The Shoplifting Mothers' Club

by Geraldine Fonteroy

  ‘If you’re sure he’s at work?’

  ‘Of course he is.’

  ‘It’s simple to find out, though?’ Frieda wouldn’t drop it. ‘Call him up a few times a day, make sure he’s there . . .’

  ‘That wouldn’t help, he could be in court. Can’t have your phone on in there. Besides, Ronald isn’t that type. He’s not even that interested in sex.’

  Throwing her a querying look, Frieda rose and went to gather up Karl. ‘If you say so. I’d better get back, it’ll be time to pick up the girls from school soon. See you at Chelsea’s tomorrow morning for a status meeting.’

  ‘Yes, sure, sounds good.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  INITIALLY, JESSICA TRIED NOT to give thought to Frieda’s suggestion of an affair, but finally, she gave into the suspicion late in the afternoon and rang the office to ask for Ronald.

  He came on the line immediately. ‘What is it? What’s happened now?’

  ‘Nothing, just wanted to say hi.’

  That threw him. ‘You never do that.’

  ‘I just felt like hearing your voice.’ Their recent distance made her sad, so it wasn’t a complete lie.

  ‘Look, I’m at work, let’s talk later.’

  ‘What time will you be home? I’ll make carbonara, your favourite.’

  ‘I told you, late. I’ve got a dinner meeting.’ His tone didn’t softened. ‘But we’ll talk when I get home, okay? I should be back by eleven.’

  He knows I can’t stay awake past ten. ‘Fine.’

  She hung up.

  There was no affair. There was just no tenderness.

  Ms Scott, the headmistress from Rachel’s school, was waiting when Jessica dropped the kids off the next morning. She had her meeting with the BIBs so the last thing she wanted to do was rehash the events of a few weeks ago with the principal. Ms Scott and Ronald remained convinced that Rachel needed to continue the one to one counselling, and were tag-team lobbying her to make Rachel go.

  ‘How is the counselling going?’ Ms Scott asked.

  ‘We tried it, but she didn’t seem responsive.’ In fact, Rachel had cried for five hours straight after the latest in a long line of kindly ladies at a local counselling centre had tried to get to the bottom of the ‘fall’ from the school roof. Jessica didn’t have the heart to make the little girl go back, especially when Rachel had literally got on her knees and begged.

  Ronald’s response was that she was spoilt and needed to understand that sometimes, if you didn’t get what you want, the world wouldn’t end. ‘The counsellor can help her see that.’

  ‘Well, I’m afraid the school must once again insist, Mrs Maroni.’ Ms Scott was saying. ‘Rachel still seems withdrawn. We don’t have the resources to police her every move.’

  Jessica finally lost it. Ditching the usual polite reserve she held for those in authority, she gave the sullen headmistress what for. ‘Rachel is being bullied by her classmates. That’s what is causing the problems, Ms Scott. When the school sorts that out, perhaps Rachel will seem a little less withdrawn.’

  ‘Are you alleging that . . . well, that all of this is our fault?’

  ‘Yes, I am. You organise school trips knowing full well some children will be left out. You don’t monitor the behaviour of other children, leaving those who are subject to their taunts to deal with it the only way a child can, by becoming withdrawn. You pander to the parents of the bullies, because they have money and can buy things for the school. And finally, when the problem you created is blown out of proportion, you seek to lay blame anywhere but where it should be laid. On the school.’

  ‘How dare you, Mrs Maroni, we have only ever given your family support and– ‘

  ‘With respect, that is your job, Ms Scott. You are paid by the government to do it, it is seemingly recession proof employment, and there are many who cannot find jobs at all. So may I suggest that if the school feels that Rachel is not coping, you address the reasons I have given, and then, and only then, if that doesn’t work, come back and see me. And if you can’t, perhaps whoever it is that deals with teacher placement can find the school someone who can.’

  Jessica made to go, then had a final thought. ‘And by the way, if you don’t address the bullies, I will ask my husband to take action against the school for Rachel’s injuries as a result of the bullying. You had a duty of care, and you breached it.’

  The headmistress’s eyes were bulging with the shock of the allegations. ‘You can’t possibly prove that in a court?’

  ‘Let me talk to my husband about that and see.’ And then Jessica turned and stormed away, feeling, for the first time in a very long time, as if she was in control of her life.

  For five minutes, at least.

  The fact that Hailey had been nabbed pinching trousers and not casing the diamond factory buoyed the spirits of the BIBs. They sat around Chelsea’s huge granite island in the massive kitchen, perched on some brand new, oddly shaped stools that probably cost more than Ronald’s yearly salary.

  ‘They let me off with a warning,’ Hailey said. ‘My solicitor was surprised. I even got to keep the trousers.’

  Hmm. Jessica wondered why Gerry hadn’t tried to turn the BIB. In fact, she was trying to think of anything but that conversation with Ms Scott. There was no way Ronald would sue the school. No way at all. And he would go berserk if the headmistress called him to complain about Jessica.

  ‘He was dishy, the cop who interviewed me. I suggested I quick bonk in lieu of my crimes, and then he let me go. I suppose it was a good thing – my lip was sore from showing the arresting officer how to give a blow job on his truncheon.’ Noticing the bewildered faces around her, Hailey explained. ‘The car came to a halt, and me and the truncheon got slammed against the rear door.’

  ‘In the squad car?’ Frieda was gobsmacked at the gall of the woman. ‘What did your solicitor say?’

  ‘I’ve done the solicitor. He knows what I am like.’

  Chelsea laughed at that, and said that Hailey shouldn’t worry. ‘Getting nicked could happen to anyone.’

  ‘I was still a little drunk from the night before,’ Hailey admitted.

  Changing the subject by outlining her recent spoils, Rita stated that she was that month’s clear winner. ‘Four grands’ worth. Can’t say the same for you,’ she scowled at Jessica. ‘A couple of jackets and that’s it? Paid off all your debts, then?’

  ‘No. My father died, remember?’

  ‘Did he?’ Rita looked over at Chelsea for confirmation. The blonde with the trowelled on makeup nodded. ‘I did say, Rita.’

  Jessica thought she could see a new bruise.

  ‘Did you?’ Rita didn’t blink. ‘That’s unfortunate.’

  ‘Yes, it is.’

  Jessica changed the subject. ‘Why don’t we reassess the diamond job? I told Frieda I was worried.’

  ‘She said,’ Rita drawled. ‘But given you’ve only managed two jackets in a month, that’s not surprising.’

  The maid came in and Chelsea instructed her to make another round of lattes. They all waited until the steaming beverages were prepared and served, and then Chelsea shooed the poor woman from the kitchen again.

  ‘It’s a no brainer,’ she told the group, the moment the door was closed. ‘Someone in the know has given us that million pounds – he’s not going to risk it, is he? And he says the place is virtually unguarded.’

  Jessica sipped the coffee and tried not to react. If only they knew.

  ‘So, the diamonds arrive tomorrow night, according to the email.’ Chelsea had a copy of the request in front of her. She was nothing if not efficient.

  ‘Shall we still wear black?’ Hailey clapped. ‘I’ve got a new jumpsuit I am dying to give an airing. Very Charlies Angels.’

  Was she still on about what to wear? These women were seriously demented. Jessica wondered how she could have ever become involved with them.

  The Visa, remember?

  Chelsea threw her teaspoon at Jessica. ‘If
you don’t want in, forget it.’

  ‘I do,’ Hailey said.

  ‘I told you, I have plans for that money already.’ Rita acknowledged her agreement by adding a swig of something that smelled revolting from a small hip flask and holding it up to the others in a mock ‘cheers’.

  ‘Me too,’ said Frieda. ‘If I can raise the money, my husband has agreed to buy a little cabin somewhere peaceful in Norway.’

  ‘How very boring that sounds.’ Chelsea looked over at Jessica. ‘And . . .’

  ‘In, of course. How else am I going to pay my Visa bill?’ The depressing fact that she and Ronald were on course to have another huge bust-up over the credit card account made her feel sick. She’d never pay the stupid thing off, now.

  ‘We’ve never been caught – not properly. We can do this.’ Frieda squeezed Jessica’s hand.

  ‘Hailey was caught yesterday,’ Jessica pointed out.

  ‘But I was pissed, it doesn’t count.’ Hailey held up her latte with a grin.

  ‘Forget it. I want to keep that million, so let’s just set about snatching those diamonds.’ Chelsea was all business now. ‘The email says they arrive tomorrow night, so we’ll meet here at eight. The kids should be in bed by then.’

  Jessica prayed Ronald was at home. If he wasn’t, she couldn’t very well take the children to Elise’s again. Understanding and compassionate to a fault, Elise had not been able to mask the exhaustion when Jessica had picked the kids up after Dad’s funeral, and she didn’t have the heart to ask for a favour again so soon. It was likely that the tired mum would make some excuse anyway; Jessica certainly would, in similar circumstances.

  ‘Jessica, are you going deaf?’

  ‘Sorry Chelsea, what was that?’

  ‘Can you manage to meet tomorrow night?’

  ‘Sure, yes. See you all at eight.’

  ‘And wear black,’ Hailey added, looking at Jessica’s tired denim skirt and ratty jumper pointedly. ‘Black is a very forgiving colour.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  RONALD FINALLY RANG VISA and learned the horrible truth, so when Jessica got home with the kids, he was standing on the front porch, looking daggers. The signals of one who was extremely pissed off were all there – hands on hips; narrowing of the eyes; perfunctory glance without acknowledgement of his offspring. Sighing, she picked up the mail that the postman had dumped on the porch, and walked past him into the hall.

  Shooing Rachel and Paul towards the kitchen to find the leftover biscuits from Saturday’s picnic, she waited for the tirade.

  It took all of three seconds, and she wasn’t disappointed – the pitch of his voice exceeded expectations. Shrill, her mother had once said, when Ronald had yelled at Jessica for burning a Sunday roast. And shrill didn’t sound good on a man.

  ‘How dare you go behind my back and do this?’ He wasn’t wearing his suit, she noticed. Why not? It was a workday, and he always wore a suit. Practically lived in the two suits he’d bought from Marks years ago. Now, he was in a pricey grey pullover and chinos, items that Jessica couldn’t recall previously seeing in his wardrobe. Surely he hadn’t bought new clothes, not with things being so tight? Not when Rachel had worn another hole in her school shoes.

  ‘Did you hear me?’

  Gaining some strength from the altercation with Ms Scott, Jessica pulled the elastic band off the pile of mail, and began flicking through it. The Visa bill had arrived. Not that it mattered now. As she perused the mail, her husband began breathing heavily, as if irritated but not knowing how to verbalise it correctly. Ronald was the type of man who demanded the complete attention of both parties during a conversation. Jessica knew it would drive him mad if she refused to meet his eyes, so she didn’t look up from the mail when she spoke again. ‘I took matters into my own hands. It’s her face and her life, Ronald. It’s worth a lot more than ten thousand pounds. Which, by the way, would be nothing but a month’s earnings, if you chose to take up some of the offers you get to work at big firms, for a decent salary.’

  ‘Oh, that’s your solution, is it? Sponge off me, and when it’s not enough, insist that I leave a job I love so that you can suck even more out of me?’

  Charming. Sponge off him? Maybe a bill for all the cleaning, washing and cooking over the entire period they’d been married was in order?

  She gave in and looked directly at him. ‘We are married, Ronald. They are your children. You should be providing for them willingly. It’s not sponging.’ In order to keep her temper in check, Jessica began sorting the mail again. Junk, junk, junk, ah. Something from Mum. God, what now? She tore open the letter as Ronald continued berating her.

  ‘I am bloody sick of your assumptions. I didn’t even want kids, but you insisted you would deal with it. What a lie that turned out to be.’

  But Jessica wasn’t listening to him anymore. She was staring open-mouthed at the letter and its contents. ‘I have to ring my mother.’

  Then she remembered the diamond heist. ‘By the way, you have to look after the children tomorrow night. Be home by seven thirty.’

  ‘What? I am not going to mind the kids while you traipse off to–‘

  Choosing not to answer, Jessica simply turned and walked away. The sounds of her husband’s protestations lingered as she climbed the stairs to their bedroom, and she didn’t give them a second thought.

  Leaving him to fume, Jessica quickly checked on the kids, who had noisily taken themselves to their rooms, then dialled the familiar number. ‘Mum, it’s me. What on earth is this?’

  Her mother immediately knew what she meant. ‘A cheque dear, what does it look like?’

  ‘But you don’t have this sort of money to give away?’

  ‘I didn’t. We didn’t. Your father made you the beneficiary of his work pension lump sum. On his death, two-thirds was always supposed to go to you.’

  ‘It’s nearly one hundred and fifty thousand pounds. Are you sure you don’t want it?’

  ‘No dear. I don’t. I have plenty of money now that I don’t need to consider a nursing home for your father. It’s company that I don’t have.’

  Jessica didn’t know how to respond. She knew how awful it was to feel all alone. ‘Things will pick up, Mum. How about joining a few local groups or clubs?’

  ‘You sound like most of my neighbours. All of a sudden, everyone knows of a great social gathering where I can dance, knit or drink away my loss. It isn’t that simple, that’s what I tell them.’

  Jessica brought her mother back to the subject of the money. ‘Seriously, you use it. Go on a cruise or something.’

  ‘I know you are having problems dear. When you said you were marrying a lawyer I didn’t imagine you’d find the only poverty-stricken one in the whole country. You need it, it’s yours. Take it.’

  ‘Mum, I–‘

  ‘Jessica, that money is the one good thing to have come out of this whole grim affair with your father. Trust me when I say that I need you to take it. Not want, need.’

  There was no getting around it. ‘Fine, but do I have to bank the cheque straight away?’

  ‘Of course not, but don’t take too long. Finance companies are a law unto themselves. You might lose it if you don’t do it soon.’

  After she’d hung up, Jessica lay on the bed and pondered her future. At least the Visa bill was sorted. Ironically, if she’d just waited a month or so before joining Chelsea’s band of thieves, she’d have avoided the whole stupid mess with Gerry Courtauld.

  Not that she truly wanted to avoid him. Well, not entirely. The DCI was a decent person to know, as far as she could tell; even helping the homeless guy near the pub who stank so comprehensively that no one would go near him to donate to his cause. Gerry stopped and offered coffee and sandwiches and chatted with him as an equal.

  You are a hopeless judge of character though. Look at Ronald.

  Sighing, Jessica slipped the cheque into her dressing table drawer, and went back downstairs to clean the kitchen. Let Ronald rage
about the bill. She decided to say nothing and just deal with it. Let him feel bad later for being such a bastard.

  He’ll never feel bad. At least not as bad as Jessica felt: trapped in a loveless, controlling marriage, with so sign of escape.

  The thought of the cheque, cosseted upstairs under her makeup bag, reminded her that wasn’t true anymore. There were opportunities now. Not huge ones, but there were definite options. Perhaps she should think about taking them. Sure she’d agreed marriage vows and they had two kids, but didn’t she deserve better than she had. Looking around at the messy hallway, full of signs of a family life, Jessica told herself to buck up and be sensible. Running away and tearing apart a family – that wasn’t the way things worked, was it? It might be tough now, but things would get better. Every marriage had its ups and downs.

  And the downs couldn’t last forever, could they? Even Ronald would want to be happy at some point, and then he would make the effort. Then it would all be okay.

  Only then would she reveal the windfall from her father; once Ronald had proved himself to be a viable candidate for her to spend the rest of her life with. Just because he had the career didn’t mean she couldn’t have hopes and dreams too, did it?

  Satisfied, she arrived to find the kitchen empty and her husband gone. Bastard! Trust Ronald to run out on a problem. Idly wondering where he’d gone so late in the day, she set about packing the dishwasher, and picturing the look on her husband’s face when that Visa balance was suddenly extinguished.

  But the daydream was soon ended by the sound of Rachel screaming. When Jessica got upstairs, she found that someone had drawn a nasty face with blonde curly hair just like her daughter’s, on the cover of her Science book. The face had an evil grin, and was covered in huge, cross-hatched scars.