m sorry.”
It wasn’t his near-miss with the kitchen floor that was making him wail, she realised, but the distress in her voice. So she held him close and did a little jiggly dance around the room, talking soothingly to him all the while.
“Okay, no more chairs for you, big guy.” She put him down on the floor once he’d stopped crying. Sweating a little, she turned to the fridge to get out some juice. She’d poured almost a full glass when the image of those blindingly white little teeth came into her mind. Along with the thought that it might not be the best idea to bathe them in the concentrated sugar of fruit juice.
So she poured two-thirds of the juice out and filled the rest up with water. Feeling grown up and responsible, she handed him the glass.
“There,” she said. “What do you say to that, sweetie?”
He snatched the glass from her hands, and promptly upended it all over his face and shirt. As the icy-cold liquid hit his skin he started to wail again, flinging the glass onto the floor, where it smashed into pieces.
“Fuck. Oh, fuck! The glass. You’ll cut yourself.”
She lifted him up in her arms and awkwardly set about cleaning up, wielding a mop one-handed. She hadn’t realised parents needed to be ambidextrous. Only once every single shard had been cleared away did she wipe him and set him down again.
“You need a dry T-shirt, sweetie, but that’ll have to do for now. Now let’s try the juice thing again.”
This time she filled a glass and held it to his lips so he could sip from it safely. He almost drained the glass. “You were really thirsty, weren’t you, darling? Now let’s put you down on this lovely soft carpet where you can’t hurt yourself.”

Tell us: Would you have taken the child inside or immediately knocked on neighbours’ doors?

To be continued...