The Thief (6 page)

Her mother had made a big meal for them. Leek and potato soup first, then roast lamb, then a lemon tart. Before she took the money back Polly wouldn’t have been able to eat. She could now, in spite of that second phone call. Lant had only called because he wanted his money. She was hungry and her father was refilling her wineglass to the brim.

Alex was talking now about the film they’d seen, telling her parents they ought to see it. Polly could remember nothing about it. She might as well not have been there. Then her father said something which made her blush and stare.

‘You seem to have had a busy day, Polly. I saw you in Willesden this morning. I hooted and waved but you were lost in a dream.’

Deny it? A man doesn’t mistake someone else for his own daughter.

‘I didn’t see you, Dad,’ she said, not daring to look at Alex.

She remembered the black car which had hooted at her. She had thought it was her bad driving. Finishing the wine in her glass she thought, I would like to drink myself drunk, to sleep, not to have to drive home with Alex.

But she had to. As they moved out on to the road, he said, ‘We have to talk, Polly.’

‘Do we?’

‘When we get home.’

I’ve never loved him so much as I do now, she thought, already in a panic. I love him. I can’t lose him. He was going to ask me to marry him. Will he ask me now?

At home he said to her, in a voice she had never heard before, a voice that was cold and distant, ‘I suppose you’ll want another drink?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘I’ve had too much.’

‘At least you know it and that’s something. Sit down then.’ He sat facing her and took both her hands in his. ‘A lot of strange things have been going on. Let’s talk about it.’

Feeling her hands held in his made her feel better at once. ‘Talk about what?’

‘Well, I believed your story about falling asleep on the bus. But I don’t believe it now. You said you were shopping this morning, but your dad saw you in Willesden. And this evening. You didn’t go to Louise’s. Louise told me on Friday she was away for the weekend. She was just leaving when I phoned. And then there was that fool who said he was the Komodo dragon. What’s going on, Polly?’

‘Nothing’s going on. Really and truly. It’s nothing.’

He kept hold of her hands. ‘Are you seeing someone else?’

‘Oh, no, of course not. Of course I’m not.’

‘Sure? I’d rather know now.’

‘There’s nothing to know. I
promise
you. I love you, Alex. There couldn’t be anyone else, not ever.’

‘It’s just that when you went to New York to Lizzie’s wedding I thought, I could go too but she won’t want me. If she’d wanted me, why didn’t she ask? Is she meeting some man in New York? Is he coming back with her? And then when I met you at Heathrow you were so pleased to see me, you looked so happy, I thought I must be wrong.’

‘You were wrong,’ she said. ‘You’d been so generous, buying me a ticket in club class. I was so grateful that I didn’t want to go and leave you.’ She clutched at his hands, lifted them to her lips and kissed them. ‘I’ve never known you jealous before.’

‘Oh, I was. I always was. I didn’t let you see, that’s all.’

L
IGHT-HEARTED NOW, SHE
got up early, had the washing in the machine by eight, her washing and Alex’s and Lant’s clothes. It’s going to be a good day, she thought. The sun was shining and it was less cold. There were pink flowers on the tree in the garden next door and tulips coming out in tubs. She took a cup of tea up to Alex. He would stay in bed to drink it while she took the things out of the washing machine. Just in case he noticed Lant’s clothes.

They shared the housework. He might say he would do the ironing. So she quickly ironed Lant’s yellow shirt and a green one. By the time Alex came down, Lant’s clothes were packed in a plastic bag and wrapped in brown paper, ready for the post.

It was like spring outside. She walked about, touching the new buds on the trees, smelling the air. Now everything was cleared up, she thought, Alex would ask her to marry him. He would probably ask her today. When she had taken up his tea he had said something about taking her out to lunch. It was to be at a pub on the river. Or he might wait until this evening to ask her. After dark was more romantic. They could have a June wedding. Where would they go on honeymoon? Not New York, definitely not New York, though it was said to be nice in June.

She went inside and found Alex in the kitchen.

‘You’ve been busy,’ he said. ‘Do you want me to iron that lot?’

‘If you like.’

It felt so good having nothing else to be afraid of, to know that she could tell the truth now. I will never tell any more lies, she said to herself. I will never tell him I’ve been somewhere I haven’t been or done something I haven’t done. I will change. I will be a different person. I will be the person he thought I was before last Friday.

He had started on the ironing, had already ironed a shirt of his own. Now he pulled out from the basket an orange T-shirt. It was Lant’s. She had missed it when she was ironing his clothes. She had done all the rest and packed them but she had missed this T-shirt. Alex lifted it up, looked at it.

‘Is this yours, Polly?’

‘Yes, of course,’ she lied.

‘A strange colour for you. Did you buy it in New York?’

‘Yes, I did.’

‘It looks a bit big for you. Is that the fashion?’

She nodded, sick of verbal lying.

‘D’you know what that colour reminds me of?’ Alex laid the T-shirt down on the ironing board. ‘It reminds me of that man we saw at Heathrow. Do you remember? At the check-in? He was wearing a black suit and he had an orange case. Do you remember?’

She knew her face had gone red. ‘Maybe,’ she said. ‘I think I do.’

‘You said it’d be easy to find. You couldn’t miss it.’

‘Did I?’

She wished he hadn’t said that. It cast a cloud over the day. While they were talking the sun had gone in. The sky was grey now. It looked like rain. Alex was ironing the T-shirt, taking special care with it because it was hers. He was better at ironing than she was. When he had finished he fetched a hanger from the hallway cupboard and hung the T-shirt on it.

‘There,’ he said. ‘Now you can wear it when we go out.’

She tried to smile. ‘Oh, no, it’s not warm enough. It’s for summer.’

Upstairs she folded it and put it inside the parcel she would send to Lant. Now, for the first time, she began to think of him as a human being. A person with feelings, needs, loves, pain. It must have been a huge shock to him when he got his orange case back without the money. When he knew he’d lost all that money. What had he done about it? Anything? Had he told the police? He must have. Polly hadn’t thought about the police since that first time, when she had come home on Friday evening and had thought they might be waiting for her. Maybe they were looking for her now . . .

But she had given the money back. Every pound and dollar and euro of it. And tomorrow she was going to send him his clothes back. Washed and ironed and neatly folded. Really, she had done him a favour. No harm had been done. All the harm had been to her and she remembered the stream of hot coffee he had poured on her cream trousers. Forget his feelings, his needs, she told herself. Forget his loves and pain. It’s all over.

And she was better. Thanks to being with Alex, she was doing better. She hadn’t acted as she had over Auntie Pauline’s library book, cutting it into pieces. She hadn’t cut Lant’s money to pieces. Or destroyed it as she had Tom’s Walkman and Abby’s watch. She hadn’t dropped it over the canal bridge as she had Louise’s bag. She had taken his money back and would send the clothes back. It would have been easier to destroy the money and the clothes but she hadn’t. If she could have told Alex everything, all of it from Auntie Pauline’s book to Lant’s money, he would have seen how much better she was now than she used to be. He would also think she had lost her mind. She could never tell him.

She dressed carefully for going out in a pale blue suit. Why did men always like you in blue? She didn’t know. But she was sure that when she went downstairs Alex would say, ‘You look lovely.’

It was strange how strong the urge to explain to him was. Only by telling him everything could she protect herself and be truly safe. Then if the police came he would know why. He and she would be in it together. I love that word, she thought, that word ‘together’. One day, when Alex and I have been together for years, then I will tell him. When we are old I will tell him. And if he finds out long before that? I must take that risk, she thought. Isn’t life one risk after another?

She went downstairs. Alex, who had finished the ironing and was sitting at the table reading the paper, said, ‘You look lovely.’

‘Shall we go, then?’

‘I want to stop off on the way home and buy things for dinner tonight. We’re going to have a special dinner.’

He was very romantic. He would probably go down on one knee. She remembered something. Two days before she went to America she had mislaid one of her rings. It had turned up next day and she had no idea why she couldn’t find it before. Now she understood. Alex had ‘borrowed’ it to buy an engagement ring the same size.

On the way back from lunch it started to rain. A fine drizzle at first, then a downpour. Polly stayed in the car while Alex went into shops buying smoked salmon, a duck, salad and fruit. He bought champagne too and a bottle of dessert wine. He would drink very little. It was mostly for her.

She thought about sending Lant’s clothes back next day. Register the package perhaps? He would go to work, surely. She could take them back just as she had taken the money. Alex began the drive home. The traffic, usually light on a Sunday, was heavy because it was raining.

‘Why do you always get traffic jams when it’s wet?’

‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘No one knows. It’s one of the mysteries of life.’

If she had taken Auntie Pauline’s book back and told her what she’d done, her life wouldn’t have changed. Everything would have been much the same. If she’d told Abby Robinson that she was the one who had stolen her watch and had offered to pay for it, what would Abby have done? Nothing much, probably. Screamed and hit her perhaps. But Abby would have calmed down and taken the money. On the other hand, if she’d not taken Tom’s Walkman and thrown it under a truck, life might have been utterly changed. They’d have stayed together. They might have married. She’d never have met Alex. So did that mean what she did was sometimes a good thing? Lying and stealing had brought her to Alex . . .

They were turning the corner into their street now. He had lived in this house for four years before they met. He had laid the carpets and bought the furniture as if he was making it ready for her. It would be her home for years now. Perhaps they would live there always, bring up their children there. Alex turned in at the gate and she looked up. Parked outside the house was a car the same colour as Lant’s, the same bright peacock blue. You didn’t see that shade very often.

She looked again. What she saw made her feel sick. It
was
Lant’s car and Lant was sitting in the driving seat.

A
LEX GOT OUT, TOOK
the shopping out of the boot, came round and opened the door on the passenger side for her. He always did that. She had to get out, though she would have liked the earth to open and close over her head. Alex said, ‘Let’s get inside before it starts raining again.’

She followed him, not looking behind her. He unlocked the front door. A hand on her shoulder made her spin round. Trevor Lant stood there on the path. Today he was wearing a bright red jacket. He looked her straight in the eye, the way she looked at people when she lied, but he didn’t speak to her. He said to Alex, ‘Who the hell are you?’

‘What did you say?’

‘I asked who the hell you are.’

‘I might ask you the same question. This is my house.’

‘And the woman with you is my girlfriend.’ Again Lant put a hand on her shoulder. ‘Thanks for bringing the money back, darling. That’s all I came for. You’ve still got some of my clothes but you can bring them back when you come over tonight.’

Polly tried to speak but she couldn’t. She was shaking all over. She knew she had changed colour, but she couldn’t tell if she had gone red or white. Lant said, ‘Who is this chap, anyway? Your ex, I suppose.’

‘Go,’ Alex said in a voice she had never heard before. ‘Go or I’ll call the police.’

Lant shrugged. ‘I’d say I don’t admire your taste in men, Polly, only you’ve got me now.’ He turned away, laughing. ‘You’ve got your dragon now. I’ll see you later.’

As the rain began again, he went back down the path, let himself out of the gate and got into his car. Everything in the street was grey but for his red jacket and his bright blue car. Alex went into the house and she stumbled in after him.

Her voice, which had gone and left her dumb, came back, a poor little thin voice. ‘I can explain.’

‘What is there to explain?’ He sounded very tired.

He went into the kitchen and began taking all the things he had bought out of the bags and putting them in the fridge. Her voice gaining strength, she said, ‘I really can explain, Alex. It’s not what you think.’

He left what he was doing and looked at her. It was a stranger’s face, one she thought she had never seen before.

‘Let me tell you what I think,’ he said. ‘I know who that man was. I recognised him, though I don’t know his name. He was the man at Heathrow with the orange bag. I think you met on the flight. Or maybe you knew each other before and arranged to meet at the airport. Anyway, you spent your time in New York with him. You saw him on Friday night, on Saturday morning and last night. I don’t know where the money comes into this or the clothes but it doesn’t matter. You can go off with him now. You won’t have to tell me any more lies.’