by Penny Avis
She looked at Naomi.
‘Can you eat food from jars?’
She looked furtively up and down the aisle, as if Laura might walk round the corner any second, and then picked up one of the jars.
‘Of course you can, what am I saying? They can hardly sell baby food that will poison you, can they? Look, it says here, made from one hundred per cent organic ingredients with no artificial colours or flavours. Sounds like just the ticket to me.’
She hurriedly emptied her trolley of all the recipe ingredients and replaced them with jars of baby food. All she needed to do was refill the pots with food from the jars and no one would be any the wiser. Genius!
She was back at home in less than an hour and while Naomi kicked about on her play mat she washed and refilled each of the pots. The consistency was a bit different but her mum wouldn’t know that and it would all be gone by the time Laura got back. She sent Laura a text: Naomi had great night, now kicking about on play mat, about to have chicken casserole, all good, R.
She soon had a reply: That sounds fab! Just off for a long walk, lovely hotel, say hi to everyone, big kiss for Naomi, love Laura xxx.
Rachel found a small pan and tipped the jar of organic chicken casserole into it and religiously stirred it as it heated up. She tasted it to check it wasn’t too hot so many times that she felt that she’d practically eaten half the jar. She battled for a few minutes with the highchair tray, eventually managing to work out how it came off, and strapped Naomi in.
‘Right,’ she said, sitting down in front of the highchair, feeling rather exhausted, ‘food time, missy. Hmm, yum yum, chicken casserole just like Mummy makes. Here comes the train, choo choo!’
Naomi looked slightly startled by the loud train noise and refused to open her mouth.
‘Oh God, please eat it, there’s a good girl. Look, it’s delicious!’
She pretended to eat some and then put the spoon more slowly towards Naomi, who this time decided to play ball. Rachel held her breath waiting for her to spit it out, but Naomi swallowed it and quickly opened her mouth for more.
‘Ooh, you do like it, hurrah!’
Naomi loved it. In fact, she couldn’t get it down quickly enough, pretty much eating everything in the bowl.
‘Well, look at that,’ said Rachel, showing Naomi the empty bowl. ‘Who says home cooking is best, eh? This is probably your equivalent of a takeaway, and we know how everyone loves a takeaway, don’t we? Result. What a good girl you are.’
She then gave Naomi a jar of peach and pear puree, which was equally as popular.
After lunch she carefully put Naomi down for her afternoon nap.
God, that had been a stressful morning! Rachel decided she could also do with a lie down and collapsed in a heap on the sofa, falling asleep until the noise of her mum opening the front door woke her up.
‘Hi, darling, I’m home,’ shouted her mum from the hall. ‘How was it?’
‘Yes, all fine, no problems at all. We had a nice play and a walk and then Naomi ate a huge lunch. She’s asleep now. I sent Laura a text too, and she seemed happy. They were just off for a long walk.’
‘Oh well done, darling. I knew you’d be brilliant.’
Rachel smiled. Yes, quite brilliant, particularly in a crisis.
Chapter 12
After her mum took over babysitting duties, Rachel decided she needed to focus on her work. Sitting back at the desk in her bedroom felt weird. It had been the scene for hours of homework and just sitting there made her feel like she should be doing something. She sat with her elbows on the desk, her fingers locked together in an arch supporting her chin, and stared out of the window. She thought about Rowan and wondered how it was going with Laura. She was sure it was best not to tell her about Shali. If Rowan really wanted to work things out with his wife, then what would telling her achieve? Sometimes saying nothing was kinder. She certainly wouldn’t be ’fessing up to Laura about giving Naomi shop-bought baby food and that’s for sure.
Maybe that was what she should do about Beau Street too. Maybe saying nothing could be the right option. Rachel got up from the desk and lay down on her bed, staring up at the ceiling. If she did say anything to Carl Stephens about what she’d found, how would she explain how she’d got the black book? Sneaking into client offices would hardly go down as impressive behaviour. And was it really her job to act like a private investigator? She was meant to be reviewing the financial performance of the business. It was true that the business had been impacted, but all positively. Lloyd Cassidy’s sales numbers were great and he made plenty of profit by charging well above list prices. Maybe it was pretty standard practice, and even if it wasn’t, she wasn’t totally sure it was her issue to resolve. She also really wanted her director promotion and she was sure that making a huge fuss on an important project wasn’t going to help.
Rachel mulled over the arguments in her head over and over again. Her gut feeling was telling her that something wasn’t right, but her head was telling her to ignore it. She took a deep breath and then said to herself out loud, ‘Come on, girl, get a grip. Make a decision; it’s not that hard.’
But it was and Rachel began to feel slightly panicked. After a few minutes of deep breathing and generally trying hard to calm down, her self-preservation instinct kicked in. Doing nothing was definitely her best option.
She got up, opened her laptop and started typing.
Recommendations for improvement
During the course of our review, we noted a few minor issues with the accurate recording of procedure details on sales records. We do not consider these to be a cause for concern, but recommend that management implement an additional review process, to ensure improvements are made in this area in due course.
As soon as she’d written it, Rachel felt better. Good
thing she hadn’t discussed it with anyone. She’d raised it as a minor issue, like Carl said, and that would do. No need to look into it any further; she could get on with the rest of the report.
She spent the next few hours drafting hard. By sherry time, her part of the report was just about finished and she was feeling pretty good about it. The week ahead suddenly seemed far less complicated and she almost started feeling sorry for Shali, but not quite.
Rachel had a lie in on Sunday and then spent the rest of the morning helping her mum look after Naomi. She was surprised to find that she was actually quite enjoying herself. Maybe babies could be fun, but she would still be glad to get back to London.
Rowan and Laura arrived back mid afternoon. Laura ran in from the car, picked up Naomi and hugged her so tightly that Rachel actually thought she might crush her. Only her absolute confidence that Laura knew what she was doing prevented her from shouting ‘Careful!’ out loud.
‘Oh, I’ve missed you so much!’ Laura looked up at Rachel and her mum and smiled. ‘How was she?’
‘She was perfect,’ said Rachel’s mum. ‘No trouble at all. And what an appetite! She ate practically everything we put in front of her.’
‘Really?’ Laura sounded surprised. ‘You did do well! It takes me ages to feed her and then I can only normally get her to eat half of the pot, maybe sometimes a bit more.’
‘Oh no, she ate most of each pot every meal. Like a little starling she was, mouth open, loving every spoonful,’ said Rachel’s mum.
‘Wow, what got into you?’ Laura said to Naomi.
Rachel winced. Clearly the takeaways were more popular than Mummy’s home cooking. ‘It might be just the air here. You know, building up her appetite a bit. Anyway, what about you two? Did you have a good time?’ Rachel asked, keen to change the subject.
‘We had a really lovely time, didn’t we, Rowan?’ Laura beamed at Rowan.
‘Yes, we did. The hotel was very smart and our room was great; spectacular views. We had a great meal in the restaurant on Saturday night as well. We went for the tasting menu − you know, where you get loads of small courses. Bit p
ricy but it was worth it, just delicious,’ said Rowan.
Rowan caught Rachel’s eye, raised one eyebrow and nodded slightly. The weekend had been good then.
Rachel hugged them both. ‘I’ll call you in the week,’ she said to Rowan. She needed a full debrief.
They spent the next twenty minutes or so packing the car up and saying endless thank yous until Laura and Rowan finally left, Rowan driving and Laura sitting in the back next to Naomi.
‘Now, mind those road works on the M4 at junction fifteen.’ Rachel’s dad was still shouting journey instructions through the car window as they drove away.
Rachel got back to her flat early evening and rang Harry.
‘Hi, I’m back. Did you survive without me?’ she asked.
‘Only just, it was a close call. Looking forward to Jimmy Macks tonight, though. What time shall I pick you up?’
‘Oh do we have to? Sure I can’t persuade you to come over for a film and a bottle of wine?’ Rachel asked. She was knackered and couldn’t really face the prospect of a big night out.
‘Absolutely not, you promised we would go − that was the deal,’ said Harry.
‘Alright, alright, yes, I guess did. Pick me up at eight o’clock then.’
‘Oh cool, I’ll book a cab now.’ Harry sounded like an excited child.
Rachel ran a bath and made herself a strong gin and tonic. After a long soak and a refill while she got ready, she felt her energy levels rising back up to normal. She dressed in a pair of skinny black jeans and a funky print t-shirt emblazoned with ‘Ready for bed’ across the front.
‘Great t-shirt,’ grinned Harry as he picked her up.
Rachel gave him a long kiss. ‘I missed you,’ she said.
‘Of course you did, I’m irresistible,’ said Harry.
‘Shut up, show off.’
They sat close together in the cab and Rachel laid her head on Harry’s shoulder. He stroked her arm and they didn’t say much else until the taxi dropped them outside Jimmy Macks.
As they went in they were hit by the odour of stale beer and cigarettes.
‘Nice,’ said Rachel.
‘All part of the atmosphere,’ said Harry.
They approached the bar and waited while a generously proportioned barmaid finished chatting to a couple of guys on bar stools. Eventually she wandered over to them. She wore heavy black eyeliner, black lipstick and a nose stud, offset by a worn looking grey vest and chainmail belt.
‘Yeah?’
‘Two pints of lager, please,’ said Harry without checking with Rachel. It was clearly a pint of lager pub.
As Harry handed over the money for the drinks the barmaid dropped a couple of coins on the floor. She glared at Harry and turned round to pick them up, revealing a tattoo of a dove and a twisted bright orange g-string sitting well above the top of her low-cut jeans.
Harry looked at Rachel and pulled a face. Rachel stifled a laugh.
‘That was one arse I really didn’t need to see,’ said Harry as they sat down close to the small stage at the back of the pub.
‘Most of the regulars probably love it. In fact they probably charge extra for glimpses of hairy arses in this pub,’ said Rachel.
Harry laughed. ‘Look the band is setting up.’
Three guys in black t-shirts were on the small stage fiddling with various bits of equipment and doing ‘one, two, one, two’ type sound checks.
‘What type of music is it?’ Rachel asked.
‘They’re a kind of garage rock revival band,’ said Harry.
‘Oh right.’
Rachel had no idea what that meant, but it sounded loud. As they started to play, Harry stood up and started bouncing about in front of the stage along with a few other scruffy but trendy looking people.
‘Come on, Rachel, dance,’ shouted Harry.
‘Is that what you call it?’ Rachel shouted back, laughing.
Harry grabbed her hands and pulled her up. ‘You and me, babe, c’mon, let’s dance.’
An hour and a half later, her ears were ringing with the sound of guitar riffs and her head was spinning from several pints of strong lager.
‘They were pretty good actually,’ said Rachel as she dropped back into her chair.
Harry sat down next to her, the front of his hair dripping with sweat. He ran his hands through it, pushing his hair back flat onto his head.
‘Look at you, Mr Sexy-wet-look,’ said Rachel.
‘Just my natural boyish good looks,’ he replied and put his arm around her.
They sat for a while watching the band pack up.
‘You seem better − far more chipper than you were on Friday. Did you get your work done?’ Harry asked.
Rachel was surprised and touched that he’d asked her about work.
‘Yes, most of it,’ she said. ‘I was worrying about it quite a bit last week, but I think I’ve worked out how to deal with it now. I thought you weren’t interested in my work?’
‘I am if it’s bothering you. What matters to you, matters to me,’ said Harry.
‘Bollocks,’ said Rachel.
‘Oh right, thanks. Here I am being a concerned boyfriend and all I get is abuse,’ said Harry.
Rachel got up and sat on Harry’s lap.
‘Very sorry and thank you for your concern, kind sir.’ She touched the front of an imaginary bonnet.
‘I should think so too. Now come here, young wench,’ said Harry, smiling.
They kissed for a few minutes until Rachel thought that people were starting to look at them. She sat back down on her chair.
‘Did you tell all about the mystery celebrity night visits?’ Harry asked.
‘Sort of. I raised a recommendation about them improving their record keeping,’ said Rachel.
‘Was that it? No big scandal then?’
‘Well, not really. I don’t actually know for definite that there’s anything wrong with the odd late night appointment and I only had a couple of copied sheets with celebrity names on. Hardly a tonne of evidence.’
‘What copied sheets?’ Harry asked.
Rachel had forgotten that she hadn’t told Harry about the black book. ‘Oh, er, I copied a few pages out of a private appointments book that had a few well-known names in it − actresses, TV stars, daughters of the rich and famous, that sort of thing.’
‘Really? Who?’
‘I can’t tell you that otherwise I’d have to kill you afterwards,’ Rachel said solemnly.
‘You can tell me. After all, you already told me about Francesca Hart. Won’t say a word.’ Harry winked and tapped the side of his nose.
God, he’s sexy, thought Rachel through her lager haze.
‘Well, I can’t tell you any more names, but I can tell you a bit of a scandal. Celebrities are paying one of the doctors extra to book in under false names so that they can be guaranteed total anonymity. The false names means that there are no records that they were ever there.’
Harry sat up. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes, the appointments book that I copied had two names for each person: the real name and then the name that all the records are in.’
‘Wow,’ said Harry. He sat for a moment. ‘And you haven’t put the names in your report?’
‘Well, no, not exactly.’ Rachel knew that she’d probably said too much, even though it was only Harry. ‘Anyway, that’s quite enough work talk. They just called last orders.’
Rachel walked unsteadily to the bar and ordered two more pints of lager with whisky chasers. ‘To hell with tomorrow, let’s party,’ she said to Harry when she got back to the table.
‘I’ll drink to that,’ he replied and downed his whisky in one go.
Rachel grinned and did the same.
‘Christ you are lovely,’ he said slowly. ‘Let’s go home.’
Rachel looked at Harry and nodded. They left two full pints of lager on the table and jumped in the first cab they could
find back to Rachel’s flat.
The next morning she dragged herself out of bed and down to the local cafe for the traditional hangover cure of a cooked breakfast.
‘Do you want fried or scrambled eggs?’
‘Fried.’
‘Brown or white toast?’
‘Definitely white.’
A large lady with a whiskery chin wearing a grubby-looking apron scribbled some illegible symbols on a small pad and handed it to the man cooking at the back of the transport cafe. ‘One full breakfast, fried, white,’ she shouted as confirmation. The man grunted.
Rachel took her large mug of dark tea and sat down on a moulded red plastic chair that was attached to the table. Around her various tradesmen were tucking into combinations of breakfasts, mostly with chips, and either reading the sports pages of tabloid newspapers or talking about them. They eyed her suspiciously as she lifted her sunglasses onto the top of her head so that she could read her emails on her phone.
The bearded lady shuffled out from behind the counter and dropped a huge plate of cooked breakfast in front of Rachel. ‘There you go, love,’ she said, grinning and showing off a mouthful of uneven stained teeth.
‘Thank you very much,’ said Rachel, suddenly very conscious of how loud and proper her voice had sounded.
Kill or cure, she thought as she looked at the plate of food shimmering greasily under the strip lighting. She felt shocking. God knows what time she and Harry had got to bed. The sound of the alarm going off had sent her bolting out of bed. For a couple of minutes she’d thought she didn’t feel too bad, but then the full force of her hangover had kicked in. She’d rung the office and told them she’d be at Beau Street for the morning and then emailed AJ and Rosa to say that she’d be in the office. That was the good thing about being on a project: far easier to get lost for a few hours. There was no chance of Harry moving until at least lunchtime, so Rachel had left him snoring away and jumped in a cab in search of a restoring fry-up.
Half an hour later she pushed her empty plate away from her, not sure whether she felt better or not. She definitely felt less shaky but still felt quite sick; probably now, though, due to being too full. She looked at her watch. It was nearly eleven o’clock: time to get going. She paid the bill, buying a bottle of bright orange energy drink at the same time, and headed over to the Beau Street offices.