‘No – nothing like that.’
‘What is it, then?’
Orla took a deep breath, nervous about asking him this question, but anxious to know the answer. ‘How did you find me? I mean, I never actually told Helen where I lived.’
‘No. I didn’t think you had.’
‘So how did you find me?’
Luke cleared his throat. ‘I – erm – looked at clues in your photos.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘On Galleria.’
‘But I don’t photograph the castle and I’m very careful with taking shots inside.’
‘Yes, I noticed,’ Luke agreed, ‘but there were some clues if you look closely enough, which I’m sure most people don’t.’
‘Where?’ Orla asked in panic. ‘Where are these clues?’
‘Do you have your phone nearby?’
Orla picked it up from the table and called up Galleria before handing it to Luke and watching as he scrolled through her photographs.
‘You see this church?’
‘Yes.’ It was St George’s in Lorford and was a favourite subject of Orla’s.
‘It was one of the first things I noticed about your feed.’
‘But I never photograph the whole building – just bits of it.’
‘I know, but it’s a very distinctive building. See here?’ He turned the phone round to her again. ‘You’ve got the round tower featured.’
‘Doesn’t it look like most churches, though?’
‘No, I’m afraid not. Round-towered churches aren’t commonplace and are quite distinct to East Anglia.’
‘I didn’t know that.’
Luke took the phone again. ‘You also photograph the sea a lot. Now, that could mean you have a holiday home by the sea or take a lot of day trips, but it does help when trying to locate someone.’
‘I never thought of that,’ Orla admitted. ‘I mean, I was aware I was photographing the sea, but we live on an island, right?’
‘Yes, but it’s when you start putting all these things together.’
‘And that’s what you did?’
‘Yes.’ She saw Luke’s face colour slightly at the admission. ‘And then there was the castle. The windows. The windowsills. You might not have photographed the exterior or anything obvious like the turrets, but the interior backgrounds are very revealing. Not in all your pictures, of course – I had to search carefully, but that was what I needed to do to find you.’
Orla didn’t say anything. She was too stunned. How could she have been so stupid? She’d thought she’d been so careful never photographing the whole of the church and only showing little corners of her home, but that had been enough for Luke to find her. And, if he could find her . . .
Suddenly, she grabbed her phone off him and started tapping furiously.
‘What are you doing?’ Luke asked.
‘Deleting.’
‘Your account?’
‘No, but perhaps I should.’
‘No! Don’t do that.’
Luke got up and stood over her, watching as she deleted photo after photo.
‘That seems a bit drastic.’
‘You found me, didn’t you?’
‘Well, yes.’
‘Nobody should be able to do that. I’ve been too careless.’ Orla could feel her heart pounding as she went through her photos. What had she been thinking, posting all those church pictures? And the beach ones too. She’d thought she’d been clever in her obscurity and that quirky angles and incomplete images were enough to hide behind, but it was obvious that they weren’t.
‘Orla,’ Luke whispered, sitting down next to her again. ‘It’s okay.’
‘No, it’s not. I’ve got to get rid of them.’
‘But what about all your lovely comments?’
She paused. She hadn’t thought about that. He meant from Helen, didn’t he? She wasn’t just deleting photographs, but Helen’s voice from the past.
She could feel hot tears rising now. She felt helpless. ‘I don’t know what to do,’ she said.
‘May I have a look at the phone?’ Luke gently held out his hand. ‘Is there a way of saving the photos and comments? We could store them somewhere else so they’re not visible to anybody but yourself.’
Orla nodded and handed him the phone. ‘I think we can do that.’
‘Okay, good. Let’s do that, then.’
‘But I’ve already deleted so many.’
‘Don’t worry about those.’
‘But Helen’s comments—’
‘It’s okay. We’ll save the other ones.’
The two of them worked together. It took some time, opening each photo and saving the images and comments to another place, but they finally managed it.
‘I’ve lost a lot of content,’ she said once they’d finished.
‘You’ll make it up again.’
‘With more care next time.’
‘Yes,’ Luke agreed. ‘If you think that’s a good idea.’
‘I do,’ she said. ‘I’m just glad it was you who found the clues and not . . . somebody else.’ She bit her tongue. She’d said too much, and she could see the questions rising in Luke’s face so she got up and turned away from him.
‘Orla?’
‘Yes?’
‘I think you’re worrying too much.’
Orla didn’t say anything, but she knew that Luke was wrong. As far as she was concerned, she hadn’t been worrying enough.
Chapter 8
The nightmare was always the same. She was walking down a long corridor, clinically white, the lights bright and harsh. Some kind of hospital. She should have been safe in a hospital, but she instinctively knew that she wasn’t. Her whole body felt cold with fear and she could feel her heart racing as she passed each open doorway. Why were they always open? Anybody could leap out of them as she passed. Or maybe that was a distraction or some kind of trick. Maybe they would come from behind her? She turned around, just in case, but there was nobody there, and so she walked on, her speed quickening until she was running. And the corridor just kept getting longer and longer, never ending, stretching, elongating, reaching out until . . .
Until she woke up.
Bolt upright in her bed, Orla took some deep breaths as she chanted to herself, I’m awake, I’m awake, I’m awake. It took a little while to convince herself and for her trembling body to catch up with her mind but, finally, she felt safe enough to leave her bed.
The nightmares were becoming rarer now, but they still had the power to shake her to her core when they struck. Swinging her legs out of bed and turning on her bedside lamp, Orla knew
