BooksBarbecue
Back Ghosted
Chapters (61)
  1. COVER
  2. About the Author
  3. Books by Emily Barr
  4. DEDICATION
  5. Prologue
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. 14
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. 17
  23. 18
  24. 19
  25. 20
  26. 21
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. 27
  33. 28
  34. 29
  35. 30
  36. 31
  37. 32
  38. 33
  39. 34
  40. 35
  41. 36
  42. 37
  43. 38
  44. 39
  45. 40
  46. 41
  47. 42
  48. 43
  49. 44
  50. 45
  51. 46
  52. 47
  53. 48
  54. 49
  55. 50
  56. 51
  57. Epilogue
  58. Acknowledgements
  59. Read on for an extract from …
  60. 12 December
  61. THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING

I trawled through a surprising number of people called Troy, and alighted on Troy H-Laffitte, who had the right-coloured hair in his corporate profile pic. I clicked on the profile. I was pretty sure that he’d know I’d looked at it, that this was how LinkedIn worked (for some reason), but I didn’t care. This was the most boring social media in the world and I didn’t get it, but I knew how to stalk a profile at least.

His hair looked more like a kind of strawberry blond than actual ginger, and he was suntanned. In his profile picture he was doing a half-smile at the camera, wearing a suit, against a plain white background.

It was definitely him. This was the ghost boy I’d seen writing on the wall with a stone. He had written HELP ME. He’d needed help because his best friend had gone missing. Later he had run away to France. I wondered whether he’d gone to France because Joe had never managed to get there, or whether that was a cringingly trite way of framing things.

Most of his profile was in French. I wished Florence was here to help, but on the other hand I was still studying it, and so I focused and found that I could actually understand it perfectly well. It didn’t say anything remotely interesting, though. In fact, it was the most boring thing I’d ever read in any language.

Right at the bottom, however, there was a link to another site. I clicked and it took me to a personal website.

While he had his office job in Marseilles, Troy also worked as an artist, and the blog I was looking at now was his art-selling page.

This was miles better. Some of the site was in English and, best of all, there were lots of photographs. I pored over them. Troy’s art was nice: it wasn’t earth-shattering or avant-garde, but it was pretty. There were seascapes, landscapes, pictures of vases of flowers and portraits, including one of a baby and another that I was pretty sure was a semi-abstract painting of Joe.

I looked hard into the backgrounds of all the pictures. I inspected every single thing I could in this slice of Troy’s life.

And then I saw it.

Penguin walking logo

42

It’s Saturday for Ariel, and all I can think of, all day, is how much I long to see her. She didn’t specifically say that she’d be back today. I don’t really know her life any more, but she has loads of new friends and a nephew, so she might be too busy.