To Catch a Creeper (4 page)

‘Maybe I should listen to it as well? Might help me get to grips with these bloody machines.’ I glance again with dismay at my monitor.

She flicks through her books. ‘Yes, yes he does have ears.’ She turns it ninety degrees. ‘Well holes anyway by the looks of things. Oh God, I should have bought the CD in this morning. Don’t want him/her missing out.’

‘I suppose.’

‘What’s the matter, Cath? You look a bit drained.’

‘Didn’t sleep too well reliving that horrible meeting and Vicious Viv catching us at the water dispenser.’

‘I’m certain she didn’t hear us.’ She puts her hand on her tummy and gently rubs in a circular movement. ‘She’s deaf in one ear. Measles as a child. And anyway even if she did she wasn’t exactly raving about you, was she? Not that she was talking about you per se,’ she adds hastily.

‘It’s not as if I even watch reality TV. Only
Wife Swap
and
Secret Millionaire
and the one about holiday sharing.’

‘And
Undercover Boss
and
Hell’s Kitchen
…’

‘Is
Hell’s Kitchen
reality? Not documentary?’

‘Whatever.’ She walks over to the fruit bowl and chucks me a Cox’s apple. ‘Look, just don’t let her rattle your cage. AccountsExecutives make bad enemies – they can completely poison the clients against your best work.’

‘What about Art Directors? Gurlet’s probably mad as hell with me,’ I probe anxiously. ‘Scuppering his ideas.’

‘I told you yesterday, ignore him. He’s not worth twisting your knickers over.’

‘So you don’t think people resent me jumping on your back? Lewis, for instance?’

‘Oh Lewis resents everyone,’ she soothes. ‘Especially women. You’ll get used to him.’

‘But I thought gay men were meant to be girls’ best buddies. Commiserating with them on their tangled love lives.’

‘Lewis is a one-off. Just because he’s camp doesn’t make him gay. Rumour has it that he may be the new asexual.’

‘New asexual?’

‘Third sex that everyone’s been talking about lately.’

‘Does seem to have quite a chip on his shoulder.’

‘More a giant sack of Yukon Gold. My advice is steer well away from him as well. According to the grapevine he once…’ She stops.

‘What?’

‘Nah,’ her face clouds over, ‘doesn’t matter. Better not pollute my baby’s new holes with bad vibes.’

‘No, I know, but let me just write this all down. I need to be prepared.’ I grab a post-it note and begin scribbling. ‘Steer clear of Lewis, ignore Gurlet, don’t let Vivien rattle my cage. What else?’ I feel like Bob Hope in
Paleface
. He draws from the left, so lean to the right. There’s a wind from the east, so aim to the west. He crouches when he shoots, so stand on your toes. ‘And Turks?’ I hold my pen aloft. ‘What about him?’

‘Listen, Cathy, all I’m saying is best thing you can do is keep well out of office politics. The advertising business can make your bitchy playground gossip look like kids’ stuff. It’s a case of don’t only mind your back but keep an eye on your front and both sides well. Right, that’s all. Lesson over for today, so what’s up with that machine of yours?’

‘I can’t believe I’ve lost it all!’ I plant my head despairingly in my hands as she comes up behind me and taps away on my keyboard over my right shoulder. ‘Turks wants these hotel and apartment descriptions for the Sunny Hols brochure by the end of the week and I’m only halfway through. That’s three hundred “basic but homey”, “simple yet charming”, “a mere bus ride from the beach” evaporated into cyberspace.’

‘I told you to make back-ups, didn’t I?’ She presses the enter key three times, a few pluses and minuses and my machine springs back to life with the words ‘Document Recovered’ on top. ‘There. That’s it.’

‘Why can’t I just write down everything? You know the old pen and pad method that used to be so popular in my day?’

‘Thought it was quill and parchment?’

‘Bloody cheek!’ I throw a small stash of paperclips at her.

‘Oh by the way,’ she begins rubbing her tummy again, but now in an anticlockwise direction. ‘Alec overheard Declan boasting about your job to everyone at Wilson Inc. yesterday. He sounded dead proud.’

‘What did he say exactly? Word for word.’ Alec works with Declan, although different departments, which means I’ve got my very own spy in the camp. Not that I need it, as I
totally
trust my husband.

‘Something along the lines of having the girl he wed back again. I think that’s rather beautiful.’ She goes all dewy-eyed on me. ‘God I hope Alec and I will be as happy as you two are after all those years of marriage.’

‘’Course you will. You’re made for each other.’

‘Isn’t it fab!’ she squeals. ‘We’re just absolute soul mates.’

They haven’t been together long so are still in the ‘can’t keep their hands off each other’ stage, even more so now the baby’s on his/her way. I know because she keeps asking me with a worried frown if multiple orgasms bring on premature births. The bitch!

‘All we need,’ she adds dreamily, ‘to complete our perfect lives is for you and I to win the RNW account.’

‘What RNW account?’

‘Didn’t I tell you? RNW are developing this new eco car. They’re aiming to launch it next year and they need to market it in the right way. Turks heard they’re unhappy with their advertisers and hoping to switch. All very hush hush. It would be so absolutely fantastico if we got it.’

‘Fingers crossed?’ I cross my fingers.

‘No, more than that. This calls for visualisation. We need to concentrate for a second or two. Close your eyes.’

I close my eyes.

‘Hummm,’ she says.

‘Hum?’ I ask.

‘No. Shhh. Hummmm. Hummmm. Hummmmmmm.’

Don’t know whether she’s expecting me to join in or not, so I open one eye to check. She looks like she’s concentrating really hard, both index fingers touching her
temples, when my glance wanders from her face to the clock over the door. ‘Bugger!’ I announce. ‘I have to dash.’

She comes out of her trance-like state. ‘What about that batch of hotel copy you were finishing off? Don’t forget to drop it on Turks’ desk on your way out.’

I squirm. This is the part of the job I dislike most.

‘Can’t you do it? Just have a peek at it first. Check everything’s all right.’

She laughs. ‘It’ll be fine.’

‘You think?’ I hesitate in the doorway, filled with a sudden panic. ‘It might be crap. Maybe I should give it one last polish before I hand it over?’

‘Polish anymore,’ she snatches it from the shelf, ‘and you’ll wear a hole in it. Now go on. Off with you.’

Unfortunately as I’m bolting out the building, Lewis is leaning against the reception desk chatting to Alice. I see him glance at his watch.

‘Leaving already?’ he quirks an eyebrow. ‘Tell me, I’m curious, dearheart. You and Rosa working as a duo, does that mean you share a salary?’

‘Funny, Lewis.’ Alice leaps to my defence. ‘So with you and Gurlet only having the one dick, I take it your salary must be teensy weensy…’ She holds up her little finger. ‘Eh, Cathy?’

‘Not sure how it works,’ I squeeze past him. ‘See you all tomorrow. See you.’

***

I’m clearing up the plates from Mama’s special Wednesday Night Children’s Surprise (left-overs from Monday and Tuesday, mashed with a blender, fried fast and smothered in tomato sauce) when I hear Declan’s key turning in the lock. I check the wall clock. Six-thirty. He went through a difficult patch a few months back. There was a threatened takeover and for a while things looked grim, possibility of him being made redundant, etc. and he had to work all the hours he could before it got sorted, which thankfully it did. All that remains of those days are a few worry lines on his face but heck he’s forty-three now so I’d be worried if they weren’t there. Anyway, apart from yesterday’s blip, he’s been home every night recently to have dinner with me, which is a complete change from those bad old days.

‘How was work?’

‘OK.’ He throws his briefcase on a chair.

‘Just OK?’ I lean forward and raise my cheek for a peck.

‘Well,’ he says glibly, ‘we can’t all have dream jobs like you, can we?’

‘Suppose not.’ I follow him into the kitchen. ‘Dinner’s on the boil.’

‘Great,’ he lifts the saucepan lid and takes a sniff. ‘Mind if I eat in the other room? I’m shattered.’

‘I’ll bring it in to you.’ Excellent wife, I think to myself. Works all day – well, part-time anyhoo. Brings in wages. Cares for children. Has home-cooked meal waiting on husband’s return. What more could a man want? I mean the house is still a mite messy but you can’t have everything, can you? Thank goodness for Pimple, our cleaning lady. At least she whips it into shape once a week.

‘Mum,’ Sophie’s sitting at the table, stabbing a pencil into an exercise book, ‘I need help with my homework.’

‘In a minute, darling.’ I smooth down my metaphorical apron and kiss her head. ‘Just getting Daddy’s dinner first.’

Back in the lounge, Declan’s sitting with his feet up on the coffee table. ‘They’ve a lead on that Crouch End Creeper.’ He puts aside the
Hornsey and Crouch End Journal
before taking the tray and laying it on his knees. ‘Police have outdone themselves this time. They say here that–’

He’s interrupted by his ringing mobile. Apologetically he hands the tray back, twisting to reach inside his back pocket.

‘Hi, Mike. Yes, yes. Ohno.’ He drops his feet back on the floor. ‘When? How? I’m gobsmacked! What about his wife? Is she…’

I move closer, tray still in hand, trying to eavesdrop.

‘I was only talking to him yesterday,’ he continues. ‘So full of… Is there anything I can do?’

I put his cooling dinner on the table and edge even closer, until my head’s pressing into his, pushing against the phone. Still all I can hear are squawks and growls. Irritated, Declan switches the phone to his other ear and waves me away.

‘Right, whatever. Let me know. Yes, yes…I’ll be in all night. Call me whatever time.’ He rings off and turns to me. His face is ghostly pale and he’s shaking his head as if not quite believing something.

‘What is it?’ I ask concerned. ‘What’s happened?’

‘Hugh’s had a heart attack.’

‘Oh no!’ I say automatically. ‘That’s terrible.’ Then I pause. ‘Who the hell’s Hugh?’

‘Young feller in the office. Fit as a fiddle. Mid-thirties at most. Plays squash most weekdays, cricket at weekends.’

‘Go on.’

‘Ran most evenings. Swam early mornings.’

‘I didn’t mean go on, tell me about his whole fitness regime.’ I stifle a giggle and attempt to downturn my mouth. Not that I’m callously indifferent to Declan’s unknown workmate but tragic situations often have that effect on me. A nervous reaction, defective brain wiring maybe, but it’s horribly embarrassing. I remember once eyes streaming with laughter as one of my friends told me the sad story of how her father died by a lightning-struck tree falling on him and I was feeling really sympathetic, I swear I was. ‘I meant, go on, what happened?’ I wheeze, trying to compose my face.

He rubs a hand through his hair. ‘According to Mike he collapsed out jogging a couple of hours ago. Heart attack. They took him to the Whittington Hospital.’

‘He’ll be all right,’ I console.

‘It sounded pretty desperate. Intensive care.’

I hesitate as I look at his sad face. ‘Maybe I should stay in this evening?’

‘No, no. Go out, enjoy yourself,’ he insists. ‘Not like there’s anything you can do. I need to make some calls.’

***

I hustle the children into their baths and prepare them for bed. Josh wants me to read him the
Nine Armed Mutant from Mars
again while Sophie’s hiding the
Beano
behind a maths book. I’ll take on Josh first.

‘Come on. Into bed.’

‘Won’t be a sec.’ Josh reaches up to adjust the temperature gauge for his vivarium. ‘I have to dust the crickets.’

Oh God, not again. He has to sprinkle this calcium powder on these poor little crickets so Lizzie, his pet gecko, absorbs enough nutrients. Kind of like seasoning.

After I finish the book I pull up his duvet and tuck it around him. ‘Now, Mr Head in the Bed, I want you to shut your eyes and think lovely thoughts.’

‘Are you going out, Mummy?’

‘Yes, I am, my precious one.’ I sneak his teddy bear next to him which he pretends not to notice. ‘See you in the morning.’

‘Is it your ATMs meeting?’

‘TTMs,’ I correct making Teddy kiss his little pink ear. ‘ATMs are cash machines. While TTMs are my mothers’ restaurant research group. But they’re not called TTMs anymore, because we changed Tuesdays to Wednesdays and it’s once a week instead of twice a month. Now, enough.’ I gently pinch his warm left cheek. ‘Sleep tight.’

As I leave the bedroom, eyes averted from the sight of the gecko staring greedily at his walking grub, I can hear Declan mumbling on the phone upstairs. I do feel a mite guilty going off to meet the girls, but he was adamant, wasn’t he? And after all, it’s not like Hugh’s dead or anything, is it?

Chapter 4

‘Men. Can’t live with them.’ Janet spits out an olive pip.

‘Can’t live without them.’ I spit out an olive. I’ve never liked them and never will.

‘No,’ says Janet shaking her head vigorously. ‘Can’t live with them. Full stop.’

‘Oh yeah.’ I forgot for a moment Janet was a man hater. I swiftly change the subject. ‘Hugh had a heart attack today.’

‘Hugh? Who the hell’s Hugh?’ Isobel asks.

‘Young guy. Works with Declan. He was jogging. Poor old Declan seemed pretty cut up about it.’

Isobel sighs. ‘Heart attacks are really not as bad these days as they used to be. Often people have them and they just carry on and a month or so later they visit their doctors and the doctors go, “Hey you know you had a heart attack a while back?” And they reply, “Oh did I?” And the doctors say, “Yes, you bloomin’ did”.’

‘And afterwards,’ Janet puts her two-pennyworth in, ‘they run fund-raising marathons and all sorts.’

‘Three cuppas a day keeps heart attacks at bay,’ Isobel contributes.

‘So you see,’ says Janet, ‘it’s probably nothing. They’ve no doubt caught it in time.’