‘I wanted to be legally emancipated. I’d been looking after myself for a long time—I didn’t feel like it would be any different—but the social worker overseeing my case wouldn’t hear of it. So I was sent to live with some family for a few years, until I turned eighteen.’
‘You hear awful things about the foster system.’
‘You hear good things too,’ I say with a lift of my brows. ‘I think people who volunteer to become foster carers are, on the whole, incredible.’ I frown a moment. ‘Even Jenny and Dave—’ I never refer to them as my ‘foster parents’ ‘—were decent. They were just very, very different. They had no idea how to give me what I needed and I sure as hell wasn’t what they were expecting.’
‘Were you happy with them?’
‘Was I happy? No. I was miserable AF. I literally hated every day. I’d lost my mom and everyone expected that grief to look a certain way and I didn’t want to give that to them so I kept it wrapped tight to my chest and refused to let anyone see how devastated I was. I had nightmares for months about stabbing and blood. I used to close my eyes and see her and I just—’ I shake my head, not because I want to push those memories away but because I don’t make a habit of discussing things like this. ‘They were happy to send me to the coding camp.’ I imbue the words with amused cynicism even when my heart is still so heavy. ‘I think they needed a break from me at that point.’
Sympathy is on his features. I work on lightening my voice even more, to squash that expression on his face. ‘It was a light bulb moment. I loved it. And I was good at it—really good. I went back to Jenny and Dave’s and they set me up with a computer in my room.’
‘So why weren’t you happy?’
I laugh. ‘Because I wanted to be with Mom. Or on my own. Because they thought they could reform my soul. I hated that. I rebelled for the first time in my life. I’d sneak out in the middle of the night, go to the town bar, hook up with random guys, do whatever I could to piss them off. They were incredibly kind, good people doing their best to help me, but I couldn’t see that at the time. I hated them and wanted to make their life hell.
‘They never got cross with me. They never snapped. They were so patient.’ I shake my head, old enough to be ashamed of the way I treated them, but not so different that I can really regret it. At fifteen I had already begun to understand that the thing that makes me happiest in life is not needing anyone—ever. Jenny and Dave were nice but I wasn’t going to let myself care for them. ‘Like I said, they’re good people. I avoided them as much as possible, kept mostly to myself and moved out on the morning of my eighteenth birthday.’
‘Did you have a job?’
‘I was doing code checks for some app developers. It didn’t pay much but it was enough to rent a small flat in the city. One of the apps was a data spying software, skimming user information from harmless-appearing sites. It scared the bejeezus out of me. Not the concept but how normalised that kind of behaviour has become. We almost expect it now. If we talk about a product, we’ll get ads for it in our social media feed. We laugh about Big Brother, but it’s not really a joke.’
‘No.’ His eyes roam my face.
‘I wrote the Moatsy prototype in thirty-six hours. I didn’t sleep, barely ate, hardly stopped. I was so determined to do something to improve online privacy.’
‘And it took off?’
‘Yeah. From the beginning. I think a lot of people are surprised by the extent of data monitoring when they really think about it. It was easy to explain the need for it. Companies were first—employees using workplace computers to trawl the web were unwittingly exposing corporate data to whoever wanted to see it. It was pretty easy to highlight the need for this protocol. Personal users followed. On the one hand I was surprised by the uptake, but also incredibly relieved and gratified.’
‘Do you talk to your foster parents now?’
‘Jenny and Dave,’ I correct automatically. There’s a knock at the door and I lift my coffee, moving towards it on autopilot.
‘Right.’
I pull the door inwards. Room Service is here. The hotel staffer brings the trolley in but, before he can set the table, Barrett shakes his head. ‘We’ll be fine.’ He stands up so I have a better view of his torso, his lithe figure, and my insides tighten with an unmistakable hunger.
At the kitchen bar he opens his wallet and pulls out a tip, thanking the waiter with a smile.
Alone again, I move back to the table.
‘You were talking about your foster... Jenny and Dave.’
‘I saw them a few years ago.’ The memories fill me with guilt. ‘Their daughter had cancer. It was hard for them. Hard for everyone. I spent some time with them, helped where I could. The last time I saw them was at her funeral about six months ago.’
He doesn’t offer condolences now. His eyes hold mine for several seconds then he sits back at the table. ‘You were screened to see if you were a match to donate bone marrow.’
Surprise shifts through me. ‘Yes. How did you...?’ I shake my head. ‘Right. The detective.’
‘It’s how he found you. Your DNA flagged on a system he was watching.’
‘That shouldn’t have been possible!’ I’m incensed. ‘It was for private medical screening.’
He nods. ‘Sounds like a violation of your patient rights.’
I eye the food on the table. I’m hungry but too wrapped up in our conversation to indulge that hunger. I return to my seat, watching him, a frown creasing my forehead.
‘Sometimes hospital on-sell their data. For research. I guess if he had access to that database, somehow...’