Chapter 14

14

Roxi

An afternoon that began with such hope was gradually petering out into disappointment for Roxi.

Three hours into a dull work lunch with Owen and his colleagues and she had still not received a single notification responding to her post earlier that day calling for people to ‘be better’ in the aftermath of Jem Jones’ death. She had left her phone in the car and was relying on her Smart watch to alert her to the response she had hoped for. She had checked and rechecked its settings many times but there was nothing wrong with it. She had to face facts – nobody was interested in her opinion.

‘It’s early days,’ said Owen as the event drew to a close and they returned to the car. ‘It might take a few days for people to see it.’ His sympathy felt forced, she thought.

‘That used to be the case for social media but not these days,’ Roxi replied. ‘If you’re not gaining traction in the first hour, you might as well not have bothered.’

‘Perhaps people don’t like your message.’

‘What, that we all need to start being better? Who wouldn’t like that?’

‘Do you even believe it?’

‘I said it, didn’t I?’

‘You also once posted that you couldn’t live without rose-scented toilet bleach you’d been paid to promote. Did you believe that?’

‘That’s different. Suggesting every single household should be made to record their conversations is a valid and controversial talking point. Why aren’t more people up in arms over it?’

‘Maybe they think you’re only saying it to get a rise.’

‘Do you have to be so bloody pessimistic all—’

Roxi was interrupted by a vibration on her wrist. It was followed by another, then another and more. The watch face revealed hundreds of notifications and a handful of missed calls. ‘What the . . .’ she began before realizing her watch had been too far away from her phone to receive any updates. She grabbed her phone from the glovebox and hurriedly scrolled through it, then held it to her ear.

‘Look, tomorrow is Saturday,’ Owen continued. ‘Let’s go out for the day, the four of us. Catch the Express to London. We can be there in twenty-five minutes. I’ll make us a reservation on the South Bank for lunch then we can go into town and do some shopping. Make a day of it.’ His wife was too distracted to respond. ‘Rox? Rox?’

Her attention was fixed on a voice note. ‘Sorry, I have plans,’ she said.

‘Doing what?’

A smile unravelled as Roxi moved her phone from her ear and showed him the screen. ‘Because of this.’

She pressed play for a second time, this time on speaker mode. ‘Hi Roxi, it’s Dani Graph here, a booker for Sky News. I spotted your very passionate Instagram TV post and wondered if you’d like to come on our midday show tomorrow to talk more about it? Please call me back as soon as possible.’

Roxi clutched the phone to her chest. ‘This is it, Owen! This is where it all begins.’

She was too preoccupied with the future to register her husband’s present, muted response, or the palest of red lights on the car’s console recording their conversation.