by Jane Fallon
I try to do the rotas while I wait, but my mind keeps racing. It’s impossible to concentrate, so I snatch the tea towel down again and take myself for a stomp through the woods to use up some of my nervous energy. Up ahead, I see Katya stretching out before or after a run, so I change direction and head down a different path.
Thirty-five minutes later Stella’s car is back in her driveway and my distress signal is back in place. I run into the bathroom for a quick shower. My bravado is dwindling by the second, trickling down the plughole with the soapy water. I decide that I’ll give Stella fifteen minutes after I get out and, if she hasn’t shown up by then, I’ll rethink.
Fourteen and a half minutes later I hear footsteps on the stairs. My heart starts pounding and I rehearse in my head what I’m going to say.
‘What?’ she says as soon as I open the door. ‘Are you OK?’ I’m touched by the fact that she came so quickly, thinking it might be about me again.
‘Yes. I mean fucked off, angry and disappointed. But, yes. I’m fine. I have to tell you something.’
Here’s where I’m going to massage the truth. For all my insistence on honesty, I can’t bring myself to confess to Stella that I’ve known who F is all this time and I haven’t told her.
‘Sit down,’ I say.
‘You’re frightening me now,’ she says, doing as I tell her. I sit next to her.
‘Before I tell you, I want you to promise me that you won’t do anything rash …’
She looks at me. ‘What? Jesus. Yes, OK. Just tell me.’
‘Promise.’
‘I promise. Whatever it is, tell me, Laura.’
I take a deep breath. Way too deep. I start to cough. Stella sits there, looking torn between concern and irritation. Eventually, I get myself under control. ‘I think I know who Al is seeing.’ I wait for her to ask how I found out, so I can give my practised speech about finding a photo of the two of them together when I cleaned her room in Sergei and Katherine’s house, but she goes straight in for the jugular.
‘Who?’
‘She’s called Ferne. She’s the nanny at number 1 …’
Stella cuts me off. ‘Number 1 here? The Close? He’s seeing some tart who lives right on our doorstep?’
I nod, even while I’m flinching at the harshness of the word. Stella is incandescent. ‘A fucking nanny? The hired help is going to steal money away from my children?’
‘Stella,’ I say sternly. ‘Al’s the one who’s responsible for that.’
‘But she knows about them, right? If she lives here, she must see us every day. It’s not like he can have told her he’s separated or glossed over the fact that he has two daughters.’
I sigh. She’s right. Pleasant as Ferne seems, she can hardly claim innocence in this. ‘That’s true. I hadn’t thought of it like that.’
‘How old is she?’
I knew she would fixate on this. ‘I don’t know. You’ve probably seen her around with the baby. Late twenties?’
Lucky for me, she doesn’t seem to remember her being here. In my flat. She lets out a sob. ‘Why this one? What’s she got over all the others?’
I put an arm around her bony shoulders. ‘I don’t know. It might just be timing. How many have there been?’
‘Three that I know about. It’s anyone’s guess. But not like this. Not planning to set up home with them.’
‘I’m sorry, Stella. I really am.’ She leans into me, cries on my shoulder. I find myself stroking the thick, glossy hair. My heart goes out to her. No one deserves this.
‘I won’t say anything,’ she says finally. ‘I wouldn’t want to drop you in it.’
‘Thanks,’ I say.
‘You’re a good friend, Laura,’ she mutters into my armpit. I almost laugh. If you’d asked me a couple of months ago who would be the least likely person in the world ever to say these words to me … But, actually, I’m touched. ‘And I don’t have many good friends.’
‘Well, that’s not true, for a start,’ I say. ‘They all love you round here.’
‘They love what they think I am.’
It’s the most perceptive thing I’ve ever heard her say.
‘I’m sure they’ll still be here for you.’ I’m not convinced that’s true, even as I say it.
I feel rather than see her shake her head. ‘I doubt it. What will we talk about? What’s on three for two at Lidl?’
‘Don’t be a snob,’ I say gently.
‘I’m not. I’m saying they will be.’
‘Not Gail.’
‘No, maybe not Gail. But when are our paths ever going to cross?’
We sit there quietly for a second, and then I have an idea. I ease her head off my shoulder and jump up. ‘Come on.’ I put out a hand to pull her to her feet.
‘What? Where are we going?’
‘Three-for-two shopping,’ I say triumphantly. ‘We can go to the big Sainsbury’s on Finchley Road; they have a car park. I’ll tell you what your budget is and you have to buy enough food for the family for the whole week. I’ll show you how exciting three-for-twos can be.’
‘No, Laura,’ she says petulantly. ‘I appreciate the offer, but …’
‘But what? It’s better than sitting round here moping. You may as well learn how us plebs survive.’
She rasps a laugh. ‘All right. I give in. Let me get changed first.’
‘No. Rule number one: no one gets dressed up to go food shopping. You look fine. We’ll take my car.’
She gives me a look. Opens her mouth to say something. I interrupt. ‘What? The Sunshine Cleaning mobile not good enough for you?’
‘I was going to say mine’s bigger. We can fit more in.’
‘Nice try,’ I say, laughing. I grab up my keys. ‘Let’s go.’
Taking Stella to the supermarket is a bit like I imagine it would be to take the queen to bingo. They know why they’re there, they understand the principle, but they have no idea what to do. I’m sure Stella must have wafted round the food halls at Harrods or Fortnum’s before, picking up an artichoke here or a jar of truffle butter there, but a real-life, no-nonsense, basic food shop, never. Thank goodness I eased her in gently and didn’t go straight for Aldi. It would have blown her mind. She’s overwhelmed by the choice, gravitating to the most expensive version of whatever is on the list I forced her to make while we were in the car. I add up all her choices on my phone as we go along so I can show her how much more they would have cost than the things we actually buy once we get to the checkout. I probably should have consulted Pilar first, and I hope she’s not upset with me for the slightly random ingredients she’s about to be presented with. As with all my trips to the supermarket, the list goes out of the window as soon as I see what’s on special offer. Stella starts off bemused and defensive, but after a few minutes I’m having to talk her down from buying eight aubergines because they’re flogging them off at two bags of four for the price of one.
‘You’d have to use them all by tomorrow. They’re on the verge of going off.’
‘I can freeze them,’ she says confidently.
I resist the urge to say, Do you even know where the freezer is? ‘You’d have to make something out of them first. You can’t just stick them in whole.’
She looks at me, clueless. ‘Like what?’
‘I don’t know. What were you going to make with them tonight?’
‘How do I know? Pilar would come up with something.’
‘But we might not have bought whatever else she needs to go with them. And then, by the time you do, they will have gone off. Planning is everything.’
She rolls her eyes at me. ‘I thought you wanted me to buy bargains.’
‘Only if you know what you’re going to do with them. Otherwise, you’ll end up throwing them a—’
I stop talking as Stella gasps and clutches my arm. I glance over to where she’s looking as she ducks behind a fresh-bread display. ‘What? What are you doing?’
‘It’s Bill and Anya’s hous
ekeeper.’
I look back and there’s a vaguely familiar-looking woman pushing a trolley. ‘Oh yes.’ I smile and wave. She waves back. ‘Why are you hiding?’
‘She can’t see me here. What will she think?’
‘That you’re buying food for your family? Come out. What are you doing?’
She shakes her head violently.
‘You’re being ludicrous,’ I say. I look over, and the woman – I don’t know her name – is moving closer.
‘Stella, look!’ I raise my voice. ‘They have sea-salt-and-rosemary focaccia!’ I pick it up and wave it at her. Bill and Anya’s housekeeper looks over. Smiles vaguely at Stella and moves on. Stella grabs the bread out of my hand and flings it in the trolley. ‘For god’s sake. Now she’s going to tell all the other housekeepers that I do my own food shopping.’
I pull a mock-horrified face. ‘No! Oh my god, Stella! How will you ever show your face again? Next thing you know, they’ll think you have to wipe your own arse too. Stop being so ridiculous.’ I snatch the focaccia out of her trolley. ‘Oh, and you can’t afford that. Way too expensive.’
I wait for her to throw a tantrum but instead she cracks a painful-looking smile. ‘You’re right, I am ridiculous.’
‘Fucking ridiculous,’ I say, laughing with relief.
She honks a laugh. ‘Ludicrous. I’m a fool.’
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘Yes, you are.’
Her laughter subsides. ‘I really am, though, aren’t I?’
‘No,’ I say, trying to sound convincing. ‘At least, you were, but you’re becoming less so by the day.’
‘Well, that’s something.’
I put a hand out and rub her upper arm. ‘I think of you like someone who’s been brought up by wolves. You just need to learn how the real world works.’
‘I appreciate what you’re doing for me, Laura. I really do.’
‘No problem,’ I say. ‘That’s what friends are for.’
Because that’s what we are now, I think. Friends. We trust each other.
35
My flat purchase seems to be sailing through alarmingly smoothly, leaving me little reason to panic and pull out. I push it to the back of my mind, only thinking about it when my solicitor needs me to. Keeping my head firmly stuck in the sand. But when we agree a date to exchange in a couple of weeks’ time I realize I need to be grown up about this and at least go and visit it a second time before it’s too late. I arm myself with a tape measure, a pad and pencil and a list of questions. Rahina meets me at the front gate, a big smile on her face.
‘Ready?’ she says, waving the keys at me.
‘As I’ll ever be.’ I look round at the street. It’s even rougher than I remember. Bins overflow with rubbish bags. A young man is hunched over in a shop doorway, out cold. Maybe I’ve become rarefied, living in my miniature ivory tower. I’ve lost touch with my reality. Inside, the stench has got worse, if anything. Weeks of no one opening any doors or windows. I hold my breath for as long as I can and take photos. I don’t bother taking any measurements because that would mean getting up close and personal with the furniture, and god knows what’s living in there.
‘They are going to take everything away when they leave, aren’t they?’ I knew I should have been paying more attention.
Rahina smiles behind the hand she’s using to cover her mouth. ‘They are. They’re going to get a house-clearance firm in to take everything. Carpets, curtains, the lot.’
‘Thank god.’ I’m struggling to believe that, in eight weeks or so, this will be mine. I push all thoughts of The Close, with its silence and the smell of the woods and the heath in the air, out of my mind, remind myself why I’m doing this. This area is Betsy’s home; it used to be mine. We were happy here. I force myself to think about her playing happy families with David and Michaela. ‘I don’t think I need to see anything else at the moment,’ I say. We’ve only been here for ten minutes. I need to get out.
I’ve timed my visit to coincide with my workers starting for the night, and I feel as if I’ve been neglecting them lately, so when I leave I pop into the four-storey, four-company offices and check up on Paul, Amita and Maggie there before heading round to AJT Music and finding Angie on the top floor, wiping down the kitchen surfaces. She gives me a hug, holding her rubber-gloved hands away from me as she does so.
‘Everything OK?’ I say, trying to feign an interest in work for a minute.
‘All good.’ She flicks the kettle on. I fill her in on everything: the flat, Michaela, the fact that I think me and Stella are friends now. She’s a mime of exaggerated expressions. Sympathy, incredulity, scepticism. She offers up her opinions (remember why you’re buying it, you and Betsy need a home; you’ve got absolutely no proof it was going on while you and David were still together, so don’t torture yourself; fuck me, really?) and lets me get it all off my chest, which is what I need, really.
‘Did you look in his drawer lately?’ She knows what I mean immediately. Al’s locked drawer, where he keeps all his personal documents. She shakes her head.
‘Shall we do it?’
I nod. ‘Not that I’m expecting to find anything, but I wouldn’t want to miss it if he’s up to anything else.’
‘Wouldn’t want to let your new best friend down,’ Angie says with an exaggerated smirk. She’s teasing me. I know she’s not being snarky. I’ve started walking towards the offices when I hear the lift ping. I stop in my tracks, just in case, and Angie bumps into me from behind. I turn round to look at her just in time to see Al stride out into the corridor. My heart stops, starts, thumps so hard I feel as if you could see it through my chest. I prepare myself to say hello, but he doesn’t even look at us, just walks through to the main office. Jesus. That was close. I grab Angie’s arm, flick my head towards the kitchen. We – or at least I – can hide in there till he goes. He knows I own the company that cleans here, obviously, but I don’t want to remind him of the fact that I have unfettered access to his office after hours. I can’t even bear to think what might have happened if he’d arrived two minutes later. I feel almost light-headed with relief when I hear ‘Laura? I thought that was you I saw out of the corner of my eye.’
It’s him. He’s turned back and he’s heading towards me. I force a smile. ‘Hi! How are you?’
‘Good,’ he says. Without Stella to witness it, he’s lost the flirty tone. He just sounds friendly. ‘Operating on the coal face tonight?’
‘Something like that,’ I say, trying to keep the nervous stammer out of my voice. ‘Just checking everything’s OK.’
‘I like that you have that personal touch,’ he says.
‘You’re working late.’ I try not to sound as if I care.
‘Forgot my phone,’ he says. ‘Actually, I need to run. I’m late for a dinner. Nice to see you.’
‘You too,’ I say, but he’s already on his way to his office. I look round for Angie, but she’s retreated to the kitchen. I go and stand in the doorway, waiting to see him leave again, eyebrows raised at her to let her know the danger’s not over. Thirty seconds later, he’s back, stuffing his phone into his jacket pocket.
‘Nice to see you,’ he says, galloping down the stairs.
‘And you,’ I say insincerely. ‘Jesus,’ I say to Ange once he’s out of sight. ‘Fuck.’
Angie keeps watch while I locate the key to Al’s desk drawer. Neither of us is joking about now; we both know only too well that we’re taking a big risk. It’s obvious pretty quickly that there’s nothing new there. I find the other key and check the metal box.
‘Nothing,’ I say. ‘Which, I guess, is a good thing.’
Feeling slightly deflated, I lock the box and then the drawer. The smaller key escapes my hand and disappears under the desk before I can catch it. ‘Damn.’
I look, but I can’t see it. ‘Keep watch.’
‘No shit, Sherlock,’ Angie says.
I crawl under. It must have found its way into the tiny gap beneath the drawers. ‘Fu
ck’s sake,’ I say huffily. I roll on to my side and try to force my fingers underneath. I feel something hard. ‘Got it.’ I scrabble it out, then, turning on to my back, I start to scootle out from my hiding place, leaning back so I don’t hit my head. A glint of metal catches my eye as I do. There’s a key Sellotaped to the underside of the middle drawer. ‘Ange!’ I say urgently.
‘What?’
‘There’s something …’ I go to grab it then realize I need to do this carefully. I gently pick at one side of the tape until it releases, leaving the other end attached. Then I peel the key off it. I need to make sure it goes back in exactly the same place. It’s an old key. Small. I clamber out and look around the room.
‘Look!’ I say in a stage whisper. I wave the key at her.
‘What the fuck?’ she mouths.
We both look round the room as if something we’ve missed will suddenly jump out at us. Apart from the desk and the bookcase, there’s a small two-seater sofa with an ornate, solid wooden table at one end topped with a lamp and a few bits and pieces – a cactus in a pot, a little action figure and a bowl with several carved silver balls inside – another in a corner by the window with some kind of sculpture on top, and that’s it. I check through the drawers again, just in case I’ve missed another lockable box, but there’s nothing.
Angie takes the key off me. Turns it over and studies it. ‘Maybe it’s for something at his house?’
I take it back. ‘No. Why would he have gone to all the trouble to hide it under the desk? It’s not as if anyone here is likely to have access to his home. It must be here somewhere.’
‘It’s not like there’s many options,’ she says.
We both stare vacantly at the space, willing a secret panel to reveal itself. Angie suddenly strides across to the little table by the window and pulls it away from the wall, peering behind it. Taking my cue from her, I move to the one beside the sofa.