One in Three: the new addictive, twisty suspense with a twist you won’t see coming!

by Tess Stimson

  ‘It’s lovely to meet you, Mrs James—’

  ‘Please, call me Annie. Everybody does.’

  She scoots into the booth next to AJ. ‘So, is my boy working hard?’ she asks. ‘Staying on top of things?’

  ‘I couldn’t manage without him,’ I say honestly.

  She squeezes his arm. ‘A girl could do a lot worse. He’s a wonderful cook,’ she adds. ‘Taught himself. Had to, really, I have trouble boiling an egg.’

  For a moment I wonder if the poor woman is under the impression I’m auditioning for the role of her daughter-in-law, but then she winks at me, and I realise she’s teasing.

  I listen as she and AJ banter in the familiar, comfortable way I’ve seen in other families, but never in my own. Even before my mother’s accident, we never had that kind of relationship. When she wasn’t drunk, she was curled up on the sofa in her nightdress, crying. I was always too ashamed of her to bring anyone but Angie home, and so I never accepted anyone’s invitation to their house because I couldn’t return it. Angie’s own mother emigrated to Spain with her second husband when she was a kid, leaving Angie behind with her dad, so we never went to her place, either. It’s one of the things I’ve always envied about Louise: her relationship with her mother.

  AJ’s mother extorts a promise from me to visit her in Crawley and leaves to get her train just as my phone buzzes with an incoming text from Patrick: Get back to the office ASAP.

  ‘Shit,’ I say. ‘Patrick needs me back at the office. Can you get the bill and meet me there, AJ? I’ll settle up with you later.’

  The restaurant is only five minutes’ walk from the office. I start back, my stomach churning. I have a bad feeling about this. I don’t know what’s going on, but it’s not like Patrick to be so terse. I hope something hasn’t gone south with Univest. Louise is just waiting for the opportunity to fuck me over. Maybe I shouldn’t have riled Andy up about the child support payments, but that woman’s been having it all her own way for far too long. It was just too much, seeing her sitting at a desk six feet away from me. Ever since Celia invited me to her anniversary party, Louise has been out for blood. No matter what I do, she just keeps coming. I need to find a way to put an end to this, once and for all.

  The second I get out of the lift, I see Louise talking to Franco, one of my clients, on the far side of the office. She glances up and catches my eye, and then Franco himself turns and sees me, his expression grim. Moments later, Patrick comes out of his office and signals to me to join them in the conference room. He doesn’t look happy.

  ‘What the fuck is going on?’ I mutter, to the room at large. No one meets my eye. Something bad is going down, I can smell it.

  No one even acknowledges me when I enter the conference room. I sit down as far from Louise as possible in the confines of the space, my stomach fizzing with anxiety. I’ve no idea what’s coming, but it’s not going to be good.

  The Creative Director, Nolan Casey, and Finn Redford, the Art Director, join us, looking wary. Clearly neither of them have a clue what’s going on either. I spot AJ crossing the office to his desk, and wave for him to come and join us, but Patrick shuts the conference room door in his face.

  Patrick’s gaze is cool as it rests on me. He flips open the laptop on the glass conference table, and spins it towards me without a word.

  I gape at the screen in disbelief. ‘What the hell?’

  ‘You do realise what this means?’ Franco demands abruptly. A small muscle works at the side of his jaw. ‘The backlash has already started on Twitter. We’ve called in a crisis management company, but this is going to cost us a fortune. It’ll take years to rebuild our brand.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ I exclaim. ‘This was never supposed to—’

  ‘I’m afraid I’ll be moving our account, Patrick,’ Franco interrupts. ‘Even if I wanted to stay with you, my board wouldn’t allow it after this.’

  ‘Franco, I am so sorry,’ Patrick says. ‘Of course we’ll do whatever we can to make the transition as straightforward as possible.’ His eyes are like stones as they rest on me. ‘I want to know how the hell something like this happened. Someone had to authorise that change order and put it through.’

  I stare again at the image on the computer screen. I don’t blame Franco for dropping us. The repercussions from this will be huge. Our other clients will rightly be concerned; if it’s not handled properly, this could destroy our agency. ‘Patrick, I don’t know who would have done that,’ I say helplessly. ‘We pulled this. It should never have gone through.’

  ‘What do you mean, you pulled it?’ Louise interjects.

  ‘Louise, I don’t mean to be rude, but this account has nothing to do with you,’ I say tersely. ‘To be honest, I’m not really sure why you’re here.’

  ‘Like I just told Patrick and Franco,’ Louise says, her eyes never leaving my face. ‘I was in the office when the change order was phoned through. I heard who did it. It was you.’

  NOLAN CASEY

  PART 1 OF RECORDED INTERVIEW

  Date:- 28/07/2020

  Duration:- 32 Minutes

  Location:- Whitefish Advertising Agency, King’s Road, London

  Conducted by Officers from Devon & Cornwall Police

  (cont.)

  POLICE

  So the change order didn’t come from you, as the Creative Director?

  NC

  Of course not. AJ told us to pull it, so I spoke to the team and had it binned.

  POLICE

  But the ad ran anyway?

  NC

  I don’t know how it— I spoke to Bette and she said it was gone. She was the main, the creative on the Vine account. She saw, I mean, once Caz pointed it out, we all agreed. That yellow logo, on striped pyjamas? We’d have been— Well, you saw what happened.

  POLICE

  So the campaign was officially shelved?

  NC

  Yes. We were working on a totally new angle. Finn had this brainwave. She was, like, going to—

  POLICE

  Sorry to interrupt, Mr Casey. But I just want to be clear. How did it end up in the press if it had been cancelled?

  NC

  It didn’t ‘end up’ in the press. Look, there’s a process. There are proofs, copy approval; you have to book ad space, all the rest of it. It’s not like you can hit send and the next thing you know the ad’s all over the number 44 bus.

  POLICE

  So what happened?

  NC

  Well, someone must have put the change order through.

  POLICE

  Who would have the authority to do that?

  NC

  Only Caz or Patrick. But obviously Patrick didn’t do it, and Caz says she didn’t, so …

  POLICE

  Do you believe her?

  NC

  [Inaudible.]

  POLICE

  For the tape, Mr Casey shrugged.

  NC

  Caz says she didn’t do it. She was, well, she was very— She accused Louise of doing it.

  POLICE

  Why did she think that?

  NC

  Well, they don’t exactly get on.

  POLICE

  According to Mr Thatcher, the two women had a cordial relationship.

  NC

  [Inaudible].

  POLICE

  Sorry?

  NC

  Patrick sees what he wants to see.

  POLICE

  You disagree?

  NC

  It was weird, the whole thing. The first day she arrived, she and Caz got into it out on the terrace. We all saw them.

  POLICE

  Is it possible Caz simply made a mistake, and put the change order through after all?

  NC

  [Pause.] I suppose.

  POLICE

  But you don’t think so?

  NC

  Caz doesn’t make mistakes like that. She can be a bit difficult to work with, but she’s super-organised. She and Louise
had, like, this blood feud. Caz started going on about some kind of conspiracy between Louise and Tina. She totally freaked out.

  POLICE

  How do you mean, freaked out?

  NC

  She started yelling and shouting at Louise, saying Caz had pretended to be her and put in the change order. She had a total meltdown; the whole office heard them. In the end, Patrick came out and told her to go home.

  POLICE

  Mr Thatcher blamed Caz?

  NC

  The whole thing was a PR nightmare from start to finish. Vine had to issue a public apology, we lost them as clients, and several others threatened to walk. Whitefish is a small agency – we can’t afford this kind of fuck-up. Patrick was furious with Caz. He nearly fired her, except no one could actually prove what’d happened.

  POLICE

  When was this?

  NC

  A couple of weeks ago? Like, two?

  POLICE

  So, hold on, Perry, can you get me, thank you. That would be, ah, ten days or so before the incident outside the Pages’ house when the police were called?

  NC

  Yeah, maybe. Yes.

  POLICE

  Presumably that’s what the altercation was about?

  NC

  The fight at Caz’s house?

  POLICE

  Yes.

  NC

  Oh, that wasn’t about the Vine campaign. It was way worse than that.

  Chapter 24

  Louise

  With every mile the train from London puts between us, I feel safer. I should never have taken the job at Whitefish. Min warned me, but I didn’t listen. She wasn’t worried about what Caz would do; she was concerned about what it’d do to me. And she was right: going head-to-head with Caz has unleashed a darkness in me I thought I’d overcome years ago. I let myself get sucked back into a vendetta with her, retaliating every time she struck a blow, when instead I should’ve risen above it. But it’s not too late. I can’t undo the bad blood between us, but I’m going to call Chris tomorrow and tell her I can’t work at Whitefish anymore. It may mean I have to tighten my belt a bit until I can get some more freelance work, but it’ll be better than this constant state of warfare.

  Even I was shocked by Caz’s violent outburst this afternoon. I’ve never seen anyone that angry. I’ve always known what she’s capable of, but it’s the first time I’ve seen her lose control in public like that. And judging from Patrick’s appalled reaction, it was the first time he’d seen that side of her, too.

  At least he doesn’t think I’d jeopardise the livelihood of hundreds of people over a stupid quarrel with my ex-husband’s new wife. I’d hate to lose his good opinion, especially now, when I’m going to need a reference.

  When I finally get home, it’s after seven. Mum picked up the children from school for me, and then left Bella to babysit. I kick off my heels and go into the sitting room. Tolly is fast asleep on the sofa, the remains of a pizza crust on a plate next to him telling me they have at least eaten. I shake him gently awake, and pull him onto my lap. ‘You should’ve been in bed an hour ago,’ I whisper.

  ‘You said I could stay up till you got home,’ he mumbles.

  I sigh. ‘Yes, I did. OK, you, up we get,’ I add. ‘Did Bella feed Bagpuss?’

  He rubs his eyes, too sleepy to answer. I put him down and get the box of kibble from its temporary home in the downstairs loo. I fill the cat’s bowl. I can’t wait till the kitchen is finished and we can stop living like squatters. ‘Have you seen Bagpuss?’ I ask Tolly, when the cat doesn’t appear. Arthritic though he is, he usually materialises out of thin air as soon as he hears the sound of his kibble hitting his dish.

  Awake now, Tolly starts crawling around the sitting room, peering under the sofa and behind doors, calling the cat’s name. ‘You’d better check he hasn’t got shut in a bedroom or something,’ I tell him, when Bagpuss still doesn’t appear. ‘He was in the airing cupboard all night the other day—’

  I’m interrupted by a blood-curdling scream from upstairs. ‘Muuuum!’

  Visions of broken limbs and twisted ankles fill my maternal vision. I race towards the stairs, my heart pounding, just as Bella rushes down them, the cat cradled against her chest.

  Fear sharpens my tone. ‘Are you hurt?’

  ‘Bagpuss!’

  The poor cat is having trouble breathing. His eyes roll sickeningly back in his head, and he suddenly starts to convulse, his body going rigid in Bella’s arms. I have no idea what’s wrong with him, or how to help him.

  ‘We need to get him to the vet,’ I say urgently. ‘Into the car, both of you.’

  I don’t need to ask them twice. The vet is only a couple of miles away, on the outskirts of Pulborough; they’re open till eight, and if we hurry, we should be there in less than ten minutes. We pile into the car, Bella in the front seat with the cat still in her arms. I only realise I’m still in bare feet when I put my foot down once we’re on the main road.

  ‘Drive faster, Mum!’ Bella cries, as I tear along the twisty lane as fast as I dare.

  ‘I’m doing my best,’ I say helplessly. ‘It won’t help Bagpuss if we drive into a tractor coming the other way.’

  ‘What’s wrong with him?’ Tolly asks.

  ‘I don’t know, darling. He’s pretty old. Maybe he’s having some sort of seizure or a stroke.’

  ‘It’s not a stroke,’ Bella says, her voice clogged with tears. ‘He’s been poisoned. He looks like the rats in the barn after Dad put down that stuff.’

  Bagpuss’s breaths are coming in tight little pants, and I realise we don’t have much time. He suddenly starts to vomit, and with surprising calm, Bella grabs an old towel we keep in the back for spills, and mops it up, murmuring soothingly to the cat all the while.

  I catch a glimpse of something bright green in the towel as she wipes his mouth, and my heart sinks. He must have eaten deadly nightshade or some other toxic plant or flower. His eyesight isn’t what it was, and if his sense of smell is also fading, then he’s obviously at risk of eating something poisonous by mistake. I should never have let him outside. My poor, darling Bagpuss. It’ll break all our hearts if something happens to him. We’ve had him since Bella was a baby; to lose him now, in such a way, would be devastating.

  I screech to a halt outside the vets’ surgery, and Bella rushes straight in with Bagpuss while I unbuckle Tolly and help him out of the car. Tamzin Kennedy has been our vet for years; she’s known Bagpuss since he was a kitten. She looks stricken to see him like this. ‘How long has he been unconscious?’ she asks, gently easing him from Bella’s arms and onto the examination table.

  ‘I just got home from work fifteen, maybe twenty minutes ago,’ I say. ‘Bella found him like this in the bathroom upstairs a few minutes later.’

  ‘He threw up this bright green stuff,’ Bella says tearfully. She hands Tamzin the old towel covered in cat vomit, and I’m impressed by her quick thinking at bringing it in. ‘It smells weird. Kind of sweet.’

  Tamzin sniffs it. ‘Antifreeze,’ she says grimly. ‘I’d recognise it anywhere.’

  ‘Antifreeze?’

  ‘It’s not just used to stop engines freezing,’ Tamzin says, ripping open a sterile packet containing a needle and syringe. ‘It’s also used in hydraulic brake fluids. Cats usually come into contact with it when it leaks from a car’s engine onto the ground. It tastes sweet at first, and by the time the foul aftertaste hits, it’s too late. It doesn’t take much to make them very sick.’

  ‘Is he going to die?’ Tolly asks, his eyes wide with fear.

  ‘Not if I can help it, sweetheart. Jamie!’ she cries, calling to the young veterinary assistant in the back of the surgery. ‘I need you to go and get me some vodka from the off-licence down the road. Fast as you can. The more expensive, the better. Grab some money from the petty cash box. Run!’

  ‘Vodka?’ I exclaim.

  ‘Trick I learned when I was working in Australia. If we can get pure
alcohol into his blood, it’ll metabolise that instead of the antifreeze, and vodka’s the purest form we can get right now.’

  ‘Won’t it make him sick?’ Bella asks apprehensively.

  ‘It’ll give him a bit of a hangover, maybe, but that’s all,’ Tamzin says. ‘If his body is metabolising the vodka, it allows the antifreeze time to pass in a less toxic form. Give his kidneys and liver a break.’

  I frown in confusion. ‘I don’t understand how he could have come into contact with antifreeze. I always park in the garage, so even if the car was leaking, Bagpuss couldn’t have got to anything on the ground.’

  ‘It could’ve been in something else you might never think of,’ Tamzin says, gently stroking Bagpuss’s head. ‘A lot of snow globes use it. Something like that could have smashed, and he’d have licked it up – there’s a reason cats have nine lives. They need them.’

  ‘Or someone did it on purpose,’ Bella interjects.

  ‘Who’d do that?’ I protest.

  Tamzin sighs. ‘You read about it all the time. There are a lot of very sick people around.’

  ‘It’s that insane farmer,’ Bella says. ‘The one who wants you to sell the paddock. It’s just the kind of thing he’d do.’

  Jamie reappears, panting. ‘Purest Russian vodka,’ he says, brandishing the bottle. ‘Will this be enough?’

  ‘Let’s hope so,’ Tamzin says.

  We all crowd around anxiously as she dilutes the vodka, and sets up a drip for Bagpuss. His eyes open briefly and he looks at us with sudden lucidity. I see the weariness and pain there, and feel a flash of guilt that we’re putting our own feelings before his own. ‘Is this fair to him?’ I murmur quietly to Tamzin.