The Shoplifting Mothers' Club

by Geraldine Fonteroy

  Great. Something else to be done. She’d forgotten all about Chelsea.

  Her mother had already called five times, asking how far she’d got; Ronald hadn’t resurfaced and Rachel had become inconsolable at the idea of Jessica going away, even for a short time. Perhaps it was prudent to call Chelsea to explain that she wasn’t going to make it tonight?

  But without those bags, Rita couldn’t do the job. It’d just cause more problems not to deliver them.

  Jessica took Elise’s advice and snuck away without a prolonged goodbye. She’d call the kids later, when she was on the ferry to the island.

  Elise lived on the opposite side of Clawson to Chelsea, so Jessica uncharacteristically put her foot down and arrived a little after 9:00 p.m. There were two cars in the driveway, both Range Rovers. The husband must be home, Jessica decided.

  Remembering the request to arrive earlier, she decided to leave the bags in the boot until Chelsea had given her the okay to remove them, and reluctantly dragged herself from the Fiat.

  Taking the front steps two by two, she held up a hand to bang on the front door, ignoring the bell in case Sienna was asleep. Suddenly, there was a loud scream – female – and the crashing of glass.

  What was that? Jessica jumped at the sound, and felt for her mobile in case Chelsea was being held by some madman.

  ‘Stop, darling please. I told you, it wasn’t my–‘

  A loud slap halted further words. ‘You’re my wife, and you embarrass me by dressing like a washer woman?’

  Wife? No!

  ‘I said I was–‘ Another slap echoed out into the night.

  The altercation could only mean one thing.

  Chelsea was a battered wife.

  Seething with anger – Ronald may be emotionally abusive but he’d never hit her – Jessica made to bang on the door again, but then thought the better of it. What if it just made things worse for Chelsea? The woman was so full of herself that knowing Jessica was in on the torrid ‘secret’ of her abuse might be too much for her to handle. And after experiencing Rachel’s many breakdowns, Jessica did not want to be party to Chelsea’s. Especially not now.

  It did explain all that thick makeup, at least. Probably covering up bruises.

  Quietly backing down the stairs, Jessica wondered if she should call the police anonymously? Perhaps the shock of getting caught would stop Chelsea’s husband from doing it again? Then again, Chelsea would have to press charges, and she didn’t seem the type to give up a luxurious lifestyle, no matter what the cause.

  Turning the key in the ignition, and wishing the little old Fiat was a lot quieter, Jessica headed down the paved drive, out onto the A-road and into the traffic crawling towards the South Coast. She prayed she’d done the right thing by not calling the police, and that the morning news would not be reporting the death of a slim woman wearing too much makeup, blood splattered all over the tight Burberry trousers.

  Perhaps she would ask Chelsea about it at some point – if fate did not step in and deal with Chelsea on its own. Check to see if the woman needed some help.

  As she drove, ignoring the petrol warning light – it occasionally played up – and thinking about Rachel, Ronald and Chelsea, Jessica didn’t give a thought to the one person she should have.

  She’d forgotten all about DCI Courtauld and their appointment early the next day. And she didn’t remember until it was too late.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  ‘WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN? It’s almost two in the morning,’ were the first words her mother spoke, or more correctly shouted, as Jessica trundled up the short drive and parked behind her parents’ old BMW coupe.

  ‘I ran out of petrol. Had to wait for the AA. No sign of Dad, then?’

  ‘No. The police have finally admitted it is worrying. Nice to know. Of course it’s worrying. That’s what I told them in the beginning.’

  Her mother had been crying heavily, which was uncharacteristic. The stalwart of the family, Suzanne Drummond was known for her even temper and strength in a crisis.

  ‘Mum, he’ll come home. Probably convinced some hotel to take him in. They’ll call when they discover he’s without funds.’

  ‘But he needs his heart medication. And the stuff for the Alzheimer’s.’

  Grabbing her mother’s arm – when had she become so thin? – Jessica squeezed it affectionately. ‘Come on. What was it you used to say when I was little? It’s just a moment in time.’

  ‘It’s what you say to children, Jessica. I’m not a child. And it has been over 24 hours. Every moment away is bad for your father.’

  In spite of the upset, Jessica couldn’t help but think that it must be nice to want and need someone the way her parents did each other. She couldn’t imagine Ronald and her becoming like Mum and Dad – not even if they were together for ten lifetimes.

  She’d tried not to think about Ronald during the journey – largely because she wanted to resist the urge to drive into a wall – but there was a point at which they’d have to acknowledge the marriage was a sham and that they both deserved better. Was she at that point yet? Seeing her mother’s reaction to her missing father, Jessica suspected that point had long come and gone – they were just too bogged down in obligation to see it.

  ‘Right, shall I go out now, see if I can find him?’ Jessica asked, although she was so exhausted she could barely stand.

  ‘Would you? I’ve looked everywhere he might have gone, so if you try the unusual places . . .’ The voice trailed off, and her mother stared off into the distance. The poor women was almost in an altered state from worry.

  ‘Mum, you get some sleep, I’ll look for Dad, okay?’ Gently directing her mother towards the spare bedroom, where she slept because Dad was up and down at night, Jessica grabbed her bag and headed for the car.

  An hour later and Jessica stopped at a lay-by to stretch her legs and try to stay awake. No sign of Dad anywhere – which alarming as the Isle of Wight wasn’t exactly a thriving metropolis. An elderly man in his pyjamas with dementia should be easy to spot. Sure, he could be inside a hall, or locked in a restaurant toilet or huddled somewhere out of sight, but it had been long enough now for someone to have ferreted him out.

  So far she’d tried all the major roads within walking distance – the bus shelters and shopping strips in case there was something open. She’d even checked the ladies’ and men’s toilets in every park within a ten mile radius of home.

  What if he’d found a way off the island?

  No. It wasn’t easy to stow away in a car or on the ferry, especially if you didn’t pay. Unless he had somehow gotten a hold of his wallet, which, she knew from old, contained his passport (‘. . . because, Jessie, you never know when you might need it’). The thought filled her with dread, because Dad’s dementia came and went, particularly when he wasn’t taking his medication regularly. He could easily deceive someone into believing he was fully functioning and get himself on a bus or even a plane without a problem.

  Easing back into the old Fiat, she began driving back towards the coast, keeping the headlights on high beam just in case an elderly man in nightwear was walking along the side of the road, lost and alone.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  AFTER FINALLY FALLING asleep, Jessica awoke to a knocking at the door. The old Longines watch – a present from her parents on her 21st birthday – revealed it was 2:00 p.m.

  ‘Jessica,’ her mother’s unusually frail voice called.

  Jumping up, she slung an old dressing gown around her shoulders. Please let it be all right. Please let it be all right.

  But instead of finding a couple of coppers, there, standing in the hall with a face like thunder, was Ronald.

  Panicked, Jessica asked, ‘What are you doing here? Are the kids okay?’

  His shock of grey hair was standing on end. He had an old Mercedes convertible and Jessica suspected he’d driven the entire way from Surrey with the top down. ‘I assume so, they are with Elise, aren’t they? I’ve come to tak
e you back.’

  ‘I need her here,’ Mum said quietly.

  ‘She’s needed elsewhere, Suzanne. Do you think I’d have come all this way if she wasn’t?’

  ‘I need her here,’ Suzanne Drummond insisted.

  Jessica turned and drew her mother in under her arm, leading her to the kitchen and asking if she might put the kettle on. ‘Let me sort this and we’ll go out looking for Dad again. Then we’ll visit the police station – there must be something more that can be done.’

  Ronald, to his credit, allowed the older lady to leave the room and shut the door to the kitchen before he completely lost it.

  ‘What have to fucking well done to us?’ He grabbed her arm and dragged her into the living room, shoving her onto the sofa. A cloud of dust puffed up at the motion, indicating poor Mum really had let things go under the strain of looking after Dad.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Jessica rubbed her arm.

  This was new. Ronald had never been the violent type. What on earth was going on?

  ‘I think you know. How could you embarrass me like that – getting arrested for bloody theft?’

  How on earth had he found out? Then she remembered – the appointment with DCI Gerry Courtauld – 9:30 a.m. today. It was hours ago now. But how had he got in touch with Ronald so quickly? In order to survive this life Jessica would have to start paying more attention to the small things. Such as appointments with police detectives who had powers of arrest.

  ‘Just tell me what happened, Ronald.’ Tiredness was providing a welcome blanket of indifference.

  ‘I was working at home and this guy, a cop,’ he spat the word out, ‘came to the door looking for you.’

  Oh God. Jessica felt sick. How much had the DCI told her husband? If Ronald discovered the existence of the Club, he might confront the BIBs – which in turn meant Rachel would suffer.

  ‘You’ve been shoplifting?’

  ‘Look, Ronald, you don’t understand–‘

  ‘I think I do. When the DCI discovered I was a lawyer, he filled me in on the whole thing. I told him that I would advise you to come back and give a statement about those stupid cows you are in cahoots with – you’ll get the immunity if you testify.’

  Her heart sank at the revelation. ‘Ronald, I can’t do that. Rachel will be excommunicated by every child at school.’

  ‘You think that going to jail will help her?’ Ronald was wearing a malicious scowl that Jessica had never seen before. ‘If the child is nuts, it’s because the mother is inept.’

  How dare he! But Jessica was conscious of the proximity of her mother. The last thing Suzanne Drummond needed to hear was that her daughter was a shoplifter.

  ‘Calm down Ronald. I’ve spoken to the detective; he said he would try to work out a way to keep me out of it.’

  ‘That was until you absconded, you foolish woman.’

  ‘I didn’t abscond. Dad is missing, remember. And thanks for showing so much concern for him, by the way.’

  ‘So sorry that I was diverted by the news my wife is a felon.’

  ‘Don’t I have to be found guilty, first?’ Jessica knew he hated it when she questioned his take on the law. ‘Hang on, you didn’t tell the cops I absconded, did you?’

  ‘I told them I might know where you are. That you would testify if they don’t arrest you. And you will testify.’

  ‘I will not.’

  ‘Then you’ll go to jail.’

  Jessica finally reached her limit of tolerance. All the put downs; the lack of partnership; the poverty; the pathetic sex – being married wasn’t worth being married to him. ‘Ronald, I do not require any further legal advice from you. As a lawyer, you’d make a brilliant gardener. No wonder you do so many long hours – clearly you are a little slow when it comes to advising your clients.’

  ‘HOW DARE YOU!’

  ‘No Ronald, how dare you presume to speak for me. I am a grown woman.’

  ‘Then act like one.’

  At his raised voice Mum came running. ‘Is everything all right, dear?’ Jessica hated that the poor woman had been given something else to worry about.

  ‘Ronald is just leaving Mum.’

  ‘And Jessica is coming with me.’

  ‘No, I am not.’

  The conversation would have continued in its childish manner if it wasn’t for two policewomen, who were tapping on the flyscreen at the front door and waited to be acknowledged.

  Jessica’s husband waved his hand in their direction. ‘Look, here they are, come to get you!’

  ‘Shut up, Ronald.’

  Her husband acted as if she’d felled him. ‘That’s how you repay me, for driving down here, for–‘

  ‘Jessica?’ That faltering voice of Mum’s again. Jessica’s heart bleed at the sound of it.

  The officers, presuming they were admitted, walked in and said they needed to speak to Suzanne Drummond.

  The police weren’t there for her, but Jessica wasn’t at all thankful, because the solemn, purposeful stares on the young’s faces could only mean one thing.

  Something bad had happened to Dad.

  ‘I need to get back to Surrey. Will this take long?’ Ronald asked, inappropriately. The cops gave him the once over and, dismissing him as a prat, didn’t bother responding. The prettier of the two, a blonde with sparkling brown eyes, walked towards Jessica’s mum.

  ‘Mrs Drummond? Why don’t we sit down on that sofa in there and have a chat?’

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  ‘THEY SAID THAT DAD was found under the pier. Must have found his way onto a bus near the house, and then fallen off soon after reaching the coast. They said he was in the water for at least twenty-four hours.’

  Elise made a funny sucking sound at the horror of it. ‘Jessica, I am so sorry. And yes, of course I’ll look after the kids, if it’s okay with Ronald.’

  ‘That won’t be a problem. He is busy at work.’ It wasn’t the time or place to discuss what an arsehole Ronald was.

  ‘Okay, well, if there is anything else I can do . . .’

  ‘No, no. You’ve done enough. I am so grateful.’

  After ringing off, Jessica went in search of her mother. Because of the nature of Dad’s death, there had to be an autopsy, so it was difficult to begin to arrange the funeral. Suzanne Drummond was in the conservatory, where Dad kept his ridiculous collection of cacti. Jessica remembered how they had been the butt of many a family joke – the crude little group of bulbous plants that held her father’s attention for hours.

  ‘This one looks as if it might need water.’

  ‘Cacti needing water? How strange.’ Jessica watched as her mother gave the plants a drink, and then, overcame with another wave of sadness, decided it was a good idea to make tea. ‘How about I find some bread and do some cucumber sandwiches too?’ she suggested to the grieving widow.

  When her mother didn’t respond, Jessica went to the kitchen to make some anyway. Just as the kettle boiled, her mobile rang.

  ‘Is that Jessica Maroni?’

  ‘Yes, is it about the funeral, because . . .’

  ‘It’s a little too early to start talking funerals, although by the look on the face of your husband the other day, you should be careful.’

  She finally recognised the voice. DCI Gerry Courtauld. ‘Oh, hello.’

  ‘He gave me this number, by the way. Your husband.’

  ‘How nice. Clearly he didn’t give you any other information.’

  ‘No, actually. But he is a lawyer. Not exactly forthcoming, are they?’

  ‘Ronald is certainly a closed shop.’ In every way imaginable.

  ‘So, where are you and when can I arrest you?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Well, you’ve absconded from the law, love.’

  ‘I don’t think so. You let me go.’

  ‘Only momentarily. Do you remember our conversation at all?’ Luckily he didn’t sound annoyed, more bemused, but Jessica had a suspicion he was merely saving the be
st for last, and would suddenly announce he was calling from her mother’s front gate, and appear with a pair of handcuffs and one of those armour-plated vehicles.

  ‘Do you remember, Jessica?’ he asked again.

  Jessica could barely remember her name, at that point. ‘My dad just died in horrible circumstances. I’m sorry if I–‘

  It was too much. She couldn’t go on. First Rachel and the roof, then Ronald refusing to pay, next the arrest thing and now her father. Jessica put the phone down without disconnecting the call and sobbed. And sobbed. And sobbed.

  Finally, she was able to pick it up again. ‘Are you still there?’

  ‘I needed to stay on the line, to make sure you were okay.’

  ‘Like you care, you want to lock me up.’ It probably wasn’t wise to speak to a detective like that, but a quiet spell in a small, darkened room might not be all bad. If it weren’t for the children and Mum, she’d be begging Gerry Courtauld to take her down, or away, or whatever was done to criminals.

  ‘For what it’s worth, I think you can be a lot more than you have allowed yourself to be at present.’

  What the hell did that mean? ‘That doesn’t even make sense.’

  ‘It does if you think about it. The stealing, the husband, the whole thing: it doesn’t seem to be working for you. People make mistakes. It’s okay to move on.’

  ‘Are you going to let me move on, Detective Inspector?’

  Unfortunately, the answer was implied. He was back to being all business. ‘Given what you are going through at the moment, I’ll give you a few days before we go ahead and attempt to bring your accomplices to justice. Just use this number and text me with the date of the funeral. We’ll meet a couple of days after that.’