She Did It: You think you know her - think again.

by Mel Sherratt

  ‘Off to work?’ he asked, as she handed him the right change.

  Esther nodded, trying to contain her annoyance. Why was everyone so friendly all the time?

  She took a deep breath as he shouted down her order. It was all going to be okay.

  A shiver rippled through her. Who was she trying to fool?

  Her coffee ready, she slalomed through the tables to an empty one she had spotted on the side wall. She sat down so that she could see the entrance. If the police caught up with her, she had to be able to move fast.

  A flash of yellow caught her eye and she looked out on to Earl’s Court Road. Figure after figure, group after group, couple after couple rushed past the window, until they blended into one, big mesh of colour. Her eyes brimmed with tears when she thought of the trouble she was in, what she had lost and what else she stood to lose if things were to get any more out of hand. She couldn’t bargain with her freedom again, not so soon after the last time.

  With a deep breath, she pushed her fears aside, and sat upright to appear confident. She was used to this kind of thing in her life. Bad things had happened before and she had got through them. It came with the territory. This had to be done too, before things got out of hand.

  She lifted her cup to her mouth, blew on the hot liquid before taking a small sip, and checked the time on the clock. It was 9.25 a.m.

  Five more minutes.

  ###

  Tamara stepped off the tube on to the platform, willing her feet to move forward. It was going to be a long day; one she wasn’t sure she would even get through. Fear and anxiety burrowed through her in equal measures, but she had to keep them both at bay. It was imperative to keep her wits about her while she was in the company of her friend. Because something wasn’t right.

  The day was warm, temperatures having finally reduced to a milder eighteen degrees with a slight chance of rain. Tamara made her way up the steps, almost being lifted up by the throng of people. The large clock on the wall said it was two minutes after nine-thirty. It didn’t matter if she was a few minutes late. It wasn’t as if she was looking forward to the morning.

  Her blouse felt sticky underneath her jacket, sweat patches revealing how nervous she was. It reminded her of happier times, during the heatwave that London had basked in a few weeks earlier. Then she had been pleased to have Esther around. Now she could curse herself for not being vigilant, for being too trusting, especially after what had happened with Michael.

  A wave of nausea washed over her. Could it only be two days since it happened? Each night since, she had tossed and turned in her bed, going over everything. The guilt, the anguish, the panic. Had she been tricked? Could he have died just like that?

  In a matter of seconds, she came out on to Earl’s Court Road and turned left. Earl’s Court wasn’t an area she had been familiar with until recently. Now the hustle and bustle of so many small businesses, traffic and people crammed together overwhelmed her. The pavements were wide, like they were in Central London, but the clientele was a little livelier, a tad pushier. Petrol fumes hung in the air, the sounds of engines revving as they were at a standstill. The bleeps from the pedestrian crossing, a screeching of brakes, the odd peep of a horn.

  The coffee shop where they had arranged to meet was right in front of her. Tamara knew instantly she wouldn’t like it. She never used to visit chains, instead choosing to use one of the many specialist coffee bars that were scattered across the city. There was something about their ambience that she loved, the aroma of baked cakes and coffee granules second to none. But sadly, things like that had become more of a treat than a necessity with her now having to watch every penny.

  She paused in the middle of the pavement, her feet finally unable to move forward.

  ‘Watch out!’

  She turned as a man slammed into the back of her. ‘Sorry.’ Her voice came out as a whisper as she moved to one side, but he had already disappeared. She pressed her back into the wall of a building, almost suffocated by the crowds going past; like worker ants, all on a mission to get to their destinations as quickly as possible.

  She wished she could turn around, go down the steps and travel back in time – to when she hadn’t met Esther, or seen Jack Maitland again. Where her life was simple, and she only had herself to look after. Or look out for.

  Tamara didn’t want to go into the coffee shop. She didn’t want to speak to Esther at all. Earlier she’d thought it would be best to go straight to the police, talk to the female detective again. But she still wasn’t certain anyone would believe her.

  No, she had to sort this out first. No matter what the consequences. If her thoughts were right, her future could very much depend on it.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Friday, 16 June

  Tamara smiled to herself. Here she was again, standing in the window of her sitting room, watching the world go by. Although London was always busy, she at least got a chance to see her neighbours as they left for work. Not to talk to, obviously. One does not do that kind of thing on her street, she mused. But she knew most of their routines: who came out at what time, who took the children to school on certain days, and who, like she, worked from home.

  If she stared across into the bay window of number twenty-seven, the house directly opposite her flat, she would see Sarah Fitzpatrick trying to cajole her youngest two children into getting dressed. Her husband went to work before Tamara took her coffee. Sarah and her children always left by 7.45 a.m. Sarah would then return until 2.00 p.m. and then she would rush out to collect the children again.

  Tamara wouldn’t say she was a nosy neighbour, but she was a stickler for routine. She only looked out of the window while she drank her first coffee every morning. After that, no one would see her for the rest of the day, unless she was using the laptop. But even then, she wouldn’t be spying. It was routine that she liked.

  The first cup of coffee was always the best part of the day. Despite the restless sleep she’d had the night before, she knew it would invigorate her – take away her nerves around the plans for the day ahead.

  Even at 7.30 a.m., she was trying to feel excited rather than apprehensive. Today was pitch day. Everything was ready, yet it had come around far too quickly. She prayed that she wouldn’t let herself down this time.

  It would be a dream come true to work on the new campaign with Dulston Publishing. Winning the pitch could be fabulous news for her. Maybe then she could move on from the ‘episode’.

  She sipped at her coffee as she watched the couple from two doors down rush their children out into the car, strapping them into seats with military precision before driving off. Tamara wanted to have her own family one day but for now she was content to work. There was plenty of time to find someone to trust again. First, she needed to win this pitch.

  Tamara had never been good at public speaking, despite starting her own PR company and having to present pitches all the time. It was something that pushed her beyond her comfort zone and it was challenging, some days more than others. At times, she had wanted to give up, but the fact that she would have to admit defeat to her parents was enough to spur her on again.

  Sometimes the pitches were in front of a handful of people; sometimes they were in rooms holding around two hundred delegates.

  Sometimes she was great at it. Sometimes she would fail miserably and someone else would end up with the campaign.

  The pitch today was extremely important. She had to be noticed soon or else things would go to the wall. The small projects she’d worked on since starting the business were great to keep it afloat but she was hardly surviving. This job could be the start of something better for her; where she was respected, in demand and able. It could further her career, helping her to impress people and gain more work.

  Yesterday, Tamara had been talking through her fears with Esther. She had been working with her for three weeks now. Tamara felt extremely lucky to have found her, even though she had been the only person who came forward with a
nything about her.

  Esther said that she was going to nail this pitch and Tamara was determined to prove her right. She had been repeating affirmations and practising positive scenarios in her mind, where she saw herself standing up in front of everyone, word perfect, calm, and confident.

  But then the old anxiety would return and she would feel a rush of heat to her cheeks as she remembered the last time. She had told Esther how terrible it had been but she hadn’t elaborated because it was too embarrassing. She had gone completely blank, dropping all her cue cards and generally making a fool of herself. She hadn’t been able to get out of there quickly enough, hence not having much work since. It had been a complete disaster.

  At thirty-three and single, Tamara always felt as if she had let her family down. Her parents were old-fashioned and wanted her to find someone with money, marry him, and be dependent for the rest of her life. But she wouldn’t be happy doing that, even more so after what had happened with Michael.

  Her two elder brothers and one younger sister were all married, with six children between them. She seemed to be the black sheep of the family. She wasn’t attractive, but neither was she ugly.

  And coming from a wealthy family had its disadvantages. To get people to notice her she had to constantly show that she was successful and well sought after, but it was expensive to keep up appearances. She had to dress up what she had in the best that designers could offer, and groom herself impeccably. Luckily, her job meant that she was sometimes wined and dined throughout London. She told everyone she employed a cleaner and her food was delivered weekly to her door, but in reality, she did her own shopping, cooking, and cleaning. Her one saving grace was her car, although it was usually stationary outside her flat for most of the week. It was a Mercedes-Benz C Class bought by her father. She’d had it since it was new in 2009, and it was only worth about five thousand pounds now. But even if it had been worth more, she didn’t have the heart to sell it, to make ends meet.

  She picked up her cue cards and read the words aloud from the first one.

  ‘We at Parker-Brown PR know a good book when we read it. We absolutely adored Something’s Got to Give.’

  Tamara held her shoulders high. She could do this.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Esther let herself out of her flat and popped her keys in her handbag. Unlike Tamara’s block of flats, whose tenants were either quiet, out at work, or the homes were empty during the week, she could hear the baby from the first floor screaming out his lungs, and the beat of the music from the flat across the way. No matter what time of day, the noise never stopped.

  Esther was glad to get out during the days, but at least she had a roof over her head, and felt fairly safe when she returned, which had been quite a change.

  In the dimly lit hallway, she opened the front door, the sound of the street bursting in. As she stepped down on to the pavement, she wondered if she was the only one who was earning a wage. Thank goodness it wouldn’t be forever. She’d managed to grab a great haul last night. One unexpected man, the bar emptied in his room, a quick sex session and once he’d fallen asleep, she’d been out of his hotel with his wallet and laptop two hours later. His laptop she would pawn; it was the money she was more interested in.

  If the buildings weren’t so tall, Esther was sure she would have been blinded by the sun, which was high in another cloudless sky. It had been hot for several days now, the heat unbearable on the tube as well as in the room where she worked. The noise from the traffic was even more intolerable than the dust that seemed to hang around in the air, yet the fan she had on the table in Tamara’s sitting room wasn’t equipped for a heatwave.

  She was quite enjoying her time temping at Parker-Brown PR, even though she didn’t really want to be there. Tamara didn’t seem to have many return clients and was depending on this new pitch hitting big. She had set her straight on to the pitch for Something’s Got to Give when she started. Through her love of social media, Esther had come up with a few ideas to get her started – even if it was a double-edged sword at times because people are so stupidly open – and knew she could create a buzz around anything.

  After calling for takeaway coffee, she joined the throngs of people pushing to get through the barriers at Earl’s Court tube station. She saw the same faces day after day: the woman with her hair in a bun and a red jacket who always had her head in a magazine, the men in their slinky suits, holding briefcases assuming it made them look important, and several groups of teenagers competing to make the loudest noise.

  On the platform, she squashed herself into the crowd as she waited for the District line to arrive. Already she could feel a headache forming, the exhausting heat wafting towards her. It would be hot and stuffy on the tube. She would be drenched in sweat before she got to work.

  While she waited, she rehearsed everything in her head again. She was determined nothing would stop them from winning the pitch for Dulston Publishing, so she had put together some thoughts of her own, surprising herself that she was quite creative when she could be bothered.

  At Victoria, she jogged up the escalators out into the open air on to Victoria Street. Tamara’s flat was only a five-minute walk. That was probably a blessing in wet weather but a curse when the sun was shining as it was today. Lunch in St James’s Park would have been good if they hadn’t got the meeting that afternoon. No doubt Tamara would want to run through it all a couple of times that morning, whereas Esther felt she knew it in her sleep.

  Finally, she left the commotion of the main road, and, at the entrance to Tamara’s flat, looked up to the sky one more time. After relishing the feel of the sun on her face, she walked up the steps and punched her code into the door entry system. She had been given access to that, but not to the main door of the flat. She had to gain Tamara’s full trust first. She was working on that.

  The door opened into a hallway, a row of post boxes to her right. Two bicycles stood next to them and a large, potted plant revealed itself as she closed the door. She stepped on to a Minton tiled floor, a staircase at the far end of the hall.

  Raj Patel, the old man from the flat downstairs, was in his doorway. He greeted Esther with a smile, his hair slicked back from his face, eyes shining from within crow’s feet and hooded lids. As far as she knew, no one seemed to have a bad word to say about him. Tamara had told her he had become the building’s unofficial caretaker since losing his wife a year ago; said it kept him fit and active. To her, he was another busybody, probably sticking his nose into other people’s business whenever he could.

  ‘Morning, Raj.’ Esther smiled back as she collected Tamara’s mail from her box and tucked it under her arm.

  ‘Morning, Esther. Looks like another hot one. I swear I’m going to faint if it gets any warmer in here.’

  ‘It’s fine by me. You know I like my men hot.’ She giggled coquettishly.

  ‘You are a cheeky one.’ He wagged a crooked finger at her.

  ‘Always.’

  Raj’s laughter followed her up the stairs. Once alone again, Esther let out a huge sigh, her shoulders drooping heavily. Although Raj was inoffensive, sometimes it was hard to be affable all the time. She just played along to ensure everyone thought she was a nice person. Over the years, it had been something which she’d become extremely good at.

  Still, her nerves ratcheted up to full, she would kill for a boost from some speed right now, even though she had been clear of amphetamines for several months.

  And even though she knew it would be dangerous to go back there again.

  CHAPTER THREE

  ‘I’m so glad to see you!’ Tamara ushered Esther inside the flat quickly. ‘I had my morning coffee, then sat down to go over everything again and my mind went completely blank! I can’t remember anything about the presentation we prepared. I’ve forgotten all the figures I need to know. I’m so nervous I’m sure I’ll forget my name, or worse, the title of the book! I … I need a good talking to.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’
Esther replied. ‘You have this covered.’

  Tamara sighed. Esther’s manner was always so confident. It was just as well because all the positive thoughts she had been thinking earlier had vanished, only to be replaced by abject fear.

  She was talking herself into doing the exact opposite of what was required. The more she thought about the pitch, the more she watched herself stumbling over the words and messing it up completely. She took a deep breath in an attempt to relax.

  ‘What you need is another coffee.’ Esther turned her around and gently pushed her towards the open door in front of them. ‘Go and sit down in the control room while I make it, and then you can run through everything again with me.’

  Tamara walked forward, almost feeling as if she had taken some sort of drug to make her high. It would take her ages to come down from this afterwards. That was if she ever got through it in the first instance.

  The control room Esther had referred to was her sitting room. Tamara’s flat was in a row of four-storey Victorian townhouses, all with airy rooms and high ceilings. Tamara’s grandfather had died ten years back and when her grandmother had died, almost two years ago now, she had left it to her, much to the annoyance of her family.

  The will had stipulated it was because Tamara was the only one of her sibling’s unmarried and without children, so the flat was deemed a good starting point for her. Tamara could still remember her cheeks burning up as the details had been read out in the solicitor’s office, with all her family present. Talk about rubbing salt into her wounds.