To Catch a Creeper (29 page)

***

Yesterday evening was a whirlwind of telephone calls and texts. Little did Declan know that while he was downstairs reading his latest self-help book by the light of his IKEA lamp, I was upstairs on the blower to my army of helpers, working out each person’s nominated area where we could pass on info re Mrs Baker’s ‘empty jewel-ridden’ house:

Claire’s Éclairs – Pimple

Milkmen – Everyone who has milk delivered

Paperboys – Everyone who has papers delivered

Shopkeepers – Various

Hindu Temple – Shilpa – She didn’t actually agree because she was away for a few days with her sister, but we guessed she’d take it on

Bingo Hall – Robert

Tea Dance – Trevor

Salsa classes – Norman – Yes I was surprised too

Isobel’s also asking her dad to let it be known round his police drinking cronies, just in case it’s an inside job, and Henrietta said she’d chat about it in front of her doddery old boss, not that it would probably do much good with Islington being out of our manor. Larry’s going to slide it into conversation with his counselling clients, Pimple to her cleaning clients and Janet to the lesbian community.

‘Oh yeah, sure, Cathy.’ She was the last call I made. ‘I’ll make an announcement at the Astoria GAY night.’

‘No, no, you can’t. We’ll have every burglar in London heading up here.’

‘I was joking, Cathy,’ she said grimly.

‘Oh.’ I’d sighed. Well how was I to know? She hadn’t been giggling or anything.

‘OK, ready now!’ Norman shouts out.

I step awkwardly back into the room. I’ve never liked being videoed. My nose always looks wonky and for some reason I keep shutting my eyes for long periods and nodding a bit as if I’m listening to some great concerto in my head. I walk towards the lens with a cross-legged sort of walk and self-conscious smile plastered on my face, and the light on the spycam turns green.

‘I think we might have to fix a small Band-Aid over that, otherwise any intruder will see it,’ I say when I finally relax.

‘And we certainly don’t want that,’ adds Norman.

Chapter 28

Eleven a.m. finds me staring through a window at a pile of men in ultratight Lycra shorts cycling exercise bikes. I’ve never taken to gyms, too much like hard work. Treadmills that you can never work properly, boring old weight stations, rowing machines designed to put your back out, etc. And then you have to endure the posers looking down their noses at your rubbish tracksuit and baggy stomach or worse, drippy-tongued men watching you sweat, thinking you’re only going there because you’re desperate for a date and is it worth the bother for them. I mean where’s the fun in that?

I scan the foyer. Can’t see her. Move over to the gallery where there’s a few people playing badminton. Now that’s more like it. I played a bit when I was younger, not so vigorous as tennis.

Still not there.

I wander down to a glass-walled mini-workout room and then I spot her. She’s on one of those contraptions which are supposed to strengthen your inner thighs or something. Very much like a gynaecological chair. They even have the stirrups.

There’s a dark-haired guy talking to her and she’s smiling flirtatiously while at the same time she’s looking over his shoulder at another blond Adonis. Maybe gyms aren’t so bad, I muse. Probably just have to find the right one.

I knock at the window, wave a bit and she spots me. She holds up four fingers, indicating four minutes. At least I hope four minutes, I’m not waiting four hours, not for a clasp, even if it is Neil’s. Not that it will be – wash my brain out with carbolic soap for even thinking that – but I need to check because if she hands the police something even vaguely similar to the stuff that Neil wears in his transvestite capacity, then, well, you never know.

I’m sitting at the juice bar, enjoying the yummiest banana-based smoothie and scanning through a leaflet, vaguely wondering about membership costs, when she comes over.

‘Hey, Cathy, how’s your cat?’ She wipes the sweat from her forehead with a monogrammed towel. Not her initials but the Club’s.

‘Actually a bit better,’ I say, noting her good figure. ‘Relief not to see vomit everywhere.’

‘So the pills helped?’ She puts the towel over her neck then swigs from her water bottle.

‘Must have.’

‘Come on, this way.’

I follow her obediently to the changing rooms, where she begins stripping off. I got it wrong, she hasn’t a good figure; she has a great figure. Magnificent boobs, washboard stomach, model legs, tiny waist. No wonder she didn’t want just one man to sample her goodies.

‘You’ve been to see Hank, haven’t you?’ She wraps a towel around her body and under her arms.

My instant blush gives me away. ‘How do you know?’

‘He rang. Said some woman came in, hackles rising. Early forties.’

‘I’m thirty-nine! And my hackles weren’t rising.’ Although now they are. Early forties – bloody cheek. ‘I just happened to be in there and I saw the dog and you know…we got talking.’

‘So what did he say about me?’

‘Oh, you know, nothing.’ I sit myself on the bench while she rifles through her bag for toiletries.

‘
Yeah, right
,’ she sighs. ‘I bet he bombarded you with stuff about how I slept with hundreds of guys, all ages, all types. God, he was jealous.’

‘Well, to be honest,’ I say gingerly, not wishing to cause offence but feeling I have to defend him, after all he gave me a gift which is more than she ever did, ‘not many men would put up with that. They don’t behave like that in Belchertown, Massachusetts, apparently. Maybe it’s a cultural thing.’

‘Belchertown, Massachusetts?’ She laughs loudly in a false way. ‘He comes from no further west than Harpenden, Hertfordshire. And he’s not Hank, he’s Henry. Don’t say you fell for his fake American accent as well. I tell you, when I met him, I thought he was a lovely, sweet, nice, generous guy. Always giving me gifts, paying me attention, then we got married, and it was like, well the minute the ring was on my finger he became this neurotic possessive…despot. I so much as eyed a waiter, he’d be on my case. Lasted the whole of the two week honeymoon. On the final evening, I ended up talking to the coach driver about it… just needed a friendly face.’

‘
Yeah, right
.’ My turn.

‘Not like that,’ she rolls her eyes. ‘He was sixty-eight for God’s sake, a grandfather, married fifty years. Most he did was pat my shoulder and offer me a handkerchief. Next day he was in hospital – little “accident”.’

I can’t quite take it in. She starts by telling me all about how Hank (or Henry) never wanted her to leave the house without him, apart from work of course. And he hated her wearing anything but long dark trousers and baggy jumpers. It was as if he was from some backward society, she said sadly, and when she found out he was English born and bred, well that was the final straw.

‘But I thought the one night stand was the final straw.’

‘What one night stand?’ She pulls out her purse from her bag and opens it.

‘You muttered something about a one night stand. When I was at your surgery.’

‘I did?’ She thinks a moment then starts to laugh. ‘Nightstand, that’s what I would have said. You must have misheard. The burglar came, caused me all that grief, and yet all he got away with was a few small worthless items and one lousy nightstand.’

And with that she hands me over the clasp.

***

I walk down the road, confusion being my present primary emotional state. All I know for certain is someone’s lying. And marriage break-ups are messy. Which I knew already, even as a child.

I glance at the clasp in my hand. The clasp, or what I thought might be the shoe clasp, is more a silver-plated ring thing with a brooch pin attached.

‘It might be nothing, might be something. I’ll let you decide what to do with it,’ she’d said as I headed out the changing room door leaving her to shower in peace.

***

‘She likes me. Look how she’s squeezing so hard.’ Little baby Meredith’s clutching my finger.

‘Of course she likes you.’ Mid-afternoon and Rosa’s lying on her big squashy couch, while Declan and I sit opposite. ‘You’re her favourite Aunty Cath Cath.’

I smile proudly and look down at the little bundle in my arms. I’ve never been an Aunty Cath Cath before. Another hat to wear.

‘And you,’ Rosa smiles at Declan, ‘are her favourite Uncle Dec Dec.’

Declan gives a big broad grin. ‘So how’s it been?’

‘Apart from no sleep, leaking tits and having to wee in the bath? Absolutely fantastic. I can’t tell you. She’s so so good. Sucking like a souped-up Dyson. And last night…’ she stops as we hear a key turn in the lock.

Alec, who’d been sent out to buy cabbage leaves for her breasts and some gel pads for…something or other, walks in and stoops down to kiss Rosa on the head, then Meredith on her tiny two-day old head, then me on my head. He goes to give Declan their usual cousinly hand-shake when Declan suddenly stands up and gives him a big bear hug instead which kinds of surprises him…and me.

‘Shall I make some tea for us all?’ Rosa half rises.

‘No, no. I’ll do it,’ says Alec.

‘I’ll give you a hand,’ offers Declan.

‘Alec’s been an absolute dreamboat,’ Rosa says after they’ve gone. ‘Won’t let me lift a finger. Actually, talking of fingers, is that a new ring? Present from Declan perhaps?’

‘No and it’s not a ring, it’s a clasp. With a ring bit attached. The vet thought it might be useful evidence.’

‘So she gave it to you to wear?’

‘I’m not wearing it. I just… Well, I put it on my finger for a moment for safekeeping until I got home and…and it got…kind of…stuck.’

‘Have you tried soap?’

‘Yes and I’ve stuck my finger in the freezer, sat in a bubble bath for over an hour. Nice but no joy. So I’m on a diet now. Don’t tell Declan.’

‘But surely he must have seen it?’

‘I told him it was a present from Turks for winning the presentation,’ I cringe. ‘Oh, talking of Turks, who do you think I ran into yesterday at Claire’s Éclairs?’

‘Pimple. She’s always in there.’

‘No. Honour. The one that replaced you, or rather me, because I suppose I kind of replaced you and she covered. Anyway, turns out Alice was the one who might have messed up my machine and ruined the presentation, plus she was the one that practically forced Honour to be bitchy to me. Unsure why. Maybe she fancied Turks, maybe it was something else or maybe she just liked spreading poison, some people do I guess…’ I look up. Rosa’s gone glazy-eyed.

‘And get this,’ I say in an effort to recapture her interest. ‘Turns out she lied about her qualifications. She went to jail. It messed up her education.’

‘Wow.’ Her glazy eyes come back into focus and her neck snaps round to face me. ‘What did she do?’

‘A City & Guilds certificate, some rubbish grade GCSEs and I think one Level 1 NVQ or it could have been a BTEC.’

‘I meant, what crime did she commit?’

‘Um…’ I chew on my lip a fraction.

‘You never asked? She could have been a murderer, fraudster or even…a burglar.’

‘I guess it didn’t seem appropriate, the kids were there ear-wigging. But anyway, Younger’s HR Department found out somehow when they checked her references.’

‘Yeah,’ she nods knowingly. ‘They use a firm. Scores of companies do these days.’

‘Not very nice, is it?’

‘Dunno, I suppose they think if you can lie about exam results, you can lie about other things.’

Meredith starts turning her head towards my left breast so I quickly stand up and hand her back to Rosa.

‘And she was suspended like me…and you last year.’

‘He’s a right tinker, Turks. You wait until I see him.’

I give a start. ‘You’re planning on
seeing
him?’

‘I mean, when I go in there and show off the baby.’

‘You’re taking
Meredith
into
Younger’s
?’ I say aghast, stomach falling to the floor closely followed by heart and will to live.

‘I promised I would. Why?’

‘No. Nothing.’

Silence for three minutes.

‘Any news on the Creeper front?’ she ventures.

‘Not much,’ I shrug as I think of her going into Younger’s, where my desk used to be. Where our office used to be. Where our fruit bowl used to be.

‘What happened with the estate agents?’

‘Nothing. Whatever.’ I fold my arms and turn my knee away from her at a ninety degree angle.

More silence.

‘Tea’s taking an age,’ she says.

‘Mmm.’ I’m still thinking of her going in there…after what they did to me, and Honour. It’s almost…well…betrayal.

‘Cathy! I just want to show my baby off to my old colleagues. It’s what all new mothers do. I’m not going back to work or anything, I promise. No need to get shirty with me.’

‘Oh all right then, I’m sorry.’ Shucks. I can never get shirty with her for long. Not like Declan. I can get shirty with him for…well at least four days. But then he had come in at five in the morning with lipstick on his collar and smelling of cheap perfume, which I washed off with a quick pint glass of cold water – long long time ago. Before we were married. I’m over it. Almost. ‘How come you knew I visited the estate agents?’

‘Henrietta stopped by yesterday on her way home from work, just to pop some flowers and a card in.’

‘Well I guess she mentioned I was the chosen one.’

‘Yeah, but how did she find out you were suspended?’

‘Someone blabbed.’ I rush on. ‘Not that it did much good – the estate agents visit I mean. I found out more about their wily ways from Peter the Postie. Mind you I got their web address and had a good look on their site. Very swishy. I’m thinking the Creeper might be using it to case properties.’

‘Possibility. And then he might make an appointment to see them in person, you mean?’

‘Don’t know about appointment. Hardwick’s have this special select viewing scheme, where they only show homes to people who’ve already sold or who’re on the market at reasonable prices. They don’t just want nose-ache timewasters coming to while away their client’s precious Sunday afternoons.’

‘So that suggests…’ Rosa pauses while she waits for my thoughts to unscramble themselves and form a neat queue.