If He Wakes

by If He Wakes (retail) (epub)

  I picked up the earring, inspected it as I told Suzie involving Della was the perfect solution. Della could help with the party; I'd make her do what I couldn't. The cleaning and other household chores that she usually did could wait. I’d get Jennifer as well, my friend from the catering college, and hire her for the job. I ended the call with us arranging to meet later at the house, Suzie promising that this was a one off, that a quick trip to the studio and bank was all that she needed.

  I understood, she was running a photography business just like I was running a catering business whilst we got this events company off the ground. It took a certain skill to be able to juggle things, to be able to run two or three businesses together as I did. It took me a while before I got organised with my work and besides, she was right, this party was too good an opportunity to pass up. Once we had the measurements it was simply a case of hiring staff, ordering props and food and delegating.

  My ankle was throbbing, I collapsed on the bed and I hastily took some more painkillers to take the edge off. I hadn’t yet eaten and the acid in my stomach churned, I was slightly dizzy. The earring was still in my hand, the phone in my other, and without thinking I dialled the number. I knew it verbatim and once connected, I asked to be put through to him. It took all of two minutes.

  ‘Felix?’

  ‘Rachel! What a pleasant surprise! How's that ankle of yours? Phil tells me you had a car accident?’

  ‘Fine, fine, thank you.’ My voice was trembling, I wasn't quite sure what I was doing, only that I was doing it.

  I'd dialled the London office, knowing Phil wasn't there and was now speaking to Felix, his colleague, his partner in the big deal they were in the process of securing for the company.

  ‘I just wanted to apologise,’ I said, and surprised myself by how calm I sounded, how in control. ‘For ruining the big presentation that you two had set up yesterday.’

  ‘Apologise?’

  ‘Well, I know it was postponed,’ I went on, ignoring my racing heart and my throbbing leg, ‘but it was my fault that Phil had to cancel. If I hadn't had my silly accident, then it could've gone ahead…’ I let my voice trail off and waited for him to fill the silence.

  It worked.

  ‘The presentation wasn't postponed,’ he said, ‘so no need for apologies. You really don't need to ring me for that Rachel, although it is lovely to hear from you, how are the girls?’

  ‘It wasn't postponed?’ I asked, ignoring his question, ‘so Phil didn't cancel it?’

  ‘Oh yeah, Phil cancelled it,’ Felix explained and I heard a phone ring somewhere behind him in the office, a rustle of papers, ‘but he did that on Monday. He called the clients on Monday afternoon, said it was due to him not having the numbers together. He needed to get some more data so he wouldn't be able to get to the London office at the time he thought, he said…’

  ‘So Phil never intended to come to London yesterday morning?’ I pressed. ‘He knew he was going to be late? You didn't call him?’

  There was a pause.

  ‘He went to the regional office,’ I went on. ‘Phil was at the Chester office yesterday morning?’

  ‘He took the morning off,’ Felix said slowly. ‘Said he had to sort out some personal business, listen…’ His tone changed. ‘Rachel, I'm sorry if I've said something out of line here, if Phil's not told you that he booked time off…’

  I could hear it in his voice, the uncertainty, the veiled concern. I realised how it must have sounded, how me calling him out of the blue and asking him where my husband was implied the very thing I wanted no one to know.

  ‘I'm sorry, Felix,’ I said quickly. ‘Of course Phil wasn't there yesterday morning. Of course he took the morning off! I've got myself all muddled, got my days mixed up. It must be the medication, making me have a senior moment!’ I gave out a laugh. ‘I just wanted to apologise for him not being in at all, and to catch up, how are the boys? Tell me, is Alfie still mad about penguins?’ I endured five minutes of painful small talk and ended the call as quickly as possible.

  Sweat was soaking through my nightgown, my hands shaking. If what Felix had told me was correct, then Phil never intended to go to London when he left the house yesterday morning. He knew the meeting was cancelled because he had already cancelled it. Phil had taken the morning off and he'd lied about it.

  When he kissed me goodbye, he told me he was heading for the London office. But he wasn't. He was going somewhere else entirely.

  9

  Suzie

  Adam’s photography studio was on the outskirts of the city centre and the flat he owned was above it. The property was just a ten-minute drive from the car park near the bank at most but the traffic slowed to a pitiful pace just outside the amphitheatre. She looked over at it, a semi-circular piece of ground surrounded by a busy road and overlooked by a hotel. A group of school children were at the far end, a multi-coloured flock of padded jackets in the rain and sleet. Three ladies pulling travel cases behind them stared down at the group in puzzlement. Everyone was wearing a pained expression; even those in the vehicles around her and it seemed to be a direct reflection of her mood. Only the children, out of school and on a field trip, seemed to have any energy as they scuttled about on the sandy ground.

  Suzie had never been impressed by the amphitheatre; she supposed it must be something to be standing amongst the ruins of the largest example in Britain, but it never moved her. The painted far side wall where it was blocked off reminded her of a fairground ride, the ‘added scenery’, and there was also the fact that it was surrounded by industrialism. Unlike other parts of Chester where you could mount a flight of stairs and be above the city, or go through a hidden walkway and be sheltered by the city walls, hidden or taken away from the everyday, this relic was plonked in the middle of it all. The council and businesses had just built around it. Car engines and their horns, hotels and pubs all enclosed this great historic ruin and seemed to diminish its history.

  Adam, however, was of a different opinion; he loved it. When they first got together he boasted that he lived, ‘just past where the gladiators performed’. His studio and flat above were more than just past, but she could forgive him that. Adam was a storyteller, you only had to look at his photographs. She Googled it once, the amphitheatre, and read that it was also used as a medieval rubbish dump but she’d not tell Adam that. He would never say he lived, ‘just past where they used to fly tip’, so Suzie kept that one to herself.

  The school children got in line and started to file toward the exit just as the traffic inched forward and Suzie gripped the steering wheel. She didn’t realise it, but she was formulating a prayer of sorts. Please let Adam be in the studio. Please let him be home. Please let him have the answers.

  The road followed the great sweeping direction of Grosvenor Park and took her around a long corner. She craned her neck, leaning forward, hopeful for a glimpse of the studio. She fully expected to see the shutters up. Following the one-way system, she banged on the wheel in frustration as the road took the row of shops out of her view. The traffic stopped and started at an agonising pace, her windscreen wipers creaking with every stroke. She gritted her teeth and when she finally arrived she was jittery and angry. She imagined hitting him hard on his chest whilst also clutching at him, her fingernails digging into his biceps. She wanted to feel his breath on her face, his arms around her, his body dwarfing hers, she wanted him to take care of this bank situation and the debt, and be on her way to meet Rachel.

  She swung into the car park and stared up as a heavy slug of disappointment hit her stomach. The studio windows were dark, the back door locked, and in the designated car park, the space allotted to Adam’s car was empty.

  * * *

  The first time Suzie cheated HMRC was for six skirting boards in a semi-detached on South Wirral. To be fair it had been Carl, her ex-boyfriend, who’d been the real criminal, but it was the first time Suzie had been actively involved. She’d been with Carl for eighteen months by t
hen. He’d just set up on his own, branching out as a painter and decorator. He was working constantly in those early days, so that night, when the owner of the semi-detached arrived to pay for the skirting boards, Carl was out on another job.

  ‘So sorry,’ she’d said as she’d pushed the notes into Suzie’s hand. ‘Carl said to put a cheque in the post, but I know he needs the money for supplies so thought I’d drop it off on my way home. Tell him he’s done a wonderful job, we’re delighted with the way they reflect the light.’

  She’d taken down the woman’s name and address, the details of the job and thought herself very efficient, half imagining that she could be Carl's PA. When Carl arrived home, she presented it to him. After he’d counted out the crisp twenty-pound notes, he went to his invoice book and ripped out the corresponding page. He put it together with her handwritten receipt and tore them both into tiny shreds.

  ‘Shouldn’t you leave that in?’ Suzie asked. ‘For your records?’

  ‘Why should I leave it in,’ said Carl throwing the paper into the fire. ‘When I never did that job in the first place?’

  He chuckled at her expression and kissed her forehead as if she were a naive child. Then, over a cold beer, he explained (if a little patronisingly, Suzie later thought) how, if you were smart, you didn’t have to bother with tax like normal people did. Like she did in her job, like the rest of the working population did.

  ‘You only have to look at all the rich,’ he'd told her. ‘Those actors and people on the telly, aren't they always being done for tax evasion? They're all doing it.’

  Opening his invoice book, he showed her how he fiddled it, every fifth cash job didn’t happen. That cash was theirs. They paid no tax on it and they could spend it how they liked.

  He told her it was something that everyone did, if they were clever enough, and Suzie, with wide eyes, completely understood. They bought a Chinese takeaway and a bottle of really expensive Sauvignon Blanc with the money that night and Suzie felt special and dangerous all at once. It felt like being a criminal without committing any real crime, certainly no crime in the sense of someone else getting hurt. A ‘victimless crime’, was how Suzie thought of it.

  They were getting one up on the system, that was all. Taking it back from the taxman and it gave Suzie a sense of self-righteousness. It felt like a form of protest. And in the back of her mind, she knew that if it all went tits up it would be Carl, not her, that would be in trouble. After all, she paid her tax whether she wanted to or not, proof was the amount taken from her pay slip every agonising month.

  Carl’s business not only survived but thrived. They spent the cash on holidays, new clothes and meals out and they could afford to save. Within two years they’d enough to put down a deposit on a house. Two of Carl’s friends had their own businesses, one as a landscape gardener and another as a car mechanic, and although none of them ever said as much, she was sure they did the same. She looked at the cash brought out on a Saturday night, saw their new cars and fancy clothes, and made the assumption that everyone who could do it, did.

  And if it hadn’t been for Carl and cheating HMRC, they wouldn’t have got the joint mortgage. Suzie wouldn’t have paid it off for five years and she wouldn't have got half from the sale of the house when they split up. She'd still be in her parents’ house instead of being able to afford her flat in Chester. She'd be catching the bus instead of driving her car. Using some old phone instead of her new one and without any kind of gym or fitness club membership. Life would be very different. So it was, Suzie thought, perfectly reasonable that Adam did the same.

  But now, sitting in the empty studio, bank statements in hand, she thought she might have left a little too much to Adam. As she checked the answer machine, the realisation that she should’ve been more involved shone in her mind like a neon light. This wasn’t the odd cash job of a painter and decorator, this was thirty thousand pounds in debt. Adam was much more sophisticated than squirreling away payment for the odd job here and there. He had several businesses and bank accounts that he managed, hers included, and he fiddled them in a way she knew nothing about and now, she didn’t know what to do for the best. And what was worse, she couldn’t get hold of him to ask. She’d never thought she’d need to. He was her fiancé. The man she loved and the man with whom she would have children.

  When his voicemail clicked in, this time, she left a message.

  ‘Adam,’ her voice had a tremble to it. ‘I've just been to the bank. I’ve seen how overdrawn we are on my account and I’ve seen the loan agreement.’ She took a long, deep breath. ‘Why didn't you tell me? I’m not totally inept. I could’ve helped. I'm not angry,’ Suzie went on, ‘I just wish you’d told me.’ Her voice was wobbly, she sounded pathetic and she straightened her back. ‘And I wish you’d call me back. Not only to sort this out, but I’ve had a call from some bloke who thinks you owe him four grand. I don’t know what you bought off him, but you’ve forgotten to pay and he’s talking about visiting the studio today to see you. He was…’ Suzie paused, it sounded feeble to say he was mean, but that’s exactly how he sounded: mean and nasty. ‘Aggressive,’ Suzie finished. ‘I should already be at Rachel’s by now, so…’ her voice became a little firmer. ‘So I'm going into your flat. I can’t see any alternative than to get some of the cash. I’m taking some of it to the bank so call me. Call me as soon as you hear this,’ Suzie paused for a moment. ‘I love you,’ she said and ended the call.

  Taking out the spare key from the cash register in the studio, Suzie went up the narrow staircase at the back of the shop that led to Adam's flat. She knew the combination to the safe, a mix between both their birthdays. All she needed to do was get out some of the cash, make some kind of deposit to keep the bank happy and then she could talk about it all with Adam later.

  The flat was a mess. The door led straight into his kitchen and it wasn’t how Suzie usually saw it. A plate filled with crumbs, a half-drunk coffee cup and a plastic wrapper of some kind littered the counter. She closed the door and then, as she took her first breath, put a hand over her mouth to stop herself from inhaling the smell. There was a strong stench of something rotting, something dying.

  ‘Adam?’

  The unexpected shock of the smell in his flat made her feel vulnerable and without thinking she'd called his name. She took a moment, in the silence, her hand over her mouth and nose and watched a bluebottle work its way along the kitchen worktop. She took a step forward and was about to call him again when she saw the overflowing bin to the side of her. Three empty tins of mackerel. The juice had dripped onto the floor tiles and left a sticky mess. She cursed under her breath and began taking out the full bin bag and cleaning up the floor. Trying not to retch, she replaced it and left it by the door, ready for her to take to the outside bins when she left. The smell hadn't entirely gone, but removing the rubbish had brought back some of the anger she'd felt at the bank and she cursed him for leaving everything in such a state.

  She went into his lounge area and saw several magazines and newspapers on the coffee table. His three photography books (expensive, glossy things with full page graphics) had been pushed to the side and in their place were the local paper and a magazine. Suzie picked it up. She stared at the cover: bold headlines, bright colours, a young actress laughing with the words ‘Super sexy, shiny hair can be yours!’ written in pink, along with five smaller pictures of teenagers who must be famous in some capacity.

  She looked at it a moment longer before flicking through the pages. It wasn’t a magazine she’d ever read as it was clearly for young girls, the kind that was filled with bright images and sensational gossip. She dumped it back down on Adam’s coffee table, bemused.

  There was a can of something on the floor and her foot knocked against it, she dived down to rescue it before anything spilled and cursed Adam. Whenever she’d visited his flat it was always spotless. So in order in fact that she’d joked more than once about him having OCD concerning his uncluttered and very tidy
space. He usually had a bottle of wine open in the kitchen, a candle giving out some luxurious aroma and would always clean up after himself. Rinsing the glasses before they left, running a cloth over the worktops and plumping up the cushions on his sofa. It was confusing and somewhat enlightening to see it like this, to see it actually lived in.

  Some shoes lined the wall that led into his bedroom where his bed was unmade with a pair of jeans and socks on the floor. She smiled, he clearly didn’t expect to be gone for long and better she knew before they started living together exactly how messy he really was. There’d always been a small part of her that had wondered at his neatness, she’d tease him about this when he got back. Tell him she was relieved to find out he had some faults after all.

  She walked into the small room to the side of his bedroom, which Adam had as an office. Here things were still organised as usual; his laptop, notes and files were arranged on the desk. Several filing cabinets and shelves of paperwork were against the back wall and a small ivy plant was hanging from the ceiling. Here was where he counted the cash, made notes and dealt with everything concerning his businesses. Here was as she expected it to be.

  She went to the side of the desk, to a cupboard door where he kept his safe. A small iron safe, grey with a dial type door, the kind you saw in old movies. How he got it upstairs she had no idea, but he had and it was where he kept his money. Their money, she corrected herself. Money they were saving for their wedding, and their future.

  Suzie had got cash out of it before, had seen how much he kept in there and was confident it would be at least ten grand. She'd never actually counted it, but she was sure it was a reasonable amount. Enough to pay off some of the loan and keep the bank at bay.

  A rush went up inside her chest as she opened the cupboard door. The safe door was slightly ajar. She heard herself moan as she pulled it back.

  It was empty. Bare shelves.