by Gemma Rogers
I ran my fingers through my hair. What was Gary up to? He was a great salesman, but if I couldn’t trust him, we had a problem. I wasn’t sure whether to broach the subject in the morning or watch and wait? Could a customer, or another member of my team have put those things in his drawer? If so, who? And, more importantly, why?
The unanswered questions made my stomach churn. I rubbed my arms to ward off the chill on my skin as I paced the floor. The voice in my head countered: Whoever it was, if they’ve been in your flat, they could as easily have been in the office. There was only one lockable door that separated my home from the business and if someone had stolen my keys, they would have access to both. I hadn’t noticed my keys go missing at all. How could someone have got in? Tomorrow I would contact a glazier to fit a new front door. I could balance the books with the extra profits earned this week. My safety was a priority and if anyone did have a key, it would be rendered useless.
I headed out to the kitchenette, locked the door to the office and trudged back upstairs, one thought playing on my mind. James had been in my home, and the office, albeit briefly. He was there that night; he was a part of it.
17
October 2018
After another sleepless night, tossing and turning, imagining every single noise the flat made was someone breaking in, I gave in at dawn and turned the television on. Laying there, dozing, in the warmth of the covers, until I could put off getting up no longer. I felt exhausted, my mind still whirring about the findings in Gary’s drawer yesterday. I considered texting James, telling him about the development, but I didn’t know whether he’d go in guns blazing and I didn’t want to bring my problems to work. Plus I still had that niggling feeling that James knew more than he was letting on. Maybe the cards were nothing to do with Gary after all and they’d been left there for me to find.
I surveyed him as I delivered the tea that morning, trying to detect by some non-existent telepathy whether he was the culprit. He was oblivious and appeared to be acting normal, busying himself gathering paperwork from the four corners of his desk.
‘Gary, your desk is a mess. How on earth do you work like that?’ My voice reproachful, but Gary didn’t bat an eyelid.
‘It’s organised chaos,’ he said with a wink.
Salesmen, I shrugged. They were all the same, using charisma to dig themselves out of a hole. ‘I had to get the Brampton file from your drawer last night. Liz needed the planning permission as it wasn’t included in what you sent over.’
This time, Gary stopped what he was doing and sat bolt upright, giving me his full attention. He blinked rapidly, caught off guard. A reaction I hadn’t seen from him before.
‘I’m sorry Sophie, I must have missed it. It won’t happen again.’ Gone was the charm which seconds ago had oozed from him. Instead, he looked mortified at his mistake and, seeing his reaction, I felt petty for bringing it up.
I took a step back and waved my hand in the air dismissively. ‘No problem, but next time can you make sure all the files go back in the cabinet? They’re easy to find then,’ I said with a smile and Gary nodded.
‘Yes, boss, and thanks for the tea,’ he replied without a hint of sarcasm.
I retreated to my desk, feeling off-kilter. I was a good judge of character; a trait I’d inherited from my dad. Was Gary the one behind all of this? It didn’t sit right. He didn’t appear concerned I’d been through his drawer and it didn’t seem as though he had anything to hide.
Beth had left some documents on my desk for me to sign, so I started going through them. Hope knocked on the door and opened it wide, allowing Mrs Davidson wielding a large carrier bag to come through.
I stood to greet her. ‘Mrs Davidson, how are you?’ I grasped her hand and shook it, offering the seat in front of my desk. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Hope lingering at the door. ‘Thanks, Hope,’ I said, smiling, hoping she would get the hint. After a few seconds, she turned to leave, and I closed the office door.
‘Please call me Judith,’ Mrs Davidson began. ‘I wanted to come in and thank you personally. We were on the market with Osbornes for over three months without an offer. A couple of weeks with you and it’s sold. I wished we’d come to you first.’
I let the warmth flood through me, I adored this part of my job.
‘You’re most welcome. I’m pleased; the Barons seem like a lovely family and I’m sure they’ll treat your home with the love and respect it deserves. It’ll be in safe hands.’
‘I agree. I didn’t want to sell it to that developer for him to chew up and spit out.’ Mrs Davidson wrinkled her nose, then reached into her carrier bag, producing an enormous traybake covered with vanilla icing and sprinkles. She pushed it across the table towards me and I inhaled the sugar fumes from my chair. ‘I made this for the office, as a token of my appreciation.’
‘That’s so kind of you, thank you. It looks delicious. I can see it being devoured today.’
Mrs Davidson stood to leave, and I followed suit, slipping my hand into my pocket for the flyer I’d taken from Gary’s drawer yesterday evening.
‘Mrs Davidson – Judith, before you go, can you tell me if this is the same flyer you received through your door?’
Mrs Davidson took the paper out of my hand to examine it. ‘Yes, we received a good ten or fifteen of them, one came every day!’ Mrs Davidson’s voice raised an octave as she relived the stress that first brought her into see us.
‘Okay, well they certainly weren’t sanctioned by me. So, I’ll be investigating who took it upon themselves to do a bit of DIY marketing.’ I pursed my lips and Mrs Davidson chuckled.
‘Well, I’ll leave that in your capable hands, dear.’
When Mrs Davidson left, I sat reeling: 32 Park Lane was targeted because of its history. Someone knew that was where the gathering had been held and they were keen for Whites to sell it. I had no idea why, but it had to be connected. Everything was pointing to that night, but I was still clueless as to the reason it was being dragged up. Hopefully Becca, Robyn and Mark would be able to shed some light on it at the weekend. I wasn’t looking forward to going over ancient history, but at the same time I was keen to get to the bottom of this.
I wanted to get out of the office, so I took the template of the flyer I usually used to the printers and ordered a hundred. The weather was fine, and I used the walk to clear my head which seemed so jumbled. The real flyer boasted: ‘Whites has sold a property in your area’ and it always helped to bring in some interest. As I posted leaflets through letter boxes in Park Lane, my mind wandered back to 1997. What could have happened to create so much resentment and why now after twenty years?
Returning to the office, my head still a jumble of paranoia and self-doubt, Hope was grinning insanely, practically bouncing in her seat. Lucy stood beside her, a similar expression on her face.
‘What?’ I asked.
‘Go and see what’s on your desk?’ Lucy said, beaming.
Frank chortled and tutted at the girls.
My face flushed; I knew they had been talking about me while I was out.
‘Someone’s keen,’ Frank said, leaning against the door frame. On my desk was a bouquet of yellow roses that had to be from James. I glowed pink.
‘Back to work,’ I chided, trying to hide the grin that was spreading its way across my face. I closed the office door and picked up the bouquet, the flowers smelt divine. I pulled the tiny white envelope from the wrapping. It was nice to find one envelope I wasn’t afraid to open. But I couldn’t be more wrong.
I dropped the card as though it was a burning-hot poker I’d been made to hold. It fluttered to the desk as I stumbled back into my chair. I put my head in my hands. On the card, accusingly written in thick black capitals:
HE NEVER SENT HER FLOWERS!
Who, for fuck’s sake? Who never sent who flowers? Whatever sick game I was being dragged into, I wasn’t going to play along any more. I launched the flowers into the bin but then changed my mind and picked th
em out again. It would be too difficult to explain why I was chucking them to the rest of the team.
‘Gary, can I borrow you a second,’ I said, my voice slightly too high. I waited for him to come through the door before closing it firmly and returning to lean on my desk. I gripped the table, knuckles translucent, the vein on my forehead throbbing.
‘What’s up?’ he asked, waiting patiently as I tried to articulate what I wanted to say.
‘Who never sent who flowers?’ I snapped, keeping my voice low so the others wouldn’t hear.
Gary’s bottom lip protruded slightly.
‘I’m sorry?’ He maintained eye contact, not resembling a man who was trying to evade detection.
‘This card – do you know what it means?’ I eyeballed him, unable to appease the rage bubbling inside me.
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m sorry, Sophie, but I can’t help you,’ he moved towards the door, a hand on the handle, ready to leave. No doubt thinking I’d lost the plot. Maybe I had? Gary didn’t seem to know anything about the flowers.
‘Keep this between us please,’ I instructed, before he left the room. I was sure now that he had nothing to do with it. You couldn’t fake the genuine surprise on his face, but he was surely wondering what on earth was wrong with me.
I was powerless. Unable to stop the victimisation. What did they want? How could I change what happened twenty years ago? If it was about that, what was I being punished for?
I picked up the phone and dialled the florist from the logo brandished on the card. It was a local number; I’d used them before. I enquired about the order and asked the owner to tell me as much as she could.
‘Well, it was an odd one really. Order was put through our door yesterday morning before we opened, handwritten request with cash in the envelope, instructions to be delivered today. We don’t normally get them like that which is why I remember.’
‘Did you keep the note?’
‘Umm, I’m not sure, I’ll have to have a look.’ I could tell the florist was getting bored of my questions and wanted off the phone.
‘Did they leave a name?’ I pushed.
‘Yes, there was a name on the note, but due to data protection I can’t tell you that.’
‘Please, I beg you. Someone is stalking me. I’m going to take this to the police, but I need to know.’ The florist paused, now I had her full attention. She was considering whether I was worth taking the risk. I kept quiet, not wanting to push my luck.
‘It didn’t come from me okay? The sign-off on the note was Dixon.’
The phone trembled in my hand as I thanked the florist and disconnected the call. I stared again at the roses, the blood draining from my face. Dixon, that was Gareth’s surname. How could Gareth have sent the flowers if he was dead?
18
August 1997
Walking away from 32 Park Lane was strange. Eight of us arrived together just over an hour before but only six of us left. Hayley and Gareth were nowhere to be seen. I double-checked every room in the house before I locked up, scanning every corner and cupboard with my torch as I didn’t want to turn any lights on, not wanting the neighbours to see the house occupied. I was wary in case they were hiding, ready to jump out, but I wasn’t really expecting them to. Neither Hayley or Gareth were the practical-joke type. But the house was empty; I made sure it was left in the same state as when we’d arrived. No one would be any the wiser we’d borrowed the property for a couple of hours. I’d be grounded forever if my dad knew I’d taken keys from the office.
We sneaked out onto the street, as quiet as mice, shielded by nightfall as we made our way along the road. Elliot handed out the last of Gareth’s cigarettes for us to share and we swapped chewing gum to get rid of the smell. Ready to face our parents when we got home. The mood was weird, the air electric, everyone chipping in with theories as to what might have happened to Gareth and Hayley. Grasping onto the drama to avoid talking about the night’s exploits. No one wanted to kiss and tell, at least not tonight.
‘Maybe they’ve eloped,’ James said deadpan. It was the first joke I’d heard him crack; ever. If it was a joke?
‘Nah, I reckon he bottled it,’ Mark sniggered, Becca’s hand wrapped in his. Were they going out now?
‘Maybe Hayley changed her mind?’ Robyn suggested, tucking a blonde strand behind her ear.
‘Yes, but, where are they?’ I sounded rattled, unable to keep my voice from wavering. Even if I’d changed my mind, I would still have waited around for the others. Pretended I’d gone through with it; for an easy life. To avoid the ribbing from everyone else for chickening out. My stomach felt hollow and I jumped as a car revved its engine driving past.
Elliot eyed me; bemused as to why I was getting so agitated. I hadn’t told him about my encounter with Gareth in the kitchen.
‘What do you want to do?’ he asked, leaning in so the others wouldn’t hear. It was funny, we were walking in our designated pairs. Glued together for the night, two by two marching along the road.
‘There’s nothing we can do. We can’t go and knock for them; what if they haven’t gone home? I don’t want to get anyone in trouble.’
Elliot put his arm around me and squeezed me against him before releasing his grip. I almost asked him to leave it there. It felt nice. I could get used to it, the affection. I looked at Elliot differently now and I wondered if he felt the same about me? Would he ask me out? Now that we’d done it once, would he want to do it again? I knew I did.
‘Don’t worry, they’ll be fine. Gareth’s probably walking Hayley home right now.’
I wanted to believe him, but I was positive I’d seen him walk away from the house earlier. And if it was Gareth I saw, he was alone, so where was Hayley?
‘I’ll call her in the morning,’ Robyn offered and I felt myself relax a little.
When we got back to the postbox, we stood for a second before saying goodbye. No one spoke of the transformation; the change we’d all been through in the two hours since we were last there, at the same exact spot. The lads slapped each other on the back, and I hugged Becca and Robyn, promising them we’d talk tomorrow.
Elliot insisted on walking me around the back of the estate agents, to my door, which resulted in a few smirks and raised eyebrows. It was twenty past nine, so I’d made it back on time. There would be no reprimand from my dad to contend with as long as I could get the key back unnoticed. When we reached the back of the estate agents, a few feet from the front door of the flat, I checked I still had the Park Lane key, as well as my own. It was there, cold metal in the depths of my pocket.
‘Here, could you get rid of this on your way home?’ I said, handing him the condom wrapper, concealed in my fist.
‘Sure,’ he shoved the evidence into his pocket. ‘I guess I’ll see you at school yeah?’ He shuffled from foot to foot, waiting for me to answer.
‘Sure.’
A warm smile spread across his face; it was infectious. My lips tingled, the imprint of our kisses still fresh.
‘We’re good though, yeah?’ his eyes wide and expectant.
‘Yes, we’re good,’ I replied, beaming back at him.
He leant in to give me a quick peck on the cheek, then turned on his heels back towards the direction of the group. Who knew Elliot could be so sweet? We weren’t due back at school until Wednesday and the last two days of the school holidays stretched out in front of me. Two more days of freedom and I intended to do as little as possible.
I called out to my parents, announcing I was home, as I went past the lounge. Making a beeline straight for my room. They were watching an action movie, a car chase with lots of screeching tyres played out on the screen. I shoved the sleeping bag into the airing cupboard on route, weird it would forever be integral to the loss of my innocence. Slipping into comfy pyjamas, relieved to be alone, I laid on my bed staring at the ceiling, replaying the night’s events when there was a single knock on the door.
‘You okay, lo
ve?’ Mum poked her head in.
‘Yeah, fine,’ I replied, hoping she would go away so I could get back to working out what I was going to do about Gareth.
‘Oh, okay, you didn’t say hello that’s all. I just wanted to make sure you were all right,’ she said, her face retreating from view as she slid the door shut.
‘Sorry, Mum, I did say hello, but I don’t think you heard me. I’m fine, just tired, so I’m going to bed,’ I answered, guilt niggling at my side.
‘Okay, night.’
‘Love you.’
Her soft footsteps padded downstairs. I thought about having a shower, my groin ached, but it would be unusual, and my parents would ask why.
I switched my radio on to fill the silence. ‘Bitch’ by Meredith Brooks boomed out of the speaker, smarting my ears, and I thrust the volume down. Was it a sign? Was I a bitch for leaving Hayley? Should we have tried to find her? Walked to her house, to see if she was inside? My mind ran around in circles, frustrated I wouldn’t know anything until tomorrow when I’d be able to ring her. It was too late to make the call now; I was sure her father would tell her off. Sleep wasn’t going to be easy. I had visions of my dad bursting in to tell me Hayley hadn’t arrived home. Gareth could look after himself, but Hayley, alone at night, wandering the streets? The thought made me shiver and I snuggled into my duvet.
Had I made a mistake, leaving it that way with Gareth? The look on his face when I went upstairs, he seemed wounded. Did he want to be more than friends? What if he never went into the den after I left him? What if Hayley was waiting in the dark for him and he never came? Suddenly I didn’t feel grown-up at all. I was a kid, one who wanted to go downstairs, cuddle with her mum and share her fears. It was my fault.
Maybe they got the deed over and done with, then quickly left to go home? But that wasn’t the plan. It wasn’t what we agreed when we talked it through last night, sitting on my bedroom floor. We’d planned to regroup afterwards. It hadn’t happened that way in the end, we’d run out of time, but Hayley didn’t know that. She’d just disappeared.