‘Open the bag,’ Josette says, the tiniest glint in her eyes as she flashes a look at Stacy.
‘Sure,’ Mel says, unzipping the bag and holding it open.
It takes a moment to work out what she sees – something unfamiliar and unexpected sitting on top of the sparkly top she correctly guessed was in there.
‘What the…?’ she hears herself saying, though it doesn’t really sound like her voice as her eyes finally focus.
‘Where did you get this from?’ Josette says, reaching in and pulling out the bundle of £20 notes.
‘I… I don’t understand. I didn’t, I mean, that’s not mine. Not even vaguely mine. That’s a whole load of money I simply don’t have, and…’ Mel drops the bag and covers her mouth with her hand, suddenly realising where this is heading. She looks up at Josette, who is flicking through the cash.
‘Three hundred pounds,’ she finally states. ‘The exact amount that went missing from Bob’s room.’
‘What…? Wait. You don’t seriously think that I… Tell me you don’t think that I took it, Josette? It’s simply untrue!’ Mel forces her voice to hold steady, but she can feel the frustrated quiver in her throat, feel her body begin to tense from anger.
‘Stacy?’ Josette says to her colleague. ‘Do you have the list?’
Stacy nods and shows her a piece of paper on her clipboard. She leans in to Josette and, between them, they compare the bundle of cash to the list of numbers on the paper.
‘Same serial numbers,’ Stacy confirms, looking up at Josette.
‘How do you explain this?’ Josette asks, her face slightly relaxed as if the thrill of the hunt has warmed her, made her almost human.
‘I have no idea how that money came to be in my locker. If it’s Bob’s money, then I can assure you it wasn’t me who took it. Either someone’s set me up, or—’
‘Who would set you up, Melanie? You’re well liked here, aren’t you?’ Josette says. ‘Were well liked, perhaps I should say.’
‘I have absolutely no idea, but I swear, hand on heart, that I did not steal Bob’s money. He’s my favourite resident. I would never do such a thing.’
‘Then I’m afraid I’m going to have to suspend you with immediate effect. Stacy will deal with the procedure. We already have irrefutable evidence of gross misconduct here, so unless you can prove that Jesus Christ himself manifested this money in your locker, then I will be terminating your contract by the end of the week. A shame, as you’re a good little worker.’
Mel feels her heart kick up, her mouth go dry and her cheeks colour. ‘You’re sacking me?’ she says quietly.
‘Smart as a fox, too,’ Josette says.
‘But I haven’t done anything wrong. I need this job, Josette. Please…’
‘Melanie, listen to me. You have form. This is not the first thing you’ve stolen.’
‘What? What are you talking about?’ Mel can’t believe what she’s hearing.
‘You stole a pair of expensive trainers that were all set to go to charity.’ Josette shakes her head.
‘No… no, you’ve got that wrong. Yes, I took the trainers, but I gave Barb a five-pound note to put in the fundraising pot. That was the price on the shoes, I swear.’
‘We’ve already checked with every staff member and none say that you gave them any cash. You are lying.’
‘No, no, I’m not,’ Mel says, feeling hot with anger. ‘You have to believe me.’ She hears her voice buckle and waver, hating that she’s on the verge of tears.
‘Stacy will sort out the paperwork and send it on to you,’ Josette says, turning on her heel. ‘Please take your… stuff with you when you leave,’ she adds, nudging the sports bag on the floor with the tip of her court shoe before striding off.
‘I’m sorry, Mel,’ she hears someone saying. It’s Amit. Then she feels a hand on her arm – Stacy’s – and another offer of condolence.
‘Yeah, me too,’ Mel whispers, breathing in a huge gulp of air as she watches them leave the staff room. After a moment, after she’s gathered herself – her mind racing, not understanding what on earth has just taken place, or how it could even have happened – she grabs her belongings and rushes out to her car, feeling the eyes of the other staff watching her as she leaves.
Seven
Mel can’t face going home yet – a home that’s not going to be hers for much longer now that she doesn’t have a job. She drives away from The Cedars, glancing in her rear-view mirror as she heads off down the long, tree-lined drive, shaking her head in disbelief.
She can’t have just lost her job. Can she?
She feels the anger building inside her – at the injustice of it all. A stark reflection of her past.
‘I didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye to Bob,’ she says, driving slowly, mindful of several speed cameras along the route. The last thing she needs is a fine. ‘I can’t bear him thinking badly of me,’ she whispers to herself, pulling onto a roundabout, not even sure where she’s headed.
Ten minutes later, she finds herself swept along in the traffic to Solihull town centre. Seeing a parking spot, she takes it, pulls on the handbrake and cuts the engine.
‘Christ,’ she says, thumping the steering wheel. ‘Christ and bugger!’
A woman with a pushchair stares at her as she passes, looking back over her shoulder with alarm as Mel lets out a half-roar and half-frustrated scream. She throws her head back against the headrest, closing her eyes.
Since Billy went to prison, since she finally extricated herself from his life three years ago, Mel has been content – happy, she could even say, if it weren’t for Kate’s troubles at school. After everything he’d done to her, it was a struggle, but she didn’t grow up in foster homes and the council care system and not learn how to take care of herself. You either survived or you didn’t. But now, it feels as if the reins are slipping from her fingers again. And that makes her scared. Panicked. Angry.
‘Damn that bloody woman,’ she says, leaning forward on the steering wheel, knowing that Josette has never liked her, never thought her good enough for a place like The Cedars.
‘We offer a five-star end-of-life experience,’ Josette had said at Mel’s hour-long interview several years ago, which had felt more like a grilling.
But doesn’t everyone deserve the best at the end of their life, regardless of how much money they have? Mel had thought, but kept quiet, especially when she was offered the job. With a regular income, she and Kate would soon be able to move out of the women’s refuge, get a place of their own.
‘But if you’re going to be working at The Cedars, well… I need you to look different. Conform to our high standards.’ Josette had touched the side of her nose then, indicating Mel would need to remove her nose stud. ‘Plus you’ll need sensible, plain footwear, a minimum of make-up and short, trimmed nails.’
Mel had curled up her fingers then, hiding her royal-blue nail polish.
‘Basically,’ Josette had continued, ‘I need you to look… normal.’
Mel hesitated, knowing she’d never felt normal in her entire life. But, if it meant nearly sixteen hundred pounds a month in her bank account, plus she could still do a shift at Michael’s shop each week, then she’d be able to afford a little place for her and Kate in no time. As well as start making a dent in the debts Billy had left her with.
Mel rests her head on the car window. Josette did this to me. She set me up. She must have, she thinks. She wanted me gone. I’m disposable to her. Not even worth recycling.
She screws up her eyes, refusing to let her past impact the present.
But thoughts of appeals, solicitors, court cases and some kind of revenge – any revenge – flash through Mel’s mind. Getting through life alone, surviving, had been hardwired into her from the moment she was born – even though she’d not realised that as a baby. An abandoned baby.
She refused to be anyone’s trash.
‘It’s unfair dismissal and I won’t have it,’ Mel tells herself,
getting out of the car and locking up. She heads through the drizzle to her favourite coffee shop.
‘A medium latte, please,’ she says, pulling out her purse. Even a coffee is a luxury right now, but she doesn’t care. She can’t face being home alone with her thoughts. ‘And one of those too, please,’ she adds, pointing to a tray of chocolate brownies. She’s got just enough cash on her.
In the window seat, Mel stirs her coffee and watches the drizzle turn into heavier rain. Shoppers and passers-by pop up umbrellas, some hurrying past with their coats pulled over their heads.
Mel closes her eyes as she takes a bite of her brownie, reminded of the first time she met Billy. It had been raining then, too, and Mel was soaking, standing at the shelter-less bus stop when Billy had joined the queue behind her, insisting she take his newspaper to shield her head. The bus was already fifteen minutes late.
‘It’s the best I can offer you,’ were his first words to her, and little did she know then how true that would turn out to be.
He’d pulled a packet of cigarettes from his jacket pocket, flipping open the lid and holding it out to Mel. She’d given a quick shake of her head, her eyes flashing to the diagonal scar on his cheek. His sharp jawline – the smattering of stubble running from the top of his neck, up his cheeks and onto his shaved head, which she could just make out under the dark cap he wore – his piercing blue eyes and the scruffy army-style jacket he had on over a black T-shirt, made him look more like a criminal than a Times reader. Someone she’d cross the street to avoid after dark.
If only she’d known.
He’d taken a long draw on his cigarette, his eyes fixed on Mel with… with a steely look in them. The look she’d later come to be excited by as well as terrified of. At that point, Billy was still an enigma.
And he still is, she thinks, taking a sip of her coffee, grateful he’s got at least two more years behind bars.
Mel spots a newspaper on the vacant chair beside her, laying her hand on it, remembering how, at the bus stop, as the double-decker pulled into view, Billy had taken a pen from his top pocket and raised his right hand to her head, jotting down something on the edge of the newspaper – one of the few times he’d raised a hand at her and she’d not flinched.
As he’d got off the bus a couple of stops before her, he’d paused beside her, making a telephone gesture with his hand. It was only when the bus had pulled away, and she had mindlessly turned over the newspaper he’d given her, that she discovered Billy had written his name and phone number on the edge of it.
Eight
Mel drains her coffee mug and presses her forefinger into the brownie crumbs on her plate, licking them off. She wipes her hands and balls up the paper napkin, stuffing it in the empty mug.
‘Are you leaving?’ someone says – a bearded man with the small hand of a toddler clamped in his. Mel glances down at the little girl and smiles, briefly reminded of Kate, how Billy used to grip onto her hand when they were out and about. While he may have treated her badly, Kate had always been a daddy’s girl.
‘Oh, yes, I’m just going,’ Mel says to the man, reaching for her bag and getting up. Before she heads outside into the rain, she feels around in her bag for her car keys, pulling out other items so she can see to the bottom.
That’s odd, she thinks, staring at the envelope – the one containing the solicitor’s letter. Michael must have put it in there last night without me knowing. She slides the letter out, revealing the firm’s name: Green, Lupton and Hedge. Michael had insisted they sounded genuine. And their offices are only round the corner on High Street, she thinks, pulling open the door and heading out into the rain.
Five minutes later, having dashed along the pavement with no umbrella, Mel stands outside a red-brick building down a street occupied by various shops and estate agents, as well as solicitors’ and accountants’ premises. She’s uncertain whether it’s anger about her unfair dismissal or the growing curiosity about the letter that has drawn her here.
What if Michael is right? What if she has inherited something, and she ignores it? She could certainly do with a bit of extra cash right now, and it’s not as if she’s going to be so stupid as to part with any money upfront. Either way, if the letter is genuinely from these offices, they can confirm it. And if someone is using their firm as a front for a scam, Mel is sure they’ll be grateful to know.
She rings the bell on the outside of the door and a moment later the latch buzzes and she heads inside.
‘Hi,’ Mel says to the smartly dressed receptionist. Her blonde hair is pulled back in a neat ponytail and her pale skin is lightly made up. She wears a plain grey skirt and a white blouse underneath her fitted jacket. Mel pushes her fingers through her soaking hair, praying the recent home root touch-up hasn’t run onto her face as she stamps her feet several times on the doormat.
‘How can I help you?’ the receptionist says, eyeing Mel up and down.
Still holding the letter, Mel replies, ‘I… I was wondering if you take on cases for people who can’t immediately pay?’
The receptionist sits down behind the counter, half obscuring herself as if she’s already lost interest. ‘You mean no win, no fee?’ She clears her throat slowly.
‘Maybe. Yes, I guess so.’
‘Which area of law are we talking about?’ she asks idly, tapping something into her computer.
‘Employment law. Unfair dismissal.’ She takes the letter from its envelope and waves it about. ‘It didn’t say here if you deal with that kind of case, so I thought I’d call in and ask, seeing as I was nearby.’
The receptionist, who from her name badge Mel can now see is called Emma, glances at the letter. Mel leans on the counter, but immediately withdraws again, concerned she’ll leave wet marks.
‘That is an area of law we cover, yes,’ Emma says, smiling politely. ‘I see you’ve already had correspondence from us about it.’
‘Oh… er, no,’ Mel says, fluttering the letter again. ‘This is about something else.’ She feels the colour rising in her cheeks. ‘An inheritance, apparently.’ She pauses, watching the receptionist as her eyes flick from the letter and back to her. ‘Though it’s the employment case I’m really here about. I’ve, well… I’ve been fired. And it’s really not right. They said I stole some money, but I was set up. It’s complete rubbish.’ Mel’s stomach churns as she thinks of the scene in the staff room earlier.
‘I’m sorry to hear that, Mrs…?’
‘It’s Miss. Miss Douglas. Melanie Douglas,’ she adds, clearing her throat and wishing she’d not come in. She knows how solicitors work, that they’ll want money upfront on account. Money she doesn’t have. The plush grey carpet, the cream leather chairs set around a glass coffee table with neatly stacked magazines, the framed art prints on the wall – it reeks of at least three hundred pounds an hour. In fact, just being inside a solicitor’s office makes Mel feel uncomfortable.
As if I’ve done something wrong, she thinks, her mind filled with memories of appearing in court as a witness for the prosecution against Billy. And, while he may have received a five-year sentence, Mel is all too aware that three of those years have already been spent.
Emma taps at her keyboard, her pink, manicured nails clicking lightly on the keys. ‘Oh…’ she says, glancing up at Mel, then back down at the screen. ‘Miss Douglas,’ she adds, almost as if she’d been expecting her. ‘Welcome. Would I be able to take a copy of your ID, please?’
‘Please, do sit down,’ the man who introduced himself as Robert Hedge, senior partner, says once they’re inside his office.
‘Thank you,’ Mel replies, perching on the edge of the upholstered chair. She hopes it doesn’t stain from her wet clothes and, just in case, she slips off her quilted coat and drops it on the floor beside her.
‘Here, allow me,’ Robert Hedge says, coming round and retrieving the coat, hanging it on a stand behind his office door. ‘Would you like tea or coffee?’ he continues. His voice is somehow comforting, Mel t
hinks, already feeling a little more relaxed. On the surface, he doesn’t look like the type of person who’d faze someone like Josette, but she knows how these lawyer types work. Beneath their often bland exterior lies a hidden Rottweiler. Hopefully, someone devious and tactical enough to outsmart Josette and her no doubt top legal team.
‘I’m OK, thank you. I’ve just had a coffee.’
Robert nods and goes around the other side of the mahogany desk, sitting down. His office is quite different to the reception area – the cluttered bookshelves and dark antique furniture a stark contrast to the modern waiting room. He pulls in his chair, leaning forward on his desk with his hands clasped together in front of him. Mel notices a wedding band on his ring finger, and tasteful gold cufflinks protruding from the ends of his jacket sleeves. She guesses him to be about fifty-five, possibly a little older.
‘Emma made a note on our system about an employment matter,’ he says, turning to his computer monitor and moving the mouse with his right hand. ‘I’m afraid to say we don’t undertake no win, no fee type cases—’
‘It’s fine,’ Mel says, suddenly feeling stupid. This firm clearly isn’t anything like the adverts she’s seen for lawyers touting such offers. ‘I’m sorry to waste your time.’
‘Not at all, Miss Douglas. I actually invited you in to discuss another matter.’ He sits back in his chair. ‘I’m assuming you also came to see us because of my letter?’
‘I… well, it’s where I got your address from, yes. I’m a bit upset, you see,’ she says, taking a breath and glancing at the ceiling. ‘I got fired this morning. For something I didn’t do.’
‘I’m very sorry to hear that,’ Robert says. ‘But like I said—’
‘And I had your letter in my bag and thought… well, I thought you may be able to help with me with it. But I suppose I also wanted to see if you were real.’
Robert smiles, his dark brown eyes creasing at the edges – what Mel calls a ‘well-worn’ smile. He steeples his fingers under his chin, his expression an amused one.
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