The Exchange

Chloe Garry didn’t mind the two buses it took to get to work, she didn’t mind the fact that it took her over an hour for the journey, and had to spend time hanging around in Manchester’s Shude Hill bus station. The journey to and from work gave her time for her writing. She would find a free seat on each bus, and would scribble away in her notebook. 

Chloe worked for the Chorlton Advertiser, a nothing-ness of a local newspaper, but in her mind, the job was in the writing word, and that mattered. Words and stories were her business, her trade, and while the newspaper covered events like the open day at the allotment, or the Ukulele Group performing to a small crowd at a school fete, in her imagination, she was like Ernest Hemingway working away on both the newspaper, and her latest masterpiece. 

One morning, having changed buses at the bus station, she found a free seat on the bus to Chorlton. As the bus was pulling out of the station and away into the crawling rush-hour traffic, a man in a shirt and tie took the seat next to her. 

Chloe shifted in her seat to give the guy a bit more room, then rummaged in her back for her notebook. She continued scribbling away, carrying on the story she was working on. A few stops later she could feel the guy next to her looking at her. She knew exactly what had caught his attention. For some reason, writing always seemed to draw attention. Whenever she worked on her writing in the local pub or coffee shop, the staff would always enquire what she was writing. She smiled to herself, maybe she should get a t-shirt that says, I’m a writer, back off. 

A few minutes passed, the bus filling up as they continued their journey, then the guy asked the question.

‘What is it that you’re writing?’ he asked.

There was something shy and awkward about him, as though he wasn’t entirely comfortable in his own skin. And, she noticed, the grey shirt and red tie wasn’t a great look. Who would wear a bright red tie?

‘I’m a writer,’ Chloe said. ‘I write short stories.’

‘Oh, wow, you’re creative. That’s very cool.’ the guy said. 

Chloe shrugged, thanks and turned back to her notebook. She quickly lost herself once again in her writing, and the rocking stop-start motion of the bus. A couple of stops before she was to get off, the guy pushed the button and got to his feet. 

‘See you, then.’ He said, glancing back.

‘Yeah, see you.’ Chloe said. 

They always said that people in the North of the UK were friendlier than those in the South. In the North, if you found yourself standing at a bus queue with the same people every morning, you’d eventually know them well enough to say good day to, and to talk about the weather and the appalling public transport system the city had. Even so, to say good-bye to someone you’ve literally only just met did seem rather over-the-top. She shrugged to herself, maybe that’s the way the guy was, and he seemed harmless enough. She forgot about the rather odd interaction and readied herself to get off the bus in a few stops.  

The following morning, Chloe found a free seat on the bus next to a lad in a supermarket polo-shirt. The guy in the red tie from the day before smiled at her when he saw her. He squeezed down the busy bus, and as there were no free seats, stood beside her, holding on to the rail.

‘Hello, you.’ He nodded to her notepad. ‘Working on your writing again?’ 

‘Yes, I am. It makes the journey to work go a bit quicker.’ Chloe said. 

‘What do you write?’ He asked.

‘I write all sorts really, short stories, poems, I keep a journal and I’m also working on a novel.’

‘Wow, I’m impressed. It’s not often you meet a literary genius on the bus to work.’ He said. 

Chloe smiled politely. 

When his stop came, he said he’d see her tomorrow. Chloe replied as coolly as she could. She couldn’t put her finger on it but there was something quite unsettling about the way he said it. 

The next day, the guy in the grey shirt and red tie managed to get the seat across the aisle from her. Chloe sighed as he made his way towards her. What was it with the guy? Couldn’t he find someone, anyone else to chat to on the way to work? Or how about reading the morning newspaper, or do what most people did on bus journeys, and scroll through social media on their mobile phones?

And again he was wearing the grey shirt and red tie. It must be a thing, she thought. His work wardrobe must consist of the same outfit for each day of the week. As he took the seat he greeted her.

‘I’m Ben, by the way.’ He added.

‘Chloe.’ she replied, with reluctance. 

The next few days the morning commute when in the same way. Ben would join her on the second bus of her journey and make awkward small-talk. Chloe would be as vague as she could in her replies, and tell herself, he was just being friendly and meant well. 

As the days turned into weeks, Ben grew even chattier on the morning bus journey. Chloe didn’t even bother getting her notepad out. She wouldn’t be able to write anything, Ben would be chewing her ear off. He seemed really eager and excited to speak to her. Chloe would try to strike the right balance between keeping her distance, and not encourage him any further, but also try not to be too rude and abrupt in her responses.

Eventually she got used to the interaction with Ben, she would smile and say good morning, when he boarded the bus, and tell him have a good weekend, on Fridays. 

One morning, Ben plonked himself down on the seat next to her. When he spoke, he tried to sound casual but Chloe sensed he had been rehearsing the words.

‘I hear there’s a new Indian restaurant opened in Peel Green, we could go.’ He said.

‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea.’

‘Come on, you love Indian food. And you wouldn’t have far to go. It’s only round the corner from you.’

‘We’ll see.’ She managed, recalling that when her mother said we’ll see, it meant it wasn’t ever going to happen. 

Later that morning, Ben’s comments were still on her mind. That evening a couple of things were still niggling her. Firstly, she didn’t recall telling Ben that she liked Indian food. It wasn’t a secret, her favourite food was hot and spicy curries, and she often posted about her meals on social media. Had he checked her social media profiles out? That wasn’t unusual. These days everyone checked out everyone else. Any new starters at her company, everyone would check out their socials and see what they were about.

But what really startled her was that he knew where she lived. She had always been careful about not revealing too many details online, and was always rather vague about her location in their chats, so how had he discovered she lived in Peel Green? She always changed buses at the exchange. She would go one way, to her stop and Ben would head off in the other direction. How on earth did he know if the new restaurant was near where she lived?

A shiver went through her. Had he followed her home? Chloe tried not to panic. She did what she always did when she felt stressed, she made herself a cup of tea and reached for her notebook. Writing was the best stress-release. There was nothing better than escaping the real world, into a realm of her own creating. She tried to forget about Ben and focus on her writing. 

The next morning, she vowed to be even more vague and evasive with Ben, would try and reveal less than nothing. Thankfully, that morning their conversation was more like daily chat than anything more intrusive or intimate. Chloe made a mental note, to keep him at arms’ length. 

A couple of weeks later, one Saturday night, Chloe was out with friends in the city centre. The plan was to do a crawl around the city, have a few drinks, beer, wine and cocktails, in a few bars. It would be nice to catch up with her friends over drinks. 

Just after nine o’clock that evening, as Chloe was on the way back from the bar with a tray of brightly-coloured drinks for her and the girls, she spotted a familiar face peering through the window. Framed in the glow of light from the bar, she recognised him instantly, even though he was wearing a grey hoodie instead of the shirt and red tie. 

Chloe placed the tray down carefully, took a sip of her drink, and told her friends she’d be back in a minute.   

‘Hello, you. What are the chances of that? I thought it was you.’ Ben said.

‘Hi, Ben.’ Chloe managed. ‘What are you doing in town?’

‘Oh, I’m meeting some old friends for a drink. I’m just off to join them now.’ He jerked a thumb in the direction of the bars further up the busy city street. 

‘Lovely, well, you have a good night.’ Chloe said, and turned and headed back to the bar. As she pulled open the doors, she shook her head. There was something odd about this, she thought. The way Ben had just been standing there watching her, shivers went through her. She tried to put it to the back of her mind and went to join her friends. 

The night wore on, more drinks, more laughs, more bars. Around midnight Chloe and her friends were in a packed bar off Deansgate. They were having such a good night, the tunes were banging, and everyone was at that lovely stage of drunk where the world was a magical place. Chloe was dancing away with her friends, arms swaying in the air, the flashing pulsing red and green lights framing everything. 

Then she saw him. 

Ben was standing across the dance-floor, just staring at her. Chloe felt sick. Despite having had a few drinks, she knew this wasn’t right. This wasn’t normal. This just wasn’t on. She pushed her way through the dancing crowd towards him. He smiled at her as she marched towards him.

‘Hello, you.’ he said.

‘Ben, what are you doing here?’

‘I’m meeting friends.’ 

‘Where are they? Please do not tell me you’re here on your own.’ Chloe said.

‘Can I buy you a drink?’ he asked.

‘No, of course not. This isn’t normal, Ben.’ Chloe said.

‘Not normal? I can’t buy my friend a drink?’ He replied.

‘We are not friends, Ben. Okay?’ Chloe said, jabbing a finger at him. 

He reeled as if she’d slapped him.

‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand.’ He said quietly.

‘Those people,’ she pointed to the group on the dance-floor, ‘they are my friends. You and I, we just get the same bus, that’s all.’

‘I’m sorry if I upset you.’ He said. 

With Chloe looking on, Ben turned and walked from the club, shoulder slumped. 

‘Who was that?’ asked a friend.

‘Nobody.’ Chloe said, hoping he had taken the hint.

On the bus on Monday morning, Chloe made sure she took a seat next to somebody, so that Ben couldn’t sit beside her. Since the incident in the club on Saturday night, she had been going over exactly how she would play things with him. She would be very cool, very calm, but not engage in any conversation. Any questions would be met with a shrug, dunno, not sure, we’ll see. 

She positioned herself in the seat next to a young lad with a rucksack, nowhere for Ben to sit. She nodded to herself and reached for her notebook. She scribbled away in her book, but was waiting for Ben to get on the bus. Any minute now he’d pop up, in his grey shirt and red tie, hello, you. She repeated to herself that she’d be cool, give him the cold shoulder, hopefully he’d take the hint and go off and talk to somebody else. 

The bus doors hissed and closed, and the bus pulled out. Chloe scribbled away in her book. Any minute now. Any minute. Then nothing. A moment later, she looked up. The bus was packed as usual, but there was no sign of Ben. She sighed in relief. Maybe he’d phoned in sick that day, maybe he’d caught an earlier bus. Either way, she would be spared that morning’s awkward encounter. If he turned up tomorrow morning, then at least they’d have both had another twenty-four hours to get over the altercation. 

One morning a week later, just as Chloe was putting the things with Ben out of her mind, she heard a familiar voice on the bus to work.

‘Hello, you.’ Ben said. 

Chloe tried to hide the hide her disappointment, and told herself to be cool with him. She was shocked at the change in his appearance. Rather than the grey shirt and red tie, he was wearing tracksuit bottoms and hoodies. His appearance becomes more dishevelled.

‘No tie today?’ She asked pointing to his sweat-shirt. ‘You look different without the red tie.’ Chloe said.  

‘No, the management have changed the dress-code policy. They said they wanted to bring the rules more up to date. Of course, if I’m seeing clients, then I’ll wear a shirt and tie. The red tie will be back then.’ He laughed. 

Chloe smiled politely but his reply didn’t quite ring true. Chloe nodded and smiled while Ben made conversation, the chat made awkward by the argument in the bar. Then she noticed something. She pointed outside. 

‘You’ve missed your stop.’ She said.

‘It doesn’t matter, we were having a nice chinwag. I’ll get off further up the road and walk back. I could do with the exercise.’

Ben laughed but she didn’t join in. 

All day that niggled at her. Like with a lot of things with Ben, it just didn’t sit right, didn’t quite add up.

This happened for the next few mornings. Ben’s appearance became more and more dishevelled, his hair looked dirty and lank, and where he was once clean-shaven, he now sported days and days of beard growth. He would stay on the bus longer and longer. He was no longer in a hurry to get to work.

Then it occurred to her. He didn’t have a job to go to anymore. Why would he get the morning bus if he didn’t have the job? Maybe he was making the trip so he could see her, for their interaction. The more she thought about it, the more she knew that was definitely the case. Ben was catching the bus to see her, and then making his way home or wherever after that. 

He had clearly lost his job for whatever reason. Maybe he’d just stopped turning up, that wouldn’t surprise her. He really did seem to be so uptight and highly strung. A shiver went through her as a thought occurred to her. What if he’d been sacked for misconduct? What if he’d done something completely inappropriate at work? What did she actually know about him?

One afternoon at the office, Chloe was on the way back to her desk with a fresh cup of tea, when she passed some of her work mates. They were huddled together peering out the window. She had worked at the office long enough to know when there was gossip to be had, something interesting was happening. 

‘What’s going on?’ she asked. 

Moira pointed to the rainy street outside. Chloe peered out through the rain-streaked window. Someone was standing outside, simply staring at the building, his jumper soaked through. Chloe recognised him instantly. She leaned on the windowsill for support.

‘They reckon he’s been there all day, just standing there.’ Moira said.

‘Does anyone have any idea who he is?’ Someone asked.

‘Maybe he used to work here.’ Someone else suggested.

‘I don’t recognise him.’ 

Chloe said nothing for a moment, she couldn’t take her eyes from him, stunned that this was actually happening.

‘I’ll go and speak to him.’ She said 

She shrugged into her coat, and charged down the three flights of stairs. She marched through the automatic doors and out into the rain.

Ben smiled when he saw her. 

‘What are you doing here?’ She snapped. ‘And how did you know where I work?’

Ben simply shrugged, staring and smiling.

‘Did they sack you for something like this? Your old company?’ she asked. 

‘Don’t say that. It wasn’t like that. They just didn’t understand me, that’s all.’ Ben said. 

‘Just go, alright? Go away before I call the police.’ Chloe said.

‘Do you think we could go to lunch? I mean, I know it’s a little late, but we could grab a bite somewhere.’ He said.

‘Have you actually heard yourself? This isn’t normal, Ben. You can’t just turn up here, at my work, lurking and hanging around. It’s… well, it’s creepy to be honest.’

‘I’d never want to upset you, Chloe.’ He said.

She stared at him for a moment, soaked to the skin, his hair stuck to his forehead. 

‘I never want to see you again.’ Chloe said. ‘If I see you on the bus, I’m getting off.’

She turned and stormed back to the office, leaving Ben outside in the rain. By the time she got back to her floor, Ben had left. Her colleagues tried to interrogate her but Chloe simply said with a shrug, that he was just some guy from the bus, who had gone a bit weird. 

That evening to distract her from stressing and fretting about the Ben situation, she threw herself into her writing. She wrote in her journal, detailing the issues with Ben, before working on her novel, and also a short story. Writing always helped. It was therapy, in a way. The process of writing was a way of dealing with things, a coping mechanism. It was the crutch she always clung to. The more stressful and hectic her life, the more she wrote. She’d heard a lot of famous authors were the same, the author of some dark vampire novels had had a particularly troubled life and had clearly exorcised her demons through her writing. 

As he headed for bed, Chloe just hoped that was the end of things.

On Saturday morning Chloe was doing her weekly shop. She was pushing the trolley down the aisles, one eye on the shelves packed with groceries, and the other on her shopping list. She got to the end of the aisle and tutted, she’d forgotten the marmalade. She steered her trolley back around and turned back down the aisle to the jars of marmalade. 

She gasped, completely startled, and came to a stop. Hovering further down the aisle, wearing a stained sweat-shirt was Ben. She threw her hands up in frustration. Why couldn’t he just leave her alone? He turned away, making out he hadn’t seen her, and pretended to study a packet of Cornflakes. 

Chloe grabbed hold of her trolley and rushed to the check-out. She just wanted to be out of there, wanted to get away from him. As the guy on the check-out scanned her shopping she spotted Ben again at the next till. 

When she caught his eye, he looked away, and reached for the nearest thing to hand. While Chloe packed her shopping into carrier bags, Ben purchased a packed of chewing gum.

As she crossed the car-park, carrying her bags of shopping, Ben simply stood in the entrance, watching her. Normally she would take the ten minute walk home by foot, but the fact that Ben was lurking around, really freaked her out. Thankfully there was a black cab waiting at the taxi rank. She dashed over to the taxi and dived in the back, dragging her shopping bags with her, and gave her address in a hushed voice in case Ben managed to hear.

As the taxi pulled away, she glanced out the back window. Ben still standing there just looking at her, just watching. It was just so unsettling. She would have actually preferred it if he had been talking to her, even arguing with her, but the way he just stared at her was so disturbing.

After Chloe had unpacked her shopping, she was still shaken by everything. Things seemed to escalating rather than sorting themselves out. Ben seemed to be obsessed with her. It was like something from a film, or a thriller novel. 

She did what she always did when life got on top of her, she delved deeper into her writing. She detailed in her journal everything that was going on and how she was feeling about it all, and then lost herself in her fiction. As chaotic as her life felt, her novel seemed to be coming on wonderfully. 

Her novel was an escape from the frightening real-life situation. On long nights when she couldn’t sleep for worrying, she would boot up her laptop computer and type away on her novel. 

There was no sign of Ben for the next week or so. Chloe hoped that was the last of this situation, but she did keep glancing behind her, expecting to see him following her, loitering and lurking around, just starting at her.

One evening while she was working on her novel, her mobile phone rang. The screen said the caller had withheld their number. Expecting it to be someone cold-calling her, trying to sell her something, maybe double-glazing or a new energy provider, she picked up, prepared to tell the caller that she wasn’t interested in what they were selling.

‘Hello? Who is this?’ She asked.

‘It’s me.’ Ben said.

‘How did you get my phone number?’ Chloe demanded.

‘Does that really matter? Surely sorting out our relationship is more important than how who got whose phone number.’

‘This needs to stop. We don’t have a relationship. I am going to the police.’ Chloe said, then hung up the phone, her hands trembling.

Just after nine o’clock the next morning, she went through the double-doors of the police station. The young man behind the desk listened while she explained what she would like to report and told her to take a seat. Around ten minutes later she was shown into an interview room. Two police officers, a man and a woman, asked her exactly what they could do for her today.

Chloe detailed everything that had been happening, what had started as chit-chat on the bus to work, had got very strange and made her feel uncomfortable and scared. She gave them as much detail as she could about Ben, giving his description, recalling that he had mentioned he lived in Monton and his last name had been Sanderson or something similar. Chloe was grateful that he hadn’t been as guarded in his replies to her as she had. The officers made their notes and assured her that they will be speaking to him to ask him to refrain from any behaviour that could cause distress. They advised that should she hear from Ben again, to get in touch immediately. 

Chloe nodded, thanking them, and left the police station. As she made her way home, she did feel better about things. Everything had gotten so strange, so very quickly, but hopefully, now that she had taken the steps of going to the police, things would go back to the way they were before all this. 

As Chloe worked on her writing projects that evening, she felt more settled than she had done in weeks. She had a plan in place for the Ben thing, and had the police on her side. She felt more in control about things. And the novel was almost complete. She smiled to herself, hopefully after a bit of a speed-bump the road ahead was nice and smooth. 

Two months later Chloe was in the middle of trying to get her novel published. She fired off excerpts and letters daily to publishers and literary agents. It usually took a week for so for the rejections to arrive either by email or post. Chloe tried to stay positive about the rejection letters. She had completed a novel, and was trying to get the work published. Rather than be disgruntled, she should be proud of herself for completing the work in the first place. 

At one meeting with a Manchester publishers, the publishing exec, a man in his forties with a trendy beard and wire-framed glasses, tapped a finger on her manuscript, deep in thought.

‘Right,’ he said, finally, ‘I’m going to say it’s a no for publishing the novel.’

‘Okay, thank you for your time.’

‘It’s a no to the book, but I do like the style of your writing. Is there anything else you could offer? It would be a shame if we couldn’t do something together.’  

Chloe rubbed her jaw in thought, and pondered what she could give them. She did have lots of short stories, maybe she could craft some of those into something publishable. Her gaze went to her leather bag, her journal poking out. A thought occurred to her.

‘There is something. I’m not sure if you’d be interested.’ she said. 

‘Go on.’ he said, intrigued. 

‘I keep a journal, a day-to-day thing.’ Chloe suggested.

‘Right, you’re thinking, a real-life, real person diary, kind of thing?’ he asked.

‘Erm, well, I’ve actually had a bit of a stalker-situation up until very recently. It’s all there in my journals. If you think it’s a good idea, we could work on that to mould it into something you could publish.’

She slid her journal across the table. He flicked through the pages, reading snippets closely, with intense interest. Then he snapped the book shut. He pointed a finger at her.

‘I think you’ve got something here. The book will be a first-hand account of stalking, actually written by the victim. Do you think, with our help of course, that you could turn this into a first-person book?’

‘Yes, I should be able to. I hadn’t actually thought of this as being something to publish.’ Chloe said, quite in shock that this was happening.

‘This,’ he placed a hand on the journal, ‘is your story.’

Just over eighteen months later, the book was published. The reviews called her story harrowing and described her as brave and a survivor. She was seen as a hero. There was even talk of turning the whole thing into a film or a television series. At the insistence of the publishers, and by public demand, Chloe agreed to a book-tour. At each book signing, she would read excerpts. 

One evening, after her talk, and the Q&A session, she was seated behind a table stacked high with copies off her book, pen in hand, ready for the book signing, the first person in the queue approached. Chloe smiled and looked up, what name is it, please? 

‘Can you dedicate it to Ben, please?’ Ben said.

He smiled at her warmly, as though they were old friends. Chloe pushed the book to one side and leaned forwards, her voice barely a whisper.

‘I thought all this was over, I thought we were done.’ Chloe said.

‘Well, yes, I took the hint. You really didn’t have to go to the police just because I took a shine to you. But that was before you wrote all about it. I mean, you’ve changed our names, but it’s about me and you, isn’t it.’

‘What do you want, Ben?’ She snapped.

‘This book, this whole thing, it was a message to me, wasn’t it? It was your way of reaching out. You want me back in your life. It’s a love story actually.’ 

‘If you don’t want me to call you out in front of all these people, I suggest you leave, right now. Go, now, or I’ll tell everyone exactly who you are.’

‘As if I care what this lot think.’ Ben scoffed.

‘If you don’t leave me alone, I’ll be promoting my book, which is doing very well, by the way, and I will reveal the true identity of the stalker. I’m booked to go on national television and radio, I now have hundreds of thousands of follows on social media. You almost ruined my life, but if I ever see you again I will ruin yours.’ 

Ben said nothing.

She got to her feet, ready to speak to the crowd, her expression asked if this was really what he wanted. 

Ben turned and hurried for the exit, not looking back.

Feeling like she had scored an important final victory with Ben, Chloe sat back down and turned to the next person in line. She smiled, and asked who they would like their book dedicating to.

By Chris Platt

From: United Kingdom