To Catch a Creeper (28 page)

‘Alice? But why?’

‘I’m not sure.’ Her eyes begin darting round the room like she’s following a fly as it goes about its business.

‘What is it? What is it about Alice?’

‘I don’t think she liked you.’

‘Nah, you’re wrong there.’ I shake my head emphatically. ‘She did like me. She liked me very much. Yes very much. She laughed at all my daft jokes. Told me when my jumper was inside out or label showing. Warned me about things. In fact she was one of the only people in the whole place who did like me.’

‘Oh that’s not true. I liked you.’

‘You?’ I almost laugh. ‘But you were an out and out bitch, sucking up to Vivien like some sucky leech.’ I almost spit those last words out and the exceedingly nice lesbian behind the counter looks quite alarmed. ‘It’s OK,’ I explain to her in my Isobel voice as I gesture to the kids to give me five minutes and drag Honour outside the door, ‘We’re just dealing with a few “issues”.’

‘Don’t be like that,’ Honour says. ‘It wasn’t like that.’

‘But it was. Gurlet hated me because I criticised his presentation when I actually thought it was really good, Vivien because she thought I was shagging Turks. As soon as Rosa left it was like Bully Cathy City with a capital BCC. Lewis–’

‘Vivien and Turks?’ She cuts in. ‘What do you mean Vivien and Turks?’

‘Vivien was madly jealous because she thought Turks might have been after me.’

‘After
you
?’

‘Not that far-fetched, is it?’ I glare.

‘No, of course not. I wasn’t thinking that… Just…well…Vivien didn’t fancy Turks.’ She looks puzzled.

‘Oh but of course she did. She was dating him. Alice said…’ I stop. She’s nodding like a little nodding dog that understands everything. ‘So why do you think Alice didn’t like me?’

‘No idea. She told me that you were very ambitious, out for yourself. That you caused trouble between people but that Turks was onto you and you weren’t going to be here much longer. She said if there was any trouble between Vivien and you, she knew whose side she’d be on.’

‘Let me take a wild guess – Vivien’s?’

‘I was new to the firm. I didn’t know the politics, who was who, who to be nice to and Vivien guided me, took me in as her protégé. I did like you, Cathy, honestly.’ She grabs my arm and stares into my eyes and actually, call me a sucker who’d listen to any old sob story, but I believe her. ‘I thought you were funny.’

‘Oh yeah, I’ve always wanted to be thought of as funny. Ha ha ha. My biggest ambition, Cathy the class clown. Hang on a second and I’ll go back inside and do a quick tap dance round the café.’

‘Really?’ She steps back, ‘You can do that? Shall I move the chairs?’

Oh God. ‘No. Not really, I was joking.’ Now I really am beginning to feel like a comedian. ‘Look, sorry, Honour, this has all kind of confused me.’ It doesn’t seem possible and yet… A picture emerges in my mind of Alice and Lewis, her so-called dreaded enemy, giggling and laughing at the reception desk.

‘So that word BITCH on my computer, was that Alice as well?’

‘No, that was Gurlet.’ And it wasn’t BITCH. It was BIRD.’

‘Bird?’ Now I’m even more confused.

‘Font made the d look like a ch. That’s why I deleted it so quickly. It wasn’t aimed at you, it was aimed at me.’

‘But why would Gurlet call you bird? Bird as in bird, tweet, tweet? Or bird as in girl?’

‘I went off the rails when I was young. Did a few stupid things. Someone found out.’

‘What kind of things?’

‘Irrelevant. All I’ll say is I did the crime and I did the time. Holloway Prison, nine months. I was known as Bird inside, because I apparently sang to the wardens – long story. But ever since I’ve…well, it’s not the kind of thing you advertise, especially to an employer. I don’t have an honours degree, or letters after my name. I didn’t go to Oxford. They checked up on my references.’ Her eyelids lower as if in deep shame. ‘I lied on my application form. I so badly wanted that job but I knew they’d never give me a chance if I was upfront. Someone from HR spoke to Gurlet, who spoke to Turks and I was given immediate suspension. While they decide on my punishment, I suppose.’

‘So you’ve no qualifications – at all?’ I can’t help the inward smile that has cheered up my body like a toasty warm electric blanket on a freezing winter’s night.

‘None worth speaking of. A clutch of Ds at GCSE, NVQ in ICT and a City & Guilds certificate in Using Email and Internet, Level 1. So…’she tries to sound breezy and gung ho,‘what are you doing with yourself? Have you found another job?’

‘No…I guess I’ve got to though. Thing is I haven’t told my husband about my suspension yet.’

‘But why not?’

‘That’s my long story.’

‘At least you’ve got a husband to fall back on,’ she sniffs. ‘That’s priceless.’

‘Priceless, yes,’ I mutter cynically five minutes later as I follow Josh and Sophie down the road, having stuffed her business card in my handbag. ‘That’s another way of putting it.’

Chapter 27

I’m back indoors going through the children’s book bags, skim-reading their newsletters, noting down future school trips, signing their homework diaries, which are all a sodding scribble anyway, so I don’t really know what the hell I’m agreeing to. I trudged home from Claire’s Éclairs in a really quite despondent mood. Seeing Honour brought to mind memories of work and how exciting it could be. The meetings, the brainstorming, working with Rosa. While part of me itches to phone Turks up, beg for forgiveness and a second chance, another part of me questions if I really want to work with colleagues such as Alice, if indeed what Honour says is true. Only thing that makes me feel slightly better about it all is that Honour was suspended too, so I’m not on my own in the failure department – and at least
I
haven’t a criminal record to drag me down.

I put the book bags aside, plonk myself on my bay window seat and begin gazing glassy-eyed out at the traffic rolling slowly past; feeling a bit like Oliver Twist might after being sold to Mr Sowerberry, the undertaker. All right I may not be surrounded by coffins and belting out in a plaintive voice, ‘Whe-e-e-re is love’ but I’m sure I’m suffering similarly strong emotions – wanting answers but not knowing where to look to find them.

Being in the playground again, seeing Sheryl, not that I care about the stupid maths challenge, well not a lot… But it all just goes to show how much I’ve changed. Her world, which used to be my world, is miles removed from where I am now and one that I definitely don’t want to re-enter. It’s like I’ve dipped my toe in the swimming pool of a new life and I can’t return to sunbathing on the lounger and yet neither do I want to dive in either. I contemplate my fate with a heavy heart. The bills are piling higher, our credit card limit’s rising, along with the interest, the electricity board’s been sending stern letters and the bank loan, which I managed to defer payments for, will kick in any day now.

***

‘Cathy,’ Declan calls up the stairs. Eight p.m. and the children are in bed. ‘Your Supernanny programme’s starting, you know. What
are
you doing up there?’

‘Accounts on the computer,’ I call down. ‘I’ll be here a while. Just record it for me, will you?’

I’m not fibbing. At least I am on the computer. Looking at Hardwick and Wiles all-singing all-dancing website. Eager Eyes wasn’t far wrong. Music, graphics, video, arrows that take you in every direction, the lot.

I click onto one of Hardwick’s properties, a small flat above Topsfield Parade and there’s Eager Eyes giving a little speech and then he fades out and you hear his voice in the background as you drift around the flat moving from room to room. We see the view from each window in turn, bathroom, kitchen, diner, bedrooms.

I click again onto another property, three bed semi in Rokesly Avenue. Gee whiz! I’d whistle through my teeth if I knew how. All the information the Creeper could wish for is on there. Which rooms might contain the jewels, or expensive electrical gadgets, which doors you can come in or go out by, how overlooked the garden is. If there’s a back or side entrance. Pure burglar porn. You even get a little map of the property you can print out and stick in your swag bag in case you forget.

I feel like Faye Dunaway in
Eyes of Laura Mars
where she witnesses murders through the eyes of a killer. I shudder as I realise that the Creeper could at this very moment be looking where I’m looking, surveying the very same property I’m surveying.

As one with me.

***

‘Estate agent details?’ Peter the Postie holds a large white envelope up to the sky and peers through first thing next morning – day two of my fraternity leave. ‘Thinking of moving then?’

‘Maybe.’ Damn, I left postmen off my list. Excellent people for spreading gossip. Especially chatty Peter. If he was a venereal disease, he’d have infected the whole of North London by now. ‘Just considering it.’

‘But you’ve got a great house. Right near the shops and park.’

‘Well, we’re just testing the market so to speak.’

‘Not certain I’d use Hardwick and Wiles.’ He points to the franking mark.

‘Why? Have you heard anything about them then?’ I say ultracasually.

‘Only that people round here reckon they’re into a few dodgy deals.’

‘What kind of dodgy deals?’ My ears prick up.

‘The norm. Undervaluing properties then selling to mates, overvaluing properties so they win the business. Taking bribes from solicitors, backhanders from buyers, working in cahoots with brokers so they can squeeze people dry, that sort of thing.’

‘They do all that?’

‘And more. Right load of crooks.’ He puts down his satchel and leans the palm of his left hand against the wall next to my head as if he’s in for the long haul.

‘Rachel, my girlfriend, was moving down from Derby and found a flat in the next street from mine but when she made an offer, Hardwick’s told her there’d been wet rot found in a previous survey, problem neighbours, legal disputes, etc. But my girlfriend’s a stubborn one, wasn’t put off easily. Finally that slimy manager, the one with the shoestring tie agreed to arrange an auction. You know, where all buyers battle it out with secret bids.’

‘Like Scotland?’

‘I suppose, yeah. Anyways, so my girlfriend puts in the highest bid but still wasn’t awarded the flat. The agent said another couple were closer to completion.’

‘And were they?’

‘Put it this way, she was ready to exchange and these others hadn’t even started their searches. Shoestring was hoping for the double commission – which he got, the bastard. Not working today? You’re looking nice.’

‘Oh,’ I flash him a smile. Young good-looking guy showering me with compliments. ‘I’m on fraternity leave. My best friend’s had a baby and my husband hasn’t seen her yet, so we’re going round her flat this morning.’

‘Aw, what size?’

‘Six pounds three ounces. So darling, big blue eyes, cute little cheeks, fine golden hair. She’s named after me, you know, well her–’

‘Oh, hi, there,’ Declan appears behind me. ‘Thought I heard someone out here. Cathy jabbering on again? Keeping you from your work?’

‘Just passing the time of day,’ Peter lifts his hat. ‘I was just telling her about my girlfriend, Rachel, who was moving–’

‘Sorry,’ I cut in smartly, ‘but we really have to run along.’ I quickly shut the door and turn my back to it.

‘Wasn’t that rather rude?’ Declan raises an eyebrow.

‘Sex pest. Shouldn’t encourage him. Oh golly,’ I check my watch. ‘You’d better go. Can’t let the kids be late for lessons.’

***

‘You’re positive you know what you’re doing?’ Mrs Baker watches as Norman lugs his old computer into her hallway and I hold the trailing cables up in the air to stop him tripping over them.

Nine-thirty a.m. and we’re taking advantage of Declan on the school run to put our plan into action. We have to be quick as a) Mrs Baker’s leaving this afternoon and b) although Declan’s meant to be visiting his favourite bookshop again, he could return any minute.

‘Of course,’ I reply trying my best to ooze confidence and efficiency.

‘You Neighbourhood Watch people have been so very helpful,’ says Mrs Baker.

‘All part of the service, marm.’ I doff my pretend cap.

‘The Nominated Neighbour service?’

‘That’s right.’ I plug the lead into the USB port. ‘We all have to fit these when our customers leave on short breaks.’

‘Customer?’ Mrs Baker looks surprised. ‘Am I a customer then? Do I have to pay?’

‘Go out, Cathy,’ Norman says masterfully before I get a chance to answer and for a moment I think I’ve done something wrong and am ready to place my metaphorical tail between my legs and apologise profusely, until I realise he’s pointing the spycam directly at me. ‘I need to see if it’s running correctly.’

I step out the front door and wait for him to call me back in.

The spycam was Isobel’s idea. She rang yesterday night, just after I’d spooked myself by imagining I was looking through the eyes of Laura Mars like Faye Dunaway and she came up with a brainwave. Her dad had mentioned about this thief who was caught red-handed by one.

‘Once it detects motion, it starts up and begins recording.’

‘And you keep it on all the time?’ I’d asked. ‘Isn’t that a waste of electricity?’

‘Small price to pay in the fight against crime,’ she’d replied in a voice uncannily like Michael Keaton in
Batman Returns
. ‘And no need to pay for it out of Neighbourhood Watch funds. Liam can lend you his. He bought this software program a few months back and converted his webcam, because he thought I was sneaking round his room while he was at school, looking for drugs and alcohol.’ ‘And were you?’

‘Abso-bloody-lutely!’ she snorted. ‘I’m no way neglecting my son just because he’s fifteen. They need you more than ever at that age. You know the other day I was lying in my bath when I heard this clink of a bottle coming from the room above…’ And there she was off with another Liam story, bulgy eyes and everything, well I had to assume bulgy eyes, because it was over the phone, but knowing Isobel it would be.

And not only are we setting up the spycam but Norman’s attaching it somehow to this new internet site that he’s made, CrouchEndCreeper.com. Means once Mrs Baker goes and I’m left ‘house-sitting’, I’ll have back-up cover on a rota basis night and day. Although having said that, night times should be fine as the Creeper’s never burgled past six p.m.