A Suitable Lie (5 page)

‘What the…?’ She rubbed at her eyes as if just coming out of a deep sleep. ‘Why did you…’ She looked around herself. ‘How did I end up at the bottom of the bed?’

‘Bloody hell,’ I said. ‘That was some nightmare you were having.’ I edged down the bed towards her. ‘You woke me up with a punch. You were hitting me in your sleep.’

‘I what? I did what?’ she asked, her eyes large with shock.

‘Bloody hell, Anna. What got into you?’ My irritation evaporated. She looked so small and scared I could do nothing but hold her.
Folding her in my arms, I lay back down on the bed and rocked her as she chanted a mantra of apology.

Pat’s tousled head popped in the door.

‘Daddy, what’s wrong with Anna?’ he asked.

‘Nothing, son.’

‘Dad, why’s she crying?’ he continued.

‘Pat, just go back to your bed, now, son.’ I spoke through clenched teeth and instantly prayed that I could reel back the words and kill the tone. I rarely spoke to him like that. Even in the dark I could make out his bowed head as he turned and shuffled back to his room.

I
awoke to the sensation that every nerve end in my groin was being charged. Something warm and wet was teasing every piece of skin. My first thought was that Pat might come in and wonder about the large bump at my waist and ask where Anna was.

‘What about Pat?’ I managed to squeak.

‘Don’t worry, he’s fast asleep,’ was the muffled reply. I was amazed; judging by the light that filtered through the curtains it must have been fairly late. Since Pat was born he had been an early riser, any time between six and seven o’clock being the norm.

All thoughts of my son were driven from my head by the insistent tongue, lips and hands that were building up a maddening rhythm. As I began to tighten, this beat lessened and stopped altogether and when my breathing had slowed, started up again. Anna did this several times, kissing, squeezing and pulling me to the peak before letting me fall back down again. Eventually, it became too much and I begged for release.

‘Don’t stop, please, don’t stop,’ I moaned.

Mercifully, Anna did as I asked and her rhythm took on an urgency that had me tumbling over the other side. And in an explosion of dancing nerve ends, I yelled out aloud.

‘Dad?’ We heard a small voice, the drum of his feet on the landing and then he appeared at the foot of the bed.

‘It’s okay son,’ I laughed, thankful that he had delayed his entrance. A few moments earlier and it would have been red faces all round. I made a mental note, perhaps it’s time to get a lock for our bedroom door.

Anna kissed me on the lips.

‘Good morning, big boy,’ she whispered.

‘Dad, Dad, can I go down and watch
The Lion King
?’ pleaded Pat. In the mood that I was in, he could have asked for permission to play with an open razor and I wouldn’t have refused him.

‘Of course you can, son. I’ll just have a quick shower and then I’ll make you some breakfast.’

‘No you don’t,’ said Anna. ‘You have a long soak in the shower and I’ll make us all a fry-up.’

‘I think I’ve just died and gone to heaven,’ I said as I returned her kiss.

I put my hands behind my head and watched as my new wife slipped out of the bed and into a figure-hugging robe. I thought I couldn’t be happier. But, as the endorphins slowly drained from my body, I became aware of a faint ache on my temple, and the events of the night returned.

‘One second, Anna,’ I said just before she opened the door. ‘Can we talk about something?’

‘What about?’ she appeared mystified.

‘Last night.’

‘What about last night?’ her tone darkened.

‘Last night when I woke up to you playing the drums, with my head as the drum and your fists as the drumsticks.’ I offered her a chuckle, to show it wasn’t a big issue.

‘I’m sorry, honey. That’s never happened to me before.’ She made an apologetic face. ‘And anyway …’ big smile. ‘… didn’t I just show your how contrite I was?’

A
fter breakfast, I changed Pat out of his pyjamas and into his clothes, while Anna went upstairs to shower and dress.

In little time Anna was ready to go out. As she zipped up Pat’s jacket and checked the laces on his shoes, I allowed the attention she paid my son to deepen and widen my love for her. Last night was weird, but it was a one-off. She was under a lot of stress – joining a new family when her own had been a trial. Not that I knew much about her people; none of them were invited to the wedding and any questions about them were always met with an unnerving quiet.

T
he first day back at the office after my honeymoon I sat at my small, neat desk and one by one I ripped pages from my small calendar to bring myself up to date. October the sixth we were in Florence, I remembered. On the seventh we were in Rome. Ah well, I thought and ripped the remainder of the week in one go. Did the holiday really happen just last week?

The four other people I shared the office with all had their heads down and were quickly getting into their day’s work. Beyond them a grey sky barely lit the day, the clouds leaching any heat from the sun. What would I give to be back in Barcelona? Fingering my wedding ring, I turned my attention back to my desk and to the pile of brown in my mail tray.

‘God, another rainforest cut down just to give me a load of grief,’ I said to no one in particular.

‘Hello the groom,’ a head peered in the door, ‘… and he’s talking to himself already.’

‘Hey Malcolm. How’s it going?’

‘No bad,’ he answered, hugging the doorway. ‘How was the honeymoon, then?’

‘Oh, you know, wonderful,’ I said. Everyone in the room looked over at me with varying levels of leer.

‘For chrissake, we’re not teenagers, we did manage to leave our cabin,’ I said, mock-sternly. ‘At least for five minutes a day,’ I laughed. ‘And can we get off the subject of my sex life?’

‘You’re the one doing all the talking, Andy,’ said Jim Dick, one of our business relationship managers, from the other side of the room.

‘Andy, I need a word with you,’ said Malcolm. For the first time I wondered why he hadn’t fully entered the room.

‘Right, okay. Just now?’

He nodded, barely making eye contact.

‘Coffee machine?’

‘Lead the way.’

A coffee machine had been installed just down the corridor from my office and there was a small interview room beside it. Hands warmed by the plastic cups that seemed to be melting as we held them, we each took a seat in the interview room.

‘I just want you to know it wasn’t me,’ he said.

‘Eh?’

‘Before this whole sorry mess breaks out. I want you to know it wasn’t me. I wouldn’t steal and you know how my face doesn’t fit. Old Campbell’s the Operations Manager now and he’s always had it in for me.’ The Operations Manager was responsible for the area’s staffing and resources, this included disciplinary matters.

‘Malcolm, take a deep breath, speak slowly and tell me what the hell you are on about.’

Holding the cup in both hands and looking as if he would rather sit on top of a lit Bunsen burner than drink from it, Malcolm fortified himself with a deep breath.

‘There was a cash difference last week. We checked everything and couldn’t find anything.’

‘How much?’

‘One thousand pounds. Short.’

‘Oh.’ Serious stuff. ‘Did you check all of the cabinets in the safe, and down the back of all the drawers?’

‘Yes.’ His tone was heavy. It asked, do you think I’m an idiot?

Malcolm and I had begun working for the bank in the same week fifteen years before. One month later we were on the cash together and fifty thousand pounds went missing. It was later found in a cupboard that the Head Teller had somehow forgotten to count.

‘Right, let’s not panic,’ I said. ‘Have all the day’s slips been checked?’

‘Yes.’

‘Have all the pay-ins been double-checked?’

He nodded.

‘Was the remittance to the Post Office checked?’ We supplied the local GPO with its float.

‘Yes, Andy. I am the Head Teller now. I do know how to do my job.’ The eyes that could make most of the girls in the office swoon, flared at me.

‘Just checking, Malcolm. I’m going to get asked all of this by Head Office. I need to know for myself.’

‘Sheila checked the cash on Friday.’ Sheila stood in for me whenever I was off work.

‘I’ll need to do it for myself.’

‘Fine, fair enough,’ agreed Malcolm.

Something niggled at me. Why was Malcolm taking it so personally? We’d had cash differences before. Maybe not as big as this one, though. As we left the room and walked towards the area where the cash was held I stopped and gripped his arm.

‘Is there something else?’

‘Something else? What do you mean?’ He looked at the floor, at the walls, anywhere but at me.

‘Is there anything else I should know?’

‘Oh, brilliant. You think it was me, don’t you?’

‘No, I don’t, Malcolm.’ I didn’t. ‘But you’ve had differences before and you’ve never behaved like this.’

He stood for a moment as if a debate was raging in his mind.

‘Right, not here. In the business cash safe.’

In silence we walked to the safe. Malcolm inserted a key in the top lock from a bunch that he held in his hand and I inserted a key in the bottom lock. Once inside Malcolm opened a cupboard and acted as if he was counting the contents.

‘There has been more than one difference over the last few months,’ he said from the side of his mouth.

‘How much?’ I was beginning to worry now.

‘About ten thousand in total.’

‘Ten thousand?’ I shouted.

‘Ssshh.’ Malcolm faced me.

‘But how, why hasn’t this come to our attention?’

‘Don’t know.’

‘Over how long, would you say?’ I had taken over as Branch Manager two months before.

‘About nine months.’

‘Steve Munro didn’t do anything about it?’ Munro was my predecessor. It was obvious from the work that I had had to do when I started the job that he had been on a long wind-down to retirement. This, however, wasn’t just neglect; this was criminal.

‘No. From the looks of it there is no pattern and they were all for small amounts; and different amounts.’

‘There must have been a number of them to amount to a further nine thousand pounds.’

He shrugged in response.

I rubbed at my eyes. There was going to be one almighty stink. The inspectors would have to be called. There would be an investigation. Not a nice atmosphere to be working in; everyone looking at their neighbour wondering if they were a thief.

‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Let’s get this into perspective. There has been a series of shortages in the cash, amounting to around ten thousand pounds.’ Saying it out-loud made it seem worse. ‘Nobody died.’ I finished weakly.

‘I will.’ Malcolm said, leaning against the cupboard with his head thrown back. I was hypnotised by his Adam’s apple sliding up and down as he continued to speak. ‘Once Campbell hears about this. I’m dead.’

‘Roy isn’t so bad once you get to know him.’

‘He’s an arsehole and you know it.’ His tone accused me of being a sell-out. I would have agreed with him before I was promoted.

‘Mmm.’ I tried to maintain a diplomatic, managerial silence.

‘So I thought I’d speak to you, Andy. Let you know before Campbell tried to sack me.’

I looked at his handsome features, contorted with worry. There was still that niggle worming its way through my brain. He was simply taking it too personally.

‘Malcolm, what aren’t you telling me?’

‘I’ve looked back at the people working on the cash each time there was a difference,’ he paused and picked at a nail. ‘Sheila Hunter was present during all but one of them. The last big one. She’s been off on the sick.’ He stopped speaking, but continued to pick at the nail.

‘And?’ I asked.

A deep breath, ‘I’ll be the other chief suspect. I’m the one present during most of the cash shortages. I missed two.’

‘You’re no thief, Malcolm.’ I chewed at the inside of my mouth. ‘Mind you, it doesn’t look good.’

‘Thanks, mate.’

‘Malcolm, I’m your mate and if there is anything you want to tell me then I will listen. But as far as this goes, I’ve a job to do and if it comes down to it our friendship may have to suffer. So don’t put me in an awkward position and don’t expect any favours.’

Malcolm narrowed his eyes, opened his mouth as if to speak and then closed it without saying anything.

‘That may have been a shitty thing to say, Malcolm…’

‘It was,’ he interrupted quietly.

‘… but it had to be said. In here I’m your boss. I knew a situation would happen where it might prove … awkward. Best to get it over with in the early days.’

B
ack at my desk, I tried to concentrate on the report that I would have to email to Head Office. Shock stilled my pen. Ten thousand pounds. Who could it be? Malcolm I’d known since I started work. We’d worked apart for a few years when I was on the accelerated management scheme, but we’d kept in touch and he was the last person that I would have suspected of theft. What about Sheila? I turned to one of the other people in the room: Carol Bunting,
one of my management team. She was thick-set, had the fashion awareness of an aging vicar and a take-no-prisoners attitude. I loved working with her.

‘Carol, what’s up with Sheila Hunter?’

‘Accident, Andy.’ Her expression soured as she paused in the decimation of her carrot stick. ‘Broken ribs, broken nose, face black and blue.’ I’d noticed that Carol often spoke in bullet points.

‘How’d it happen?

‘Walked into a door.’

‘Bloody hell,’ I said, understanding immediately what she was getting at. ‘That’s awful. I had no idea.’

Carol raised the dark brown fur of her eyebrows in agreement.

‘Has her husband been taken in for questioning?’

‘Don’t know. But I hope the bastard rots in hell.’ Almost a full sentence before Carol started on carrot stick number two. Her version of a diet distraction.

Although we’d grown up in the same town, I barely knew Ken. I supposed I had him to thank for bringing Anna to the club the night I met her. But I’d always avoided him. The last time I encountered him was at the wedding reception of one of the younger members of the team.

I’d said hello to him at the bar, where all the males had congregated while the women danced The Slosh. His long, lean frame was bent over the bar, as if his elbows were glued there. He barely gave me a glance. Grunted something in return. I was half-cut.

‘Your patter’s amazing, pal,’ I remember saying. ‘Who are you here with?’

‘Sheila,’ he said and looked over towards the dancefloor. There was something calculating about the way he searched the women on the dancefloor.

I studied him some more, wondering if he had changed from the teen who threw stones at the swans on the river. Small, dark eyes under the shelf of jutting eyebrows. He wore the look of a man at war with himself while everyone within touching distance was collateral damage.

I remember a brief shiver came over me before I excused myself and joined a more collegiate companion.

‘What kind of worker is Sheila?’ I asked, knowing what the answer would be, but hoping for a different one.

‘No nonsense. Gets the job done. Good with customers. I like her. Takes a lot of time off work though.’

I drummed my pen on the desk. Were Malcolm and Sheila the only two possible suspects? Was Steve Munro, the previous manager, involved? It seemed strange that he had done nothing about the earlier differences. Maybe they had been too small to notice, after all there was no definite pattern. Could Malcolm steal?

Would he? I dropped my pen and leaned my head on my hands and one further question occurred to me. Was I going to be able to handle this job?

I
f Lloyd Webber was ever to make a musical about weasels, he could do worse than look for inspiration from our Operations Manager. Roy Campbell was a small, wiry man with pointed features. He was hard of hearing and had an unfortunate habit of jerking his head about as if trying to catch words with his good ear. Of course, this lent to the overall weasel impression. Just as I was faxing him a copy of my report, which I had already transmitted to Head Office, his head appeared at the door. He devoured the contents in seconds.

‘Kay. I knew he was no good,’ his nose twitched with satisfaction, ‘and a shirt-lifter if ever I saw one.’

‘Roy,’ I assumed my diplomatic role, badly, but I wanted to help my friend, regardless of what I said to him. ‘I’ve known Malcolm all my career and not only is he honest but he’s been with more women than…’

‘Proves nothing,’ he interrupted, which was a good job as I was struggling to come up with a comparison, ‘If he’s not gay then I’m six foot six.’

‘Instead of four feet four,’ I turned my head to the side and
pretended to look through my drawer for something. I caught a grin from Carol.

‘What was that, Andrew?’

‘What was what, Roy?’

‘Oh, never mind.’ He smoothed his lapels, ‘So have you suspended Kay yet?’

‘Pleasing as that thought may be to you, Roy, we have to go through the correct channels. I’ve contacted Head Office and I’m sure that the hit squad will be here shortly.’

‘Hrrmmm,’ he issued with a bored expression. ‘You’ve been on holiday. Have you checked the cash yourself?’ Roy was being his usual warm and fuzzy self, not even a mention of my honeymoon.

‘Yes, I’ve been on holiday. No I haven’t checked the cash.’

‘Well, why not? Let’s go and do it now.’ He led the way to the safe and barked for Malcolm and I to open the safe door.

‘Right, stay there and watch, Kay, while Andrew and I show you how to check your cash.’

Malcolm crossed his arms and leant against the side of the door. His eyes betrayed nothing of his worry but his lips were closed tight.

This’ll be fun, I groaned inwardly. First day back and a major cash check; I was well out of practice. To my disappointment Roy was not. He hefted a bundle of tens onto one hand and flicked through them with the first three fingers of the other hand as if he had done nothing else for the last twenty years.

‘No counting machines for me,’ he sneered. ‘Far better to do it the old fashioned way.’ For the next three hours he counted every note in the safe while I took the details on a form. Finally we agreed with Malcolm’s figures. Exactly. Roy’s lips curved into a smile.

‘Right. What about the transactions for that day?’ he asked Malcolm.

‘Checked.’

‘By yourself?’

‘No, one of the machinists did that.’

‘Why didn’t you do it yourself?’