Net Friends

'Net Friends

by Chris Winfield

The slow, inevitable passage of time had stolen my youth. My hair is now coloured by substances from a bottle rather than by nature, my skin is no longer elastic but heavily influenced by gravity. Long periods of enforced inactivity have led to my body becoming rotund, so it was with great trepidation that I set out for a nearby city to meet a ‘Net friend.

On the Internet he had wooed me and on the phone he had charmed me. Bit by bit my resistance was melted away until I agreed to meet him. I’d seen his photograph but I wasn’t sure that I’d recognise him; after all I have been known to walk past my own mother without recognising her!

I parked the car and walked to the coffee shop where we had agreed to meet. I suppose I had made up my mind that he should see me as I really was and not as something false that I couldn’t or wouldn’t keep up for long. So, I wore an old pair of jogging trousers and a "Stranglers" T-shirt with a rat logo on it. I was clean, because that’s the way I like to be; my hair was braided and I wore my rat earrings.

I went into the coffee shop and ordered a large black coffee; I might need the caffeine fix when I met him. Sitting at a table by the back wall I waited for him. I wasn’t really bothered if Ricky didn’t show up, or so I told myself, though that didn’t explain why my heart was beating faster and I felt slightly sick. Meeting him had given me a reason to travel into town, it had motivated me to get away from the computer and get out into the real world.

I looked at everyone who came in for their coffee, some took trays of it away; presumably for their work colleagues, and practically all of them bought something to eat. I was about to give up and move out of my seat when I saw a tall man standing in the doorway. He was obviously looking for someone. I sort of waved; you know the kind of wave I mean. It was a wave if you were looking for one but was merely a gesture if you weren’t. The man moved towards my table and I could see that he wasn’t Ricky.

"Hi, mind if I sit here? I don’t like to ask but I’m waiting for someone and this seems to be the only free seat."

"No, that’s okay, I was waiting for someone as well but he hasn’t turned up yet."

Then he said, "Moonchild?"

"Yes. Good grief, are you Ricky? I didn’t recognise your voice. And your picture..." I sort of faded away on the last.

"I’m Ricky’s brother. I’m afraid that I have some bad news for you."

He looked at me and for the first time in years I didn’t see contempt in a man’s eyes.

"Let me guess: he’s decided not to come. Well at least he sent you to let me know. That’s more than any of the others did."

He reached out and covered my hands with his.

"No. Ricky wanted to come but last night, just after he phoned you, he collapsed and died."

Shock sort of shut down a part of my mind. I didn’t know what to do nor what to say but I mumbled, "I’m sorry. I should have known that he’d get here if he could. It’s just that I’ve been let down so many times that it’s difficult to trust a man. What caused it? Why did he die?"

He continued, "You knew that he was waiting for an operation?" I nodded. "Did he tell what it was for?"

"No. He just said that he would have to go into hospital for an operation soon. I think that’s why he was so set on meeting me today. He didn’t want to leave it until after the op." My hands were starting to shake, even though they were covered by his larger ones.

"So you didn’t know that it was going to be a heart operation?"

I gasped, "No. I wouldn’t have let him come all this way if I’d known that he had heart problems."

His brother smiled and said, "That’s what I thought. I know a lot about you. Ricky was very fond of you. He would talk about you all the time. And he was really looking forward to meeting you. I thought he was a lucky man."

I looked at this man who must have been about six foot two, with not an ounce of spare fat on him. His hair was going grey but in that distinguished way that happens to some men. He had beautiful brown eyes; in fact his face was good to look at. How could a man with his looks think that Ricky was the lucky one?

"I don’t know much about you," I said," Ricky didn’t talk much about his family."

"Well, I’m Dean; my mother had a crush on Dean Martin hence my name. I’m Ricky’s younger brother."

"It's nice to meet you, Dean. It’s just a pity that it’s in such sad circumstances."

It was then that I noticed that the serving staff were looking at us. "Perhaps we’d better leave; unless you want to eat here" I said, standing up.

We left. Dean walked me back to my car, shook hands with me and drove away. I motored home feeling sad and happy at the same time. Sad because Ricky was dead but happy because he had wanted to talk to me, to meet me, so much so that his brother had actually come to see me rather than just sending me a message. I suppose that I was also happy because I might have found a new friend.

At home I went onto the chat line briefly, just long enough to tell them that Ricky was dead, then mooched around the house until bedtime. But I couldn’t sleep. My mind was in turmoil; I kept thinking about all the things Ricky had said to me, all the things that we had planned on doing together. All the scenarios with Ricky being alive in them began to replay themselves. Eventually I’d had enough so I got up and switched on my computer, perhaps surfing the net would help take my mind off things.

As the connection was made a message popped up onto the screen.

"Hello. I miss you." It was from Ricky.

I replied, "Who is that?" but there was no answer. I even tried sending another message to Ricky but he wasn’t online. Not thinking about what time it was I phoned Ricky’s house and after a while Dean answered. I told him about the message.

"Strange. No one’s been anywhere near the computer. We were all in bed and I think that I’m the only one who would know how to use it. Mother and father haven’t the faintest idea."

The next day it happened again.

"I miss you." From Ricky.

And it happened every time I logged onto the ‘Net. No one would admit to it, and the managers of the chat site couldn’t find out how to stop it appearing on my computer. I started replying to the message.

First of all I just typed, "I miss you, too." But I started writing about what I’d been doing during the day. I wrote about my boring life but decided that no one would want to read about such a life, so bit by bit I changed my life. I went out everyday, sometimes just for a walk, sometimes for a bus ride. While I was walking I was really looking at what was going on around me. For the first time ever I took an interest in my neighbourhood. I even smiled and said "Hello" to people. Much to my amazement they not only said "hello" to me but some actually started conversations. Soon I was visiting other people and they were visiting me. I had a new circle of friends; these were new, touchable people, real people. My life was far more interesting now but every night I still wrote to Ricky.

One night I received a phone call; it was from Dean.

"Would you like to meet me?" he asked," There’s something I have to tell you."

I thought about meeting Dean for what must have been a whole second, " Yes, I think that I’d like to meet you again."

We met in the same coffee shop and much to my embarrassment Dean gave me a bunch of roses.

"You’ve changed, " he said, " There’s something different about you." He studied me over the roses and styrofoam coffee cups.

"My life has changed. I meet more real people and they seem to like me."

"From what Ricky told me you’re a very likeable person, you just needed to get out and meet people." Dean smiled at me, a very warm smile – more than friendly, it seemed.

This was getting rather too intense for me so I asked him what he had to tell me.

"We found Ricky’s will and I was named executor. He’s left you something." Dean said quietly.

I looked down at my hands. "I don’t want anything. I’ve got all of his letters and messages. We didn’t meet, so nothing of his will evoke any memories for me."

"Aren’t you curious as to what he wanted you to have? If you don’t have it I’ll be in an awkward position. I’m supposed to fulfill the terms of his will." Dean looked a bit flustered, and that made me curious.

"What on earth could he have left me that can make you feel so uneasy about me not getting it?"

Dean flushed then said, " Did you know that Ricky was rich? I mean really wealthy?"

I shook my head, " No. I knew that he had enough money not to work if he didn’t feel like it but we never discussed money."

I began to wonder what a wealthy friend could have left me. A car perhaps so that I didn’t have to use the public transport so much, but Ricky knew that I had a car even if I didn’t use it all the time. Sometimes it was simply cheaper and made more sense to go by bus. Surely he wouldn’t have left me anything that expensive; after all, we had never met, although we were close friends. Our phone conversations would last for hours and our letters were love letters, each of us wanting to let our feelings be known, and yet we still hesitated about actually meeting one another.

Dean interrupted my thoughts. "Do you trust me?"

"Yes. I suppose so. Why?"

"I’ll have to take you somewhere in my car. It’s the only way to show you where Ricky lived."

We had quite a long drive but eventually Dean turned into what looked like a large country park. He stopped the car outside of a large, no, not large but massive mansion.

"Welcome to Ricky’s home," Dean said with a small flourish.

I stood and gaped at the house in wonder. "He owned this?" I was stunned.

"It’s part of what he owned. The house and parkland and the farming estate, as well as most of our lands in Scotland, are entailed. As Ricky had no sons they go to me. But he did have some property of his own. He bought the house and land you can see from here."

Dean pointed to a large house that stood near the entrance to the park. Surely Ricky hadn’t left me that? But Dean was walking into the mansion so I followed him. We went into a library with floor to ceiling books and I immediately felt at home there. There was a fire burning in the grate and a computer on the desk near the fire.

"This is where Ricky would sit when he was writing to you. Please sit down, I’ll get us some refreshments."

I sat down and looked around me; from my chair I could see some of my favourite authors: Jane Austen, Ian Rankin, Philip K Dick, Terry Pratchett, Tolstoy and others. It was like seeing old friends in new surroundings.

Dean returned with a tray bearing coffee and sandwiches. He sat down and said, "Ricky has left you this."

He handed me a box, about a foot long and nine inches high, five or six inches wide. It was a beautiful, old box. Carefully I opened it. It was like opening a treasure chest! Strings of pearls and gold chains, rings and bracelets were all jumbled together.

"Are they... are they real?" I asked. I could hardly speak.

Dean smiled, "My brother didn’t buy junk."

"But these must be worth a large fortune!" I was fingering some of the pieces, their gems catching the light and refracting it into hundreds of small dazzling points.

"Yes, I’ve been going through the receipts trying to match them up. He’s spent well over a million pounds on these trinkets. Though goodness only knows why."

I snapped the box shut and pushed it away from me. I didn’t want them. "I’m sorry Dean but I don’t want these. I’d quite like the box, it’s pretty, but I don’t want the jewellery. It doesn’t remind me of Ricky."

Dean looked at me and smiled again.

"Ricky said that you might reject the jewellery. Mother didn’t believe him. She will get it all. He put several clauses in his will; one of them was about the box. If you rejected it you could have your choice of anything from the house."

I knew what I wanted. The only thing that tied my memories of Ricky together was a book. I searched the desk drawers and it was there: a collection of love poems. Ricky would quote some of them to me during our phone conversations. These would always remind me of him. I took the well-thumbed book out of the drawer.

"I’d like this please."

Dean seemed surprised, "That’s all?"

"It’s the only thing that will help me remember him. I’ll read it and cry but I will read it because he liked it."

An old woman walked into the library.

"She’s rejected the box?" she demanded.

"Yes mother. All she wants is a book of poems."

She walked up to me and peered into my face. "Did you love him?" she quietly but firmly asked.

I nodded, " Yes, even though we’d never met I loved him. I loved what I knew."

And what I knew was that I’d have trusted Ricky completely but I was starting to have doubts about Dean. It wasn’t anything he had done or said; it was just a gut feeling. Something about him told me not to trust him completely, not to let him into my life.

She shook her head and walked away from me. Dean hurriedly went after her and I could hear them argue as they went away from the library. Then Dean came back.

"I’m sorry about that. Mother thinks that you are after Ricky’s money. Father is away and she doesn’t trust my judgment."

"Why doesn’t your father own the house? If it’s entailed why did it miss him?"

"He’s our step-father, our biological father died years ago." Dean studied me for a moment, and sighed. "I suppose that I’d better take you home."

I picked up the book, left the house and let Dean drive me home. I’d never let him know where I lived though I suppose that he had my address if he had read Ricky’s papers and letters.

Later on that night I had another message on my computer: "I miss you. Don’t trust him. Love, Ricky." I wrote back to him about my trip to his house and told him what I had picked but as usual there was no return message.

The next day the same message was there. I presumed that it meant that I wasn’t to trust Dean, but I had no qualms about that as I didn’t intend to see him again. I wrote and told Ricky this, then settled down to read some of the poems.

Ricky had made notes by the side of some of them, most of them about me, and soon I couldn’t read because of the tears coursing down my cheeks. I put the book down and walked into the kitchen where I ran water into the sink to start the washing up. Then the phone rang. Drying my hands I went to answer the phone. It was Dean.

"Can I see you again?"

"Why? Surely there’s no need, is there?" I was cautiously polite.

"I’d simply like to see you again."

"I’m busy at the moment." I remembered the message.

"How about Friday night?" Soft insistence.

"Actually I’m meeting an old friend then. She’s been away for a long time and we’ve only just arranged to meet." Oh dear, I’ll rot in Hell for telling such lies. Why can’t I simply tell him that I don’t want to meet him?

"Oh, Well another time then?" There was genuine disappointment in his voice.

"I’m sure that I won’t always be busy Dean."

He was silent for a moment. "Right. I’ll be in touch later, then. 'Bye."

I sighed with relief when he rang off. At least he didn’t push me for a date. I didn’t like telling lies and even though Dean had never been anything but polite to me I still heeded the warning on my computer.

Friday came and I settled down in my upstairs workroom with my poetry book and a glass of pina colada, a luxury for me but I was spoiling myself. All of the lights were off except for the reading lamp. I was reading Elizabeth Barrett’s " How do I love thee?" when I heard a noise. It sounded as if someone was trying to open the door with a key that didn’t quite fit the lock. I wasn’t too perturbed because I knew the bolt would hold the door. Putting the book down I walked over and picked up the phone, but it was dead. More worried then, I went to my desk and fished about in the big drawer for my mobile phone. Then I called my nearest neighbour, a police inspector who worked in Steffington and who lived about two miles away.

"Ronny, I think someone’s trying to break into my house!"

"I’ll be right over." He hung up without waiting for a response.

The intermittent noises continued. But sure enough, five minutes later I saw the headlights of his car coming down the road, and then my house went dark. My electricity had been cut off. I presumed that this meant that whoever was trying to get into the house had gone into the outhouse and found the supply meter. In the dark I listened and heard a dog bark. Ronny must have brought his German shepherd dog with him. Then I heard a voice shouting and Ronny saying," Stand still and he won’t hurt you." This was followed by a ring on my doorbell.

"Ronny?" My voice may have shaken a bit.

"Yes, sweetheart. You can open the door now." Ronny's deep voice was reassuring.

Cautiously I opened the door but kept the chain on. I saw Ronny holding Dean and Patty the dog was standing on guard.

"You know this guy?" asked Ronny

"I’ve met him but I don’t actually know him," I said slowly.

"Well, I do. He’s a con man. He’s wanted by several police forces. He usually works a con on lonely women."

I looked at Dean. "Was Ricky in on this?"

Dean was sullen, but he answered. "Nah. He knows nothing about it. I was in his house one day and heard him going on about you."

"But what about me going into the house? And meeting his mother?"

"She’s just an old woman who wanted to earn some money. We were arguing because she wanted out. She didn’t like what I was doing to you."

"So where’s Ricky?" I was growing alarmed. This man didn't look like a murderer, but then he hadn't looked like a con man, either.

Dean just shrugged. A police car drew up by the door and they took Dean away. Ronny said, "Will you be okay? I’ll have to go to the station to see to this guy."

"Ronny, if he is a con man then this might mean that Ricky isn’t dead. Maybe he’s being held somewhere."

"I’ll get it out of him. Although, kidnapping is rather more serious than conning people. I’ll look into it. Lock up then go to bed. I’ll see you in the morning."

I locked the door and thought how lucky I was to have a police inspector as my neighbour and friend.

The next morning I had a phone call. The voice on the other end said, "Hi."

"Ricky?" I was astonished, but very pleased.

"Yes, it’s me. The police found me last night."

"Where are you?" I tried not to sound too eager.

"I’m at home. Do you think you can find it?"

"Is it the big house?"

"No, stop by the park entrance and I’ll find you." He rang off then, with what sounded faintly like "I love you." Maybe it was my imagination, I thought.

I got the car out of the garage and began the long drive to see Ricky. Stopping by the entrance to the park I waited. It wasn’t long before I saw him. He slipped into the passenger seat and guided me to his house. It was the large house on the outskirts of the parkland that I’d seen on my previous visit.

"Do you really own all of this?" I asked

"I own this house, but as far as I know the National Trust own the big house. It’s been closed whilst they do essential repairs."

"So you’re not super rich?"

"No, sorry I’m not. I’m well-off but not super rich. This house has been in the family for a couple of generations and I inherited it."

"I’m glad that you’re not super rich. But what did Dean think that he’d get out of conning me? I only have my cottage here in the country."

"I think he believed that you had money you weren’t revealing, or maybe that I wasn’t telling him about, because I was interested in you. He’s that way, you know – only cares for what a person has, not what the person is. So, he thinks everyone is that way." He looked at me. "He thought he'd be able to charm it out of you."

"Huh, I’m not that gullible, even if I did have money! How did you meet this guy, anyway?"

Ricky shook his head. "He and I were in school together, years ago. He looked me up – imagine he found me on the ‘Net or something. I got the impression he was down on his luck." Ricky shook his head. "I let him stay at the house a few nights, just for old times' sake. Stupid of me."

"How did you manage to send me the computer messages? I mean, if he was holding you against your will…"

Now it was Ricky's turn to be puzzled. "What computer messages? I’ve not been near a computer for weeks. I was locked in the basement most of the time, and when I was out he wouldn’t let me near one."

I told him about my messages but Ricky was as mystified as I was. And he never saw any of my reply messages, either. Later, he had his computer checked by a technician, but none of my messages were stored there.

That was a little over a year ago. After that initial meeting we met often, and now I’m sitting here in front of the computer writing my story. Tomorrow Ricky and I are getting married. We have decided not to sell the cottage but to keep it for when we want to live in the wilder countryside.

The puzzle of the messages has never been solved. No one will admit to sending them. The internet provider hasn’t been able to tell me where they originated. My guardian angel? Someone who knew the truth about Ricky and Dean, but was prevented from acting except secretly? I still don't know. I don't think I need to know, really. The important thing is that Ricky and I are together now.