I wince as I bang my head on the metal door when I try to manoeuvre myself back out. ‘Shit!’
‘Oooh, Mummy said a bad word,’ I hear Leo say as he bounds into the kitchen, his school shirt half-untucked from his grey trousers. I note there’s an inch gap from the end of his trousers to his feet, pink skin visible. Damn, those boys are growing too quickly. I don’t want to fork out on new uniform really, not when the school I’m hoping to get them into in Kent has black trousers as its uniform.
‘I said shoot, actually.’
‘It’s not right to tell lies, Mum. Nanna says so.’
‘Well, she’s right, of course. People shouldn’t tell lies. I’m sorry.’
Leo grins with what appears to be a smug satisfaction. Kids these days. Because I’ve not gone immediately to help Finley, he hollers again. I find him standing in the hallway in the middle of piles of shoes, boots, and wellies that he’s dragged from the under-stair storage space.
‘Finley! Was there any need to make such a mess?’ I haven’t got the time, or energy after my sleepless night to put everything back neatly before taking them to school now.
‘Got it!’ He holds up his bag triumphantly, steps over the chaos he’s created and goes into the lounge. The bag had been to the side; there’d been no need to pull anything out in the first place. I kick some of the shoes back underneath the stairs, then bend and sweep the rest under with an arm. It’ll have to do for now.
‘Right, come on then, my little destroyer – let’s get out of here. And you, Leo. Get your school bag please.’
‘I don’t know where it is,’ he says. I suppress the wail building inside my lungs.
‘Where’s the last place you remember seeing it?’
‘In my bedroom. I took it there when Dad and Nanna dropped us back after Maccies on Friday.’
‘Have you checked there?’ My voice is filled with an exasperation I haven’t felt in ages. It’s not the end of the world, and it goes with the territory. It’s only a few things that have been slightly annoying this morning, but my lack of sleep and my worry about the missing viewer from yesterday have all taken a toll,and I’m snappy and irritable. I just want this morning to go smoothly so I don’t turn up to work a tight ball of stress before even beginning the day.
I don’t bother waiting for a reply, I run up the stairs to look for it myself.
It’s not there. Now I come to think of it, I don’t remember seeing it over the weekend. What’s the betting it’s in Nick’s bloody car.
‘Anything important in it?’ I ask when I get back downstairs.
‘My lunchbox, my spellings and my reading folder,’ he states clearly.
‘Well, no lunchbox required as it’s a school-lunch day,’ I say. They only have school lunches twice a week, the rest of the time it’s packed lunches. I chose Monday for one of the days as it’s the one I’m least likely to be prepared for after a busy weekend. And then they have one on Thursday as I’ll have generally run out of nutritional – and permissible by the school – items to put in their lunches until I go shopping Thursday evening. ‘And the rest is going to have to wait as I assume Dad will have already left for work.’
‘I didn’t leave it in the car. It’s in my room. You didn’t look properly.’ He pouts and crosses his arms.
‘But you said you couldn’t find it either?’
‘That’s true.’ He puts a finger to his lips and looks up to the ceiling in a “thinking” pose. ‘Well, someone must’ve taken it then,’ he says.
I don’t respond, doing a quick sweep of each room instead. But no backpack.
‘You’ll have to go without it.’
‘I’ll get told off.’
‘No, you won’t. I’ll explain you left it at your dad’s.’
‘But I didn’t, so that’s another lie.’ He’s getting agitated and angry and, in a minute, I’m going to have a crying child on my hands. Then he’ll be late, and distressed, as well as ill-equipped.
‘Look, let’s get to school and I’ll speak with your teacher. I’ll call Daddy on the way,’ I reason with him.
It placates him – at least temporarily. I practically drag both the boys out of the house and, as we walk-jog to school, I dial Nick.
‘Ah, good. Didn’t think I’d catch you before you began work,’ I say, breathlessly.
‘I’m out and about. Fact-finding mission for my latest cold case.’
‘Oh, right. Well, Leo has left his school bag in your car.’
‘No, he hasn’t,’ he responds with no hesitation. ‘He definitely took his bag with him when I dropped the boys back on Friday. Didn’t he give you the letter I gave him? He put it straight into his bag.’
‘No. What letter? And why didn’t you just give it to me instead of giving it to our six-year-old son?’
I hear a deep sigh. I’m not even trying to be awkward, I’m genuinely at a loss as to why Nick didn’t hand it to me when he brought the boys back. Maybe he knew I’d be angry for the whole “taking them without permission” thing and thought it simpler to get Leo to put the letter in his bag. Who knows what goes through a man’s head?
‘It came to my flat. Lord knows why. It’s been on the side for a couple of days, kept forgetting to give it to you, so I put it in the car to jog my memory. Leo picked it up while I was driving, so I asked him just to shove it in his rucksack. Anyway, I’m sure it couldn’t have been important, not if they hadn’t correctly addressed it; probably junk mail.’
It seems odd that someone should send a letter to me to an address I’ve never lived at, though. Maybe it was from someone who didn’t realise we’d split and had assumed I was with Nick at the new address.
‘Oh, actually, that reminds me. I’ve got a parcel at the house for you, too. Came on Friday. In the … er … stress of not knowing where the boys were, I forgot to give it to you.’
We left the call on amicable terms, as we always did, even after the heated discussion the other evening. I’ve never been able to stay angry with Nick. And it seemed that was a mutual thing.
So, now I’m left with a missing school bag and a missing letter.
Chapter Seventeen
Amber
When I open the front door twenty minutes later and walk through the hallway, I see the bag.
In the middle of the pile of shoes and stuff Finley had yanked out from under the stairs, there it sits.
‘What the hell?’ I grab it, pulling it free of the shoes. There’s no way I’d have missed it there. How could I have? And Leo, too? I’d been on my hands and knees shovelling all the stuff back. I’d have noticed a rucksack.
But I was rather stressed. And Leo wasn’t even looking properly.
God’s sake. If I make a detour to take it to school now, I’ll be late for work. Great start to Monday. Leo’s teacher was fine about it anyway, so it won’t hurt if I don’t take it. Leo was upset, but he’ll get over it – it’s probably already forgotten.
As I’m about to fling it back under the stairs, I remember the letter.
I check every zipped compartment. No letter.
Typical.
I have to go. I’ll ask Leo about it later. Maybe he took the letter out and put it somewhere “safe”.
I decide not to call Carl now as I’ve had enough stress already. I’ll do it this evening. I make some time up on the drive to work – no slow traffic, no tractors. And a parking space close to the entrance of the car park means I shave a little time off my walk to the optician’s. Hopefully my day is getting better.
My optimism wanes when I walk through the door, only to be greeted with stony faces and an accusatory glare from the boss, Henry. His wife, Olive, is standing beside him, her hand firmly on her hip.
They know.
I’m on the back foot – I wasn’t expecting this scenario to play out just yet.
‘Morning,’ I say. I carry on through the shop floor to the back room where we keep our bags and coats. I hang mine up, and while my back is turned,
I try to plaster on a facial expression that fits with ‘I’m so sorry to land you in it,’ and ‘I’m sorry for not telling you myself.’
Who did tell them? When I turn back to face them, they’ve both disappeared.
That’s bad. They’re obviously really upset with me. I should’ve been upfront right from the beginning.
‘Olive?’ I call. ‘Henry?’
‘Why didn’t you say?’ I hear Olive’s soft, quiet voice. She’s in the doorway of the break room. ‘I don’t understand how you could keep it from us, Amber.’
‘I’m sorry, Olive.’ My posture sags. I really am sorry as I know they’ll feel let down. And I kept the move from them for my own selfish reasons. I didn’t think I’d feel this ashamed. ‘I honestly didn’t know how long it would all take, so didn’t want to be too premature in telling you. I’ve had no offers, so it could be months and months yet before I’d even need to give notice.’
‘Need to?’ It’s Henry’s voice that booms in my ear now. He’s come to join in – watch my discomfort. ‘I really didn’t think it would be a case of what you were required to do, Amber. Not after all we’ve done to accommodate your needs. I’d have thought you’d offer the common courtesy of giving us a heads-up – a couple of months’ notice rather than the statutory one month.’
‘Of course. I completely understand, and that would be what I’d like to do, too. But how can I give notice if I don’t know when I’ll be leaving? As I just said to Olive, I’ve had zero interest – it could be months, a year, for all I know.’ My defences are up. Being put on the spot is making me anxious and when I’m cornered, I tend to say things I later regret. However much I’m in the wrong, morally, I’m going to put up a fight so I don’t come off worse.
It takes another five minutes of me trying to explain myself before Olive and Henry appear to have accepted I didn’t withhold the information to purposely hurt their business. I did say I was “testing the market” and might not go at all – which of course is an untruth. And one Leo would be very upset with me for telling. But I need this job until I’m ready to go.
It’s not until lunchtime, when Olive is sitting eating a microwave korma meal, that I get the opportunity to ask the burning question.
‘How did you know my house was on the market anyway?’
‘Oh, your mother-in-law came in to pick up her glasses on Saturday. She mentioned it in passing. She obviously didn’t realise you hadn’t told us.’
My face burns. Barb did know I hadn’t informed the Stewarts. I’d specifically told her. And she happened to come into the shop on a Saturday, a day she knew I didn’t work. And after the whole Maccies debacle on Friday. I attempt to swallow the anger. I ball my fists and take some slow, deep breaths.
There’s no doubt in my mind that Barb has done this on purpose.
Chapter Eighteen
Barb
How could she think I did it on purpose?
My ear is hot where I’ve been holding the phone tight up against it for the last ten minutes while Amber talked at me. She barely took a breath; certainly not long enough for me to get a word in. No chance to even defend myself. I tried to point out that her employers finding out about the move wasn’t in my interest either – if Amber were to be replaced before the house had sold, it could force her to sell to the property developers to speed everything up. But I stuttered and started and stopped, because Amber wouldn’t allow me to complete a single sentence.
Honestly, I’m shaking. Doesn’t she care what I’m going through? She seems to have forgotten I gave up my house. And here she is repaying me by accusing me of ruining things for her. I’ve had to make a cup of tea and sit on the sofa to recover from her outburst. When my ear stops burning and my hands stop trembling, I’m going to call Nick.
Amber seems overly upset about it all. I’d say there’s more to it; there’s something else troubling her. Hopefully, she and Richard have had a lover’s tiff; some disagreement about the future arrangements.
Or maybe she’s found out something that has rung an alarm.
Yes, I bet that’s it. Richard isn’t as wonderful as he’s led her to believe. She’s unearthed a bad side to him.
Wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest.
Everyone has a darker side, don’t they? Some are just better at keeping it hidden.
Chapter Nineteen
Amber
I’m all of a fluster after the phone call with Barb, but not as flustered as Carl appears to be at this moment. The doorbell rang as I was hanging up, so I opened it without checking the app to see who it was – the surprise at seeing him standing there took the edge off my frustration at Barb’s serious lack of ability to take responsibility for her actions.
‘I think I left my diary here yesterday,’ Carl says, his eyes wide as though he’s asked a question rather than stated a fact.
‘No. It’s not here,’ I say, keeping him on the doorstep. If I’m honest, I’m a little put out that he’s here for a bloody diary, not with news of a buyer. But at least him being here means I can ask him about the open house and for my key back. I’m about to tell him that I saw him leave with it, but I hold back – I don’t really want him to know I was virtually spying on him. I don’t think it’s really a big deal that I was, though. He must be aware of the doorbell app, he’s been here enough times. Although, to be fair, we’ve never spoken of it. The logo is on the bell itself and surely most people know what it is. Having said that, I don’t know anyone else with it in this village. I suppose most people don’t feel the need for the extra security in what’s considered a safe place to live. Before Nick suggested one, I hadn’t any knowledge of them apart from the odd advert on TV, which I didn’t take much notice of.
‘This is the last place I remember having it,’ he mutters and stretches his neck so he can see behind me, into the hallway. ‘Are you sure it’s not on the hall table?’ He’s rubbing the fingertips of each hand together. There must be a lot of important, possibly sensitive, information on his clients in it for him to be this concerned.
‘Quite sure. As you must’ve noticed, I’d cleared away any evidence of clutter, so I’d have seen it clearly.’ I don’t tell him how long it took to find Leo’s bag this morning. If it hadn’t been for me seeing Carl leave with the diary tucked under his arm, I would have to consider the possibility it was inside somewhere.
‘Yes, yes. You did a good job,’ he says, eyeing me cautiously. God, does he think I’ve taken the diary?
‘Sorry not to be of help. Did you return to the office after the open house? Or perhaps you took it home with you as it was a Sunday?’ I’m trying to be helpful, but Carl becomes more anxious, transferring his weight from one leg to the other. He looks like a toddler who needs a wee.
‘I can’t remember. Oh, well – it’ll turn up, no doubt.’
‘I assume all your appointments are computerised too, so you won’t—’
‘Yes. Yes – all that’s fine.’ He backs away from the door and turns as though he’s about to leave.
I can’t believe he isn’t going to mention the open house event.
‘Wait a moment,’ I say, to stop him leaving.
He whips back around to face me again.
‘How did the event go?’ I ask.
‘Oh, yes – sorry. Yep – went really well.’ He doesn’t seem keen to stay and chat; he begins to walk away again.
‘How well is well?’ I’m not letting him go until I’ve asked about everything that’s been concerning me. I’m sure I hear him huff.
Carl purses his lips, and then nods. ‘I’d say at least three positives, and one couple have asked for a second viewing. I just need to find their details …’
As he trails off, I experience a mini panic that their details are in the diary he can’t find. But I assume if worse comes to worst, they’ll call Carl if they don’t hear from him.
‘How many people attended?’ I’m aware I’m screwing my eyes up – and realise it’s partly from fear
of the answer.
‘Er …’ He scratches his head. ‘Twelve, I think …’
I gulp. ‘Oh? You’re not sure?’
‘Well, I did write their details in the diary …’ He leaves the sentence hanging. Great. So, it’s not definitely twelve, it could’ve been thirteen like I thought. Not having a definitive number from Carl has just added another level of apprehension to my overanxious mind.
I must bring up the matter of the key now.
Ideally, I’d like to get him inside the house, rather than chatting about this outside. But as he’s edging towards his car this is my only chance.
‘I was thinking, Carl … Could I have my key back, please?’
‘Oh? Why?’ He stops in his tracks, his focus now fully on me. ‘I thought it was the best arrangement for you – you’d find it difficult otherwise while at work – and … well’ – he says with a wave of his hand – ‘whatever else it was you mentioned to begin with.’
‘Yes, that was the main reason for you having a key. But I could still let you have it in advance of any future viewings if you give me enough notice. I’d just feel better if I had the spare key in my possession, really.’
‘No one other than myself handles the key, Amber. It’s always locked away in the safe when not required.’ He’s getting defensive; his posture’s stiffened. ‘It’ll make it so much more awkward when arranging viewings …’ He peters off, but his eyes are boring into mine; their intensity makes me feel uneasy. It’s my key, my house – why should I feel bad about asking for it back?
‘I understand you keep it safe, Carl. It’s not that I don’t trust you, you know. But the other day when I was delayed at work, my mother-in-law couldn’t even get in the house with my children as you have the only spare.’ It’s not the reason I want it back, obviously, but on balance I think it’s a reasonable argument.
‘You could get another cut,’ Carl states.
‘I know I could. But I don’t want to,’ I say, my voice now rising in response to him being so obstinate.
The Open House Page 6