First published by Roundfire Books, 2012
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Text copyright: NJ Alexander 2012
ISBN: 978 1 84694 970 8
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A novel originally inspired by real events sensationally featured in the Daily
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Characters are fictional.
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Acknowledgements
Dedicated to my children XOX
When I first set about writing this novel, it never occurred to me how much of a team effort the final book would be.
So a big thank you to…
My family and close friends for loving me, supporting me and humouring me no matter what. Love you all.
My local police for agreeing to role-play with me: a fun but unnerving experience on so many levels. A specific thank you to Alison Jones. I could not have written some of the later chapters without your help - the cursor would still be flashing at the top of a blank page. I hope this mention is better than the offering of burnt crumpets! Any legal inaccuracies will be down entirely to my poetic licence and not your expertise.
Ajda for taking me seriously as a writer and prompting me to take the story/events much further than I had originally dared to venture. It was the first glimpse of an olive branch I’d seen in a long time.
Tania for encouragement when I need it the most, and finding
10,000 unnecessary words!
Gareth Carrol for clarifying things that had me scratching my head.
The team at John Hunt Publishing for their no nonsense approach to publishing.
Prologue
N.b Transcript fallen loose from Nicole’s file.
JD: Tell me something interesting about yourself Nicole, something I don’t already know, that made you feel good.
Nicole: Interesting and good? I’m stumped. (Noted that interviewee started doodling flowers on the paper in front of her.)
JD: There must be something. Your book covers such a short period of your life.
Nicole: I once won a competition for designing a charity card for old people. My picture was in the paper and I was given a set of oil paints.
JD: When was that?
Nicole: When I was seven.
JD: Oh…right. Anything else charitable? When you were older perhaps.
Nicole: A sixteen-mile bike ride, or was it eighteen? But that’s the whole point – I am boringly ordinary. What happened was extraordinary. But I am normal.
JD: Normal?
Nicole: You sound like Maddy now.
JD: Your best friend? I was merely going to ask your definition of normal. Okay…Try outrageous then.
Nicole: Arrested for shoplifting.
JD: I meant outrageously funny. Are you trying to sound bad?
Nicole: I was fourteen. It was a game with a group of friends. Badly influenced.
JD: Your games seem to have a habit of backfiring on you.
Nicole: I’m not bad enough to justify someone preferring me dead. I know I’m far from perfect. But then who is? I used to enter beauty pageants…is that any use?
JD: I want to come back to someone wanting you dead later. But did you win any of the pageants?
Nicole: Runner-up to the girl who went on to win Miss UK. Suppose that makes her interesting and not me.
JD: You must have been sure of yourself to parade around in a swimsuit?
Nicole: I guess I was more like the pony stood in a line of thoroughbreds. These days beauty pageants aren’t worth the effort are they? It was different in the 80s though.
JD: Why do you say that?
Nicole: (Note that interviewee started doodling bees around the flowers.) Do you think therapy works?
JD: You’re answering a question with a question. Why do you ask that?
(Noted that interviewee raised her eyebrows.)
Nicole: I spent a fortune sitting on cheap bean bags trying to rationalise a fear of failure.
JD: Are you saying you think therapy is a waste of time and money?
Nicole: I’m saying I was right to have the fear.
JD: Tell me why.
Nicole: If you treated a man for a fear of bees only to find later that he’d died from a single sting, would you not conclude that he was right to feel afraid? His instincts were right.
JD: Or he was unlucky.
Nicole: Unlucky is a convenient explanation.
JD: I’m not sure where you ar—
Nicole: I should have been saved from the sting, and not the fear of it. I was right to feel afraid of failure because something, somewhere deep inside me knew what was to follow failure would be painful. What I mean is, even if it makes me insane to say it – this was always going to happen the way it did.
JD: You could have destroyed the book.
Nicole: Why on earth would I do that? It was the most challenging thing I’ve ever done – it did my head in some days trying to get it right. And even if I did burn it, it would still exist in me – it wouldn’t disappear. At least this way I have a remote chance…(Interviewee stopped speaking.)
JD: A remote chance of what Nicole? The truth?
Nicole: If only. The path to truth is riddled with lies we can’t get through. Can we take a break?
CHAPTER ONE
February 2008
I felt Richard looking over my shoulder and I shuffled in my seat. As I did, I caught a glimpse of the inappropriate skinny jeans I was wearing with a tan leather jacket; the magazine I was reading wasn’t big enough to block my legs. This had to be the worst Valentine’s Day ever.
I sighed, cursing the fact that I hadn’t had time to get changed. The elegant decor could have almost fooled me into thinking I was sat in some posh hotel reception. But this was no holiday. At least Richard was wearing an expensive handmade suit – one of us being respectably presented was marginally better.
‘What are you reading?’ he asked.
‘It’s an article about stalking.’
‘Stalking?
‘Couldn’t really stomach the Business Matters magazines, and there’s no Cosmo knocking around. This psychology journal was the most removed I could fi—’
‘So what does it say?’
‘You don’t want to think about it either then,’ I said, raising my eyebrows.
He never showed nerves. His nickname at work was the unoriginal, lack of creative input –Iceman.
‘No…not really,’ he admitted.
I didn’t know whether his admission made me feel better or worse. Probably worse – it made it right for me to feel unsafe. I sighed again. ‘It’s talking about all of the different types of stalkers. Apparently, there’s the love obsessed, simple obsessed, the delusional erotomanic, even the borderline erotomanic.’
I took a breath. At least this stopped me from thinking about it, ‘…the vengeful, resentful and rejected. The narcissistic, psychopathic, sociopathic and the schizoid.’
‘They’ve got a lot of options then,’ Richard said, flippantly.
‘A police detective is going on about them not really having a clear profile for cyberstalkers, and the problem is, they can be living anywhere…as in you don’t know where they are. Did you know the average stalker’s a 38-year-old male, no job, bit of a loner?’
‘No.’
‘Look – they’ve even drawn a photo-fit of one – don’t you think he looks evil? You’d spot one a mile off.’ I turned the magazine in Richard’s direction, forcing his attention.
‘Yeah, suppose he does look a bit weird.’
‘They reckon stalkers have usually suffered an emotional loss about six months before they start doing it. It is stuff like relationship breakups, people dying or basically losing anything important to them that can trigger it. Don’t you think that’s quite sad? …Richard…you’re not listening to me.’
‘Mmmm. You need to put that magazine down…David and James are heading this way.’
We all stood in silence.
The only noise came from the mechanics of the lift as it made its way to the third floor. We’d got the pleasantries over and done with downstairs and I was already missing the magazine I’d been clinging to.
David and James both stood a whole head above Richard. They made me feel small. And like Richard, they were wearing suits. The discomfort of my clothes was increasing by the minute: they definitely smacked of loser in this place. Then my memory reminded me of a harsh fact: I’d managed to lose one million pounds. In a solitary pile of twenty pound notes this was about the height of a double-decker bus. That would also be twice the height of the lift space we were standing in. Whatever it amounted to placed end to end or in a pile it was one hell of a lot of money to a working-class girl like me.
I grew up in an industrial and mining community where career choices back in the 80s amounted to not much more than shop assistant, typist, or spending your days sewing gussets onto tights in a factory.
One million pounds is life-changing money, and I’d lost it.
I forced my head to stay down.
We made our way into a small meeting room with a round mahogany table at its centre. Just like the foyer it had a sense of class with all of the messy paperwork from the previous tragedy tastefully hidden from our view. It was the type of room expected from a company connected to the law.
‘Sit down and make yourselves comfortable while I buzz through to Andrea to bring in the papers,’ David said, in his quiet, but self-assured manner; he had an air of intelligence that unnerved me. ‘I appreciate that this is very emotional for you both, these are always difficult situations, but I think you’ve made the right decision,’ he continued gently, as though we’d declined chemotherapy, after being told we were terminally ill. As partner of his firm, he’d probably delivered those words many times over.
‘Well, it could be worse. At least it’s only a secondary business that’s going down,’ Richard said.
I too was so thankful that Richard still had his other company in financial services – people have to have insurance.
‘This must be hard for you, Nicole. Richard has told me how much effort you have put in over the last six or seven years.’
‘Yes it is very hard,’ I agreed, but I didn’t want to elaborate any further.
I didn’t need sympathy. Sympathy wasn’t going to help me stay strong in the meeting.
I forced a smile but quickly lowered my eyes – I could feel all three of them staring at me, as if to measure my emotional response.
I will not cry, I told myself and dug my fingers into the palms of my hands to distract me whilst I blinked hard.
‘Would you like me to request tea or coffee for you both?’ David continued, in an attempt to fill the awkwardness until Andrea came back with the papers.
‘No, I’m fine, thank you.’
Richard declined too.
Andrea, a twenty-something, with her whole career still ahead of her, entered the room. She was dressed head-to-toe in black with her dark hair pulled sleekly back. She swiftly handed the papers to David – the papers which were within minutes going to be terminating my career. I shuffled uncomfortably in my seat. David took a minute to read through them, double-checking his assistant’s work, before allowing her to leave. She closed the door quietly behind her.
‘Okay, Nicole as director and main shareholder, I need to run through these with you and explain exactly what you can and can’t do from this point onwards. These are the legal documents assigning control of your company over to us. As you already know, any money paid into Ilex Drapes and the second company, as of today, has to be paid into the Client Holding Account – which has been set up this afternoon. Any previously ordered goods, which come through the door, cannot be accepted. We are now acting in the interest of the creditors, and our job is to not make their position any worse. Do you understand?’
‘Yes,’ I confirmed. He’d made me sound like a criminal, and my memory, once again, reminded me that I’d lost one million pounds.
‘Over the next few weeks we need to work out which curtains and soft-furnishings have already been manufactured and are waiting to be fitted, and which orders can still be made. We also need to work out the costs involved, like staff wages, to again make sure that we are not further jeopardising creditors. The factory will remain open until we know your exact position, but the showroom will have to close immediately. I plan to send James in to work with you again for a few weeks. Are you happy with that arrangement?’
‘Yes,’ I said, silently glad it was James. I’d got quite used to having him around in the past week, and at least I didn’t have to get to know another stranger. James smiled politely, acknowledging his delegated role. I quickly looked away so not to catch his eyes.
David continued to talk. ‘We need to get the debtors’ money in, then go through all the assets and get things sold off – do you both understand all of that?’
We nodded and I was amazed that my brain was actually taking in everything he was saying.
He then went on about the sale of the fixed and floating assets and relinquishing the lease on the showroom – the lease issue being aimed more at Richard than me.
‘And another thing…we need to get these documents down to court tomorrow, first thing. We have to get appointed as the Official Administrator, before the bank appoints their own – it’s really a race against time. Can you meet us at the court first thing tomorrow?’ David asked me.
‘No I can’t – I’m in London with Mum and Dad,’ and I turned helplessly to Richard. ‘I have to go to London, it’s William’s birthday treat, I can’t not go with him – he’s going to be all of seven for God’s sake.’
‘It’s fine – I’ll do it,’ Richard offered.
‘I’m off tomorrow, too.’
‘Are you? Have you booked some time off then, James?’ questioned David in a –this is news to me tone.
‘Only tomorrow, I’m going to Leeds for the weekend,’ he confirmed. With his girlfriend? I wondered.
‘Oh right – that’s fine. I’ll get someone else to run down to the court with Richard then and it means that Nicole, you will have to speak to all of the Ilex Drapes staff on Monday. Is that okay with you?’
‘Yes, that’s going to be fine,’ I lied. The thought of telling all the staff they were soon to be out of a job pricked my eyes, more so than the thought of the customers who would lose their deposits.
<
br /> Images flashed before me: staff busy cutting fabrics, sawing head rails, drilling into window frames, helping customers browse through sample books – people going about their day, oblivious to what was about to come; I was playing a futile God.
I dug my fingers into my palms. Any harder and I would fetch blood. I knew that I only had to hold myself together for a few more minutes.
‘Okay, that’s good,’ David said, after taking a slow glance at the papers. ‘One final thing, all the company records will need boxing up and inventories carried out. Now…we can get someone else to do that, but it is expensive. Are you able to do that, Nicole?’
Am I able to do that? My head repeated his words. Of course I’m going to be able to do that. It’s not like I’ve got any other bloody thing to do now is it? Not now you’re taking my company, my third child, my baby…that you are going to rip apart and destroy, my inner voice screamed, but one simple word fell from my mouth:
‘Yes,’ I said quietly.
‘Right, so if you could sign here…’ and he slid the papers in my direction, passing the pen to my right hand.
I hesitated, switched it to my left and signed my name.
Outside, the air in the city felt heavy. I had taken my turn in the rotating doors to emerge into a world that looked the same: people rushing about, buildings towering and cars fighting for limited parking imposed by the council. It was exactly how it was when I had entered the offices an hour before. But my world was different now and there was no spinning back through those doors. I wanted to sob, but now that I was free to do so, the tears wouldn’t come.
Over one hundred cardboard boxes were stacked against the far wall of the factory.
I placed the remaining payroll documents into the last one but held a file back for a second or so, leafing through it. My name wasn’t listed in it – I’d never even been paid for all my efforts. That was supposed to happen later.
I stood up and stretched out. The place felt so empty and cold – the heating was barely ticking over. The administrators had already sold off some of the assets: cutting tables, fabrics, components, all gone for peanuts to our local competitors; they’d descended on the place like vultures, delighted by our misfortune. My ten thousand customer database was gone as well; someone even bought our telephone number and gaps were starting to appear in the floor space.
Past Present Future Page 1