Digging Deeper (30 page)

“You told us you worked at a gas station. All this time you’ve lied. Why didn’t you tell us?” Kirsten asked.

“Because you’d have disapproved.”

“Damn right.” Kirsten crossed her arms.

“I dance. I’m not a prostitute.”

Josh gave a heavy sigh.

“Does this have anything to do with those men that abducted you?” Kirsten asked.

Shit. “In a way.”

“God, Flick, why did you do it?” Kirsten shouted at her now. “It degrades women. Stripping? I can’t believe you’d stoop so low. It’s dangerous. It’s demeaning. You could be stalked, raped. What were you thinking?”

Flick sat in silence as Kirsten ranted.

“Willow was so upset—practically hysterical. Have you any idea what you’ve done? I’m so…so cross with you. I can’t believe you’d do this. She’s getting married in a week’s time. She sobbed to me on the phone for an hour. Her heart’s breaking.”

My heart’s breaking too.

“Think about it. How would you feel if it was you?” Kirsten stared at her, hands on her hips.

“It was a stag night and they’re men. What did she think happened at those sorts of clubs?” Flick sighed. “Anyway it was only dancing.”

“She doesn’t see it that way.”

“But it isn’t as if there’s anything more to it than that.”

“She’s worried there is.” Kirsten narrowed her eyes.

Flick thought about Natasha’s boyfriend, a plumber from Otley who’d been with Natasha for years. They had a two-year-old. No way would Natasha be interested in Giles. “No, there isn’t.”

“I’m glad to hear you say that,” Kirsten said.

Josh sat next to her. “So why did you do it?”

“Because nothing else I could do, paid so well.”

“You think because you needed the money that makes it acceptable?” Kirsten retorted.

Flick breathed out deeply. “It was acceptable to me, but I knew what other people would think, which is why I didn’t tell you.”

“You mean you enjoyed it?” Kirsten gasped.

Flick sighed. “I didn’t say I enjoyed it. I just did it, that’s all.”

“You obviously felt comfortable enough to flash your breasts at strangers,” Kirsten muttered.

Flick looked at the two faces in front of her. They morphed into the faces of her parents and then back to her friends. All four disappointed.

“Neither of you understand what it’s like to need money. You have secure jobs with regular incomes. Respectable, professional jobs. You put your money into pension plans. You have health insurance. You’re going to get promoted and go places. You’ll be successful. You are successful. You’ll buy flashy cars, smart houses, huge flat screen TVs, have holidays abroad every year and none of that will ever be mine.”

“Don’t be so defeatist,” Kirsten said.

“It could be yours too. You don’t look for a proper job,” Josh said quietly. “You got a First, Flick. You’re wasting your ability. You’re clever but you do all these little dead-end fillers; couple of days at the gym, another at the Lido, laboring for farmers, working behind a bar. You could do so much better. I know you were upset when Grinstead’s made you redundant, but there are plenty more firms you could work for.”

Flick swallowed hard but the lump in her throat didn’t move. There didn’t seem to be anything left to lose by telling the truth.

“They didn’t make me redundant. They sacked me.”

Silence. Flick wondered what they were thinking.

“What did you do?” Kirsten asked.

Flick waited to see what Josh would say.

“Well?” Kirsten demanded.

Flick ignored her. Her gaze fixed on Josh.

“What happened?” he asked eventually and she gave a little smile.

“I didn’t do anything, Kirsten,” Flick said. “They made a mistake. They said I’d stolen a hundred and eighty thousand pounds. Since they found forty thousand of it in my bank account, they pretty much assumed they’d caught me red-handed. Only I have no idea how it got there. I think someone set me up because if it had been a mistake or deposited by accident, then they’d have spotted that. But Grinstead’s want the rest of it and they had me arrested. So you see I’m a liar about a lot of things. I wasn’t kidnapped. I was arrested, charged and now it’s going to trial.”

“Flick, I—” Kirsten began.

“I’ve not finished.” Flick raised her voice. “Since they sacked me, I’ve done the best I could to keep everything the same, but I have no references, so no chance of a decent job. I still have a mortgage and bills to pay, food to buy and a selfish sister to support. Stef might be a pain in the neck, but she’s my responsibility because I’m the only one left to help her. I don’t buy my clothes at charity shops because I’m quirky, I do it because it’s all I can afford. I work longer, shittier hours than either of you and I earn a fraction of what you get. Sometimes I don’t even have enough money to buy food. You come home and I tell you I’ve eaten but I haven’t. You tease me that Marmite on toast is my staple food, but it’s true.”

Kirsten and Josh looked at her in horror.

“Flick, why didn’t you tell us? We’d gladly share—” Kirsten began.

“That’s not the point. This is my problem, no one else’s. My job at Polecats stopped me from drowning. Do you think it was easy for me to take off my clothes and dance in front of people? Have I ever stripped off in front of you, Kirsten? At least when no one knew, I could pretend I was someone else, pretend I worked on a till in a gas station but now I can’t do that. I can’t do any of this. I’m putting the house on the market. You’ll have to find somewhere else to live.”

Flick looked at their white faces and got to her feet. “You’re not to tell anyone what I’ve told you. Henry knows, but not Stef. And there’s no point asking me about it because I won’t say another word.”

Flick stayed in her room all day. She ate nothing and drank nothing other than water from the bottle she kept by her bed. A heavy weight lurked inside her, pressing her down, crushing her. She tried writing to Beck, but once she registered a sea of paper balls lay around her, she gave up and wrote a different letter instead. Still addressed to Beck but not a letter she intended to send.

A tiny part of her thought he might turn up to take her out for the picnic he’d promised. A larger part of her knew she needed to be booked in for a lobotomy for letting that enter her head. But Flick changed her clothes and put on her best black lace underwear and hoped.

He didn’t come.

The pain in her chest grew so bad she thought she might be having a heart attack. In a way she wished she was and that she’d have to go to hospital so someone could look after her and take responsibility for whether she lived or died.

———

Beck had the hangover from hell. He couldn’t tolerate any assault on his senses. Movement, light or sound could kill him. Too ill to sleep, he sat on one chair in the lounge and Giles sat on the other. It was some consolation that Giles looked worse than him. The whites of his eyes were bright red.

“How are you feeling?” Willow whispered.

Giles grunted. Beck tried to reply but his tongue had disappeared. What had happened to it? He felt a stab of terror until he realized it was stuck to the roof of his mouth. He reached for the water, drank a whole glassful and winced from the increased pain in his brain.

“Could you face anything to eat?” Willow suggested. “Some tomato soup?” The thought of it made Beck want to throw up.

“Better not, in case they have to operate,” Giles muttered.

Willow stared at him. “Why would they need to operate?”

“Clearly more than a hangover. Has to be something really serious. If I don’t feel better soon, ring for an ambulance.”

“I hope you’re not going to take after Gertrude. One raving hypochondriac in the family is enough.” Willow turned to Beck. “Would you like a cup of tea?”

“Nnnn.”

“Beer? Wine? A kick in the head?”

“Nnnn.”

Thursday night had been one of the best nights of Beck’s life and last night one of the worst. Willow had interrogated him until he’d given her almost the whole story and he guessed she’d rung Kirsten and her mother and by now half the population of West Yorkshire knew Flick danced in a strip club.

Beck imagined introducing her to his parents. His father would probably have a stroke. His brother would fancy a different sort of stroke. His mother would put on one of her faces and pull Beck into the kitchen to let him know exactly how she felt. They might be desperate for him to settle down, but not that desperate. It was over. It hadn’t even begun. In two weeks he’d be back in York and he’d never see her again.

———

First thing Monday morning Flick went to Henry’s office in Ilkley. She arrived before he did and when he saw her, he ushered her upstairs.

“Take a seat, Flick.”

She didn’t look at him. “I’d like to put the house on the market.”

“Sit down,” he repeated in a firm voice.

She sat.

“Why do you want to sell your house?” Henry asked more gently.

“I’m going to run away to a place with no extradition treaty before the police ask for my passport.”

“Alternatively?”

“No really, I’m going to pay everything off, give Stef a lump sum and then disappear.”

“Try again.”

When she did tell the damn truth, no one believed her, Flick thought.

“You know my situation. I need to sell the house and the car.”

“Where are you going to live?”

“In a tent in one of your fields?”

“I don’t think Celia would approve.”

“No, I don’t think she would.” Flick sighed. “No one approves of me and it hurts.”

“I approve of you, Flick.”

“Only because we’re having an affair.”

Henry laughed. “Oh yes, I heard about that.”

“Giles didn’t say anything to Celia, did he?”

“Fortunately not. I think I might have had trouble getting her to believe the truth.”

“I’ve had enough,” Flick said.

“You’ll be fine. You’re gutsy and feisty, you’ll bounce back from this.”

“So what do you think of the fact that I was working as a pole dancer?” She looked him straight in the eyes.

“I was surprised.”

“You don’t think my breasts are big enough?”

“Flick!” He shook his head.

“I’m not doing it anymore.”

“Right, so I should sell my ticket?”

“You wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like that.”

“That’s exactly what I’d be if I was caught in a place like that. Dead. You’re quite enough excitement for me with your clothes on.”

She groaned. “I feel terrible. Beck is disgusted along with Kirsten and Josh. Willow hates me. Giles too, I expect, now he’s sober.”

“Actually Giles has said very little. He spent the whole weekend feeling rather ill.”

Good. “I have to be realistic, Henry. I’ve done the best I can, but I can’t afford the house. Will you come and value it?”

Henry leaned back in his chair. “When did you last have something to eat?”

“Why?”

He stared at her. “You don’t look well. I’ll come and value the house this afternoon if you come to Betty’s now and have breakfast.”

“You’re not ashamed to be seen with me?”

“Well, I’m not sure I like the shocking pink shirt but the denim skirt’s nice.”

Flick smiled.

She hadn’t thought she’d be able to eat but she did and felt better afterwards. Henry didn’t lecture or question her, just chatted about inconsequential things. He promised to come round to the house at five, so Flick bought a local paper and drove home. She needed another job and if the house sold as fast as Henry had suggested, she’d need another place for her and Stef to live. One bedroom was enough if she put a futon in the living room, though she guessed she’d end up on that when Stef came home for the holidays. One more year and her sister could look after herself. If she even hinted at more study, Flick would strangle her.

Picking up her mug of coffee, she sat at the kitchen table. Because Flick was trying to delay the inevitable she didn’t turn straight to the jobs but started reading the article on the front page about a flock of sheep that had besieged the garden of some local resident. Apparently the sheep had figured out a way of getting over the cattle grid at the edge of the moor. They rolled over the bars. They’d found a way out. And Flick had always thought them stupid. They had a problem and dealt with it. As she had to. There was always a way out. She just had to find it.

The phone rang, she jerked and spilled coffee all over the paper. Flick leapt for the kitchen roll before the brown pool swam over the edge of the table. The machine picked it up.

“Flick, are you there?” Kirsten asked. “I’ve got something to tell you. I want to see you happy again so I made Josh drive past Giles’ place this morning and post that letter you’d written to Beck. I’m sure things will be okay between you if he knows how you really feel. I thought I’d better tell you so if he rang you’d know what he was talking about. See you tonight. We’re bringing wine and I’ll cook.”

Flick’s blood stopped moving in her veins. The letter had not been for Beck’s eyes. It had his name on the envelope but it wasn’t for him. She’d meant to put it with her collection of letters-never-to-be-sent. She had a box of them under her bed; pleading letters to a couple of ex-boyfriends, venomous letters to the rest, a vitriolic diatribe to a hairdresser who’d wrecked her hair the day before the school dance, biting letters to teachers who’d picked on her, a furious letter to Grinstead’s, a sad goodbye to her parents and a no-holds-barred invective to selfish Stef.

With them should have been a letter to a guy who’d made her heart stop the first time she’d seen him, a guy who only a few days ago had looked at her as though she was the most special person in his world and the next time he saw her he’d behaved as though she wasn’t fit to breathe in the air he breathed out. A letter full of love and hate. God, why hadn’t she burned it?

Flick tried hard not to panic, but little surges of terror seemed hell-bent on invading every organ of her body. She couldn’t keep still and paced around the kitchen chewing her nails. Maybe he hadn’t seen it. He’d have gone to the dig first thing. So it was possible—probable it would be waiting for his return.