The Anita Waller Collection

by Anita Waller

  She was convinced the texts hadn’t been sent by Phil. He wouldn’t have sent I love you without following it up with sweets and some kisses. He wouldn’t. So, who had sent them?

  Her money was on Rosie. Somehow, she had found Phil’s phone. But this raised the issue of where he was – he would not have voluntarily let anyone take it. She had to go and see Rosie again, use some pretext of needing a signature to close the file now the cheque had been paid in – if indeed it had been paid in.

  Maybe Phil would be there this time. And if not, she would insist on seeing him to get his signature to sign off the case. She would have to hope Tom and Oliver didn’t get to know about it.

  One way or another she would see Phil, she needed to get rid of this anxiety, needed to know he was okay.

  She stood, leaving the table clearing to Gareth. ‘I’m going to bed. I’ve got a thumping headache, so I’m taking some paracetamol and going to sleep it away.’

  ‘You okay apart from that?’ Gareth asked. ‘You’ve been very quiet.’

  ‘It’s the headache.’ She gave a small smile. ‘Don’t wake me when you come up, will you?’

  ‘Of course not. I might play the lad here, at that new game he’s got.’

  ‘You’re not good enough, Dad,’ Dan said. ‘Go and have a pint instead. I’ll look after Mum.’

  Liz left them to their chatter and walked up the stairs, holding on to her handbag. She needed to check the Nokia again.

  She had a quick shower, slipped into her nightie, and huddled down in bed. She did have a headache, but it was nowhere near as bad as she had said downstairs. She closed her eyes for a minute, and then took out the phone. Nothing. No texts, no missed calls. She double checked she hadn’t caught the silent button, and slipped it back into her bag, zipping up the pocket.

  And then she had a light bulb moment. Whoever had the phone that had been Phil’s, hadn’t learned of their affair through that. Phil must have stuck to their agreement to delete everything, because if he hadn’t, they would have seen how he ended every text, and copied that. So how did the person, or persons, know about her and Phil? As far as she was aware, nobody knew.

  Or had Phil confessed to Rosie? She knew they had a strange relationship, and Phil considered it to be a platonic one, but what if Rosie still wanted him? Could she be sending the texts? And if she was, what had happened to Phil?

  Liz tossed and turned, unable to sleep. She tried reading, tried listening to some smoochy Sarah Vaughan, and then gave up. She heard Gareth return, although she knew he hadn’t had a lot to drink; he was a loud man when there was too much alcohol inside him, but he merely closed the front door, switched off all the lights and headed upstairs.

  Dan was in his room, and she heard Gareth whisper good night to him. By the time he reached their bedroom, her eyes were closed, and she pretended to be asleep. He slid in beside her, and within five minutes was snoring softly.

  All was peaceful in the Chambers’ household. Liz reached for her kindle and once again tried to read. This time it worked, and fifteen minutes later her eyes closed.

  The little Nokia had already received another missed call, and a text that said Hope our son is okay. Sleep well.

  Chapter 9

  Liz didn’t check the Nokia until late Saturday. When she did, she gave a small cry. Dan popped his head around the lounge door.

  ‘You okay, Mum?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ she said, a brightness in her voice that was false. ‘I read something on Facebook that made me laugh aloud. Sorry.’

  ‘No problem. I’m going up to my room. I won’t disturb Jake.’

  She smiled. ‘Thank you. Where’s your dad?’

  ‘Nipped to the shop. Said something about wine.’

  She nodded. ‘Thanks, Dan. How’s the game coming on?’

  ‘Good. I’m sending it to a couple of mates from school for them to give it a go, and give me some feedback.’

  ‘So, what are you doing at the moment?’

  ‘Don’t ask me, Mum, and I won’t have to lie to you,’ he laughed.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Just joking, just joking. I’ve an essay to do before Monday, so I’m working on that. Mum… are you and Dad okay?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘It’s just… you’re a bit miserable, seem fed up.’

  ‘If I am, it’s not your dad’s fault. I miss Jake, and it’s not been as easy leaving him, as I thought it might be. That’s all it is, honestly. Me and your dad are absolutely good.’

  ‘That’s a relief. I’m too old to start having uncles.’ He flashed his blue eyes at her, and headed for the stairs.

  She shook her head, and laughed aloud. Dan could always cheer her up. She put the Nokia back into its pocket, and thought about the strange text. Jake’s parentage was something only she and Phil knew about. So, did this mean it really was Phil sending the messages?

  She knew it wasn’t. Therefore, was the text a stab in the dark by someone playing silly guessing games?

  She was stuck until Tuesday; she could do nothing with Jake to look after, she would have to wait until she returned to work. It was so frustrating. Most of what she was thinking was guesswork based on what she knew for facts, but it really didn’t help solve anything.

  ---

  There were no more texts or missed calls, and she tried to push it firmly to the back of her mind, but at odd moments it crept through. If she could only speak to Phil once, it would settle her down.

  On Sunday, there was a significant snowfall, and Dan built a snowman for Jake in the back garden. He said it was for Jake, but it was a work of art, and she did have to ask the question who it was really for.

  She had a long chat with Julia, who filled her in on all of Oliver’s faults as a husband, whilst negating any issues she might have brought to the marriage. By the end of the conversation, Liz realised the balance of the marriage wasn’t wholly down to Oliver’s controlling nature, Julia Hardwick was a truly selfish woman. On reflection, Liz decided, they probably deserved each other.

  The sun came out Monday morning, and by the evening most of the snow had gone. The snowman was still standing, but looking a sorry spectacle indeed.

  Liz had done some preparatory work for a case that needed sorting on the Tuesday, and she closed her laptop with a sigh. Tuesday meant giving a lot of thought to the Latimer problems; she had to speak to Rosie somehow.

  She briefly considered talking to Tom Banton about the whole situation, but she didn’t think she could take the condemnation that would inevitably emanate from him. It was against every rule in the book, fraternising with clients, especially married ones. He would have to dismiss her, and she didn’t think she could take that. No, she was on her own.

  She dropped Jake off at Sadie’s somewhat reluctantly on the Tuesday morning; the tram journey was travelled in silence, and she didn’t even bother taking her Kindle out of her bag. She was troubled, but hadn’t a clue what to do about it. She was in town for shortly after nine, and decided to go for a coffee before heading into work. She sat at the table in Costa, and took out the Nokia. No messages.

  She worded a text carefully and pressed send. I urgently need to talk to you. Please call 9-5. If can’t talk at that time will disconnect and call you back later. Please, Phil.

  Now all she had to do was hope and wait.

  Liz finished her coffee and walked down the hill to the office, listening for the ringtone. Nothing happened, and when she was sitting at her desk, she dropped the little phone into the top drawer. She knew she would hear it in there.

  She surprised herself by becoming immersed in two separate cases, one of which was her own nursing home case, and it was lunchtime by the time she realised there had been no sounds from the drawer. She took out the phone and checked it. Nothing.

  It was a spur of the minute thing to email Rosie. She hadn’t thought about doing it, hadn’t wanted to do it, but did it anyway.

  She told Rosie that she needed confirm
ation that the cheque had been paid in, the company accountants needed proof as the payment had been delayed for such a long time, and she would be bringing the form out to the house on the Wednesday. She would appreciate it if both parties could be there to sign it.

  She signed it Best wishes, Liz, and waited for a response.

  Rosie’s reply came shortly before Liz left to go home. It simply said Okay, Liz. See you tomorrow.

  She collected Jake from Sadie, and headed back down the hill to home.

  The sound of Metallica came from the kitchen, and she called a loud hello, trusting that her voice would rise above the crescendo of the music.

  Jake was tired, and had almost been asleep as she had lifted him from the pushchair. She quickly changed his clothes for his sleepwear, and sat on the floor with him to play for a few minutes.

  Dan brought a cup of tea through for her. ‘I’ve turned the music down.’

  ‘Doesn’t matter. I don’t mind Metallica. I don’t think this young man will still be awake in five minutes, though, so we’d have to have been a bit quieter then, anyway. You okay with the meal? Need me to help?’

  He gave her the look that said keep away from my kitchen, and she laughed. ‘I used to cook, you know!’

  Dan bent down to kiss the top of her head. ‘I know, but let’s say you’re better at legal issues, and leave it at that.’ And then he chuckled as something clearly drifted through his mind. ‘That’s Jake, isn’t it? A legal issue. The issue of a paralegal. Hey, that’s cool, Mum.’

  He moved out of the reach of her hand, and left her to pick up the grumpy-sounding Jake. She took the sleepy baby upstairs and placed him in his cot.

  ‘Sleep tight, baby boy,’ she whispered, and pressed a finger kiss to his lips. ‘Love you.’

  Quietly closing his door, she headed for her own bedroom, where she lay her head on the pillow for a couple of minutes. She was tired, she was worried, and everything was making her feel a little sick. She was baffled, as much as anything – didn’t know what to do, couldn’t understand this strange direction her life had taken; and it had all happened because she had gone back to work.

  Her eyes started to close, and she forced them open. If she slept now, she would never sleep later. She needed to be alert for work, not staggering around like a zombie.

  And the next day, if Rosie’s somewhat ambiguous email was to be believed, Liz would see Phil for the first time in eighteen months.

  Chapter 10

  He pulled the blanket around his shoulders and sat hunched on the camp bed. So cold, so bloody damn cold. He could tell he was starting with a sore throat, and he prayed it wouldn’t develop into anything worse than an irritation.

  He heard the rattle of the dumb waiter and waited. He moved as it stopped, always fearful that if he didn’t get the food quickly, it would disappear upwards. The carrier bag was bright orange, a Sainsbury bag. Over the months of his imprisonment he had saved the carrier bags, building them up to form insulation underneath his camp bed. The layer of plastic helped stop the cold from seeping up into the canvas from the damp floor beneath his feet.

  As always, he waited for the rattle of the dumb waiter as it disappeared upwards, and then he opened the bag. Two sandwiches, two bags of crisps, two bottles of water, a pack of ginger biscuits and toilet rolls. He picked up the ginger biscuits and rolled them around in his hands.

  This almost seemed surreal. There had been nothing like this for the entire period of his imprisonment. He hadn’t tasted hot food for months, had existed on sandwiches and water, and he knew his health was suffering. Ginger biscuits wouldn’t help with his health, but they would certainly help with his taste buds. He picked up the carrier bag and realised there was still an item inside it.

  It was a small metal flask. He unscrewed the lid and saw coffee. He quickly poured some into the small metal cup and drank, burning his lips slightly but not caring.

  Despite having sugar in it, it was delicious. He opened the packet of biscuits, took one out and tentatively dunked it in the hot liquid. It tasted like heaven. He took out a second biscuit and then sealed the packet tightly. He would ration them; he guessed he wouldn’t get this sort of food every day.

  He finished the coffee quickly. His experience of metal flasks told him it wouldn’t stay hot for long, so he drank it and carried it across to the small sink to rinse it out. He placed it beside the hole where the dumb waiter had been, and hoped that by returning it, he would get a hot drink every other day. He would place it inside the box when he took his next food delivery out of it.

  He settled back on to his camp bed and stared at the low wattage light bulb. He had no idea of the time, assumed that when the food arrived it was morning, but it could as easily have been the evening. The only exit from his prison was the stairway; if the light bulb stopped working, he would be in darkness. And still he didn’t know why he was here.

  He felt comfortable with the hot drink inside him, so he pulled the blankets up around his shoulders, and drifted off to sleep.

  Captor watched, and smiled. A small touch of a finger switched on the camera to time how long the prisoner was asleep, and Captor left the stone-built, neighbourless house.

  Chapter 11

  Liz spent half an hour putting together a form that required two signatures, confirming that the cheque had been re-issued following cancellation of the first payment, due to non-presentation at the client’s bank. She made it sound as official as she could, hoping that Rosie wouldn’t realise that there was nothing legal or official about it.

  She read it through for the third time, then fastened it into a clipboard, ready for the Latimer signatures. She needed to talk to Phil, and hoped that Rosie would offer to make a drink, and leave them together.

  She had already checked the diary and seen that both partners were out for the afternoon; Tom attending court, and Oliver had simply put home visit.

  She booked a taxi for four o’clock and returned to her work, satisfied that she could do no more.

  In a couple of hours, she would see him.

  ---

  Jim jumped out of the car and opened the rear door.

  ‘I’m going for a coffee down the road. When you’ve finished, give me a call. I’ll come and pick you up. And any trouble…’

  ‘There’ll be no trouble, Jim,’ she smiled.

  ‘You don’t like going here. I can tell.’

  ‘I’m fine, honestly. But I will ring. I’m going straight home after this.’

  He watched her walk down the path, and didn’t move until he saw the door open.

  His unease made him decide to drive to the end of the road, switch off his engine, and simply wait for her call. He liked Liz, and knew she had been uncomfortable at her last home visit to this house. He’d keep an eye on things while he was near enough to help, if she needed it.

  Rosie didn’t look happy, and Liz felt her heart rate accelerate. What was wrong with the woman?

  ‘Hi, Rosie. Are you well?’

  ‘Yes, thank you, Liz. And you? Come through to the lounge.’

  Liz followed Rosie’s slight figure, and glanced around the room. Phil wasn’t there. Liz didn’t know whether to feel elated or angry.

  ‘Coffee?’ Rosie asked.

  ‘That would be lovely. Is Phil not here?’

  ‘He’ll be here in a bit. He’s been delayed.’

  Liz nodded, and sat in the armchair. ‘And Melissa? Is she well?’

  ‘She’s really good. Staying at my mum’s at the moment.’

  Liz watched as Rosie left to make the drinks, and looked around the room. It seemed bare, devoid of the homely bits and bobs that had been there when she’d had to make home visits while pursuing their case in the courts.

  Now there were no pictures on the walls, no photographs of the happy family, no ornaments, costly or otherwise.

  Rosie returned carrying a tray loaded with mugs, biscuits and anything else they might need for a mini feast. She placed the tray on the
coffee table and poured.

  Liz thanked her, and picked up a biscuit. She held out the clipboard with the form on it. ‘I need your signature on here. Phil can sign when he comes home.’

  Rosie nodded, and unclipped the attached pen. ‘Is it one signature?’

  ‘It is. It’s to prove to our auditors that we don’t issue two cheques to the same client without having a good reason.’

  Rosie signed her name, then handed it back to Liz.

  ‘Thank you,’ Liz smiled. ‘I need Phil’s now, and I can get out of your life.’

  ‘That will be good.’ Rosie’s face looked like granite.

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘Maybe you should have thought about staying out of our lives some time ago.’

  Liz went cold. She couldn’t speak, didn’t know how to respond anyway.

  ‘I know,’ Rosie continued. ‘I know about you and Phil.’

  ‘There is no me and Phil,’ Liz managed to stammer.

  ‘There was.’

  Again, silence from Liz.

  ‘He told me. He told me all about your affair, where you used to meet, how much he loved you, and then he told me about the brat. How could you, Liz? How could you?’

  Liz gasped. ‘But he said…’

  ‘He said we were just friends, didn’t he? Maybe we were, but that didn’t mean I didn’t love him. It never occurred to him that my feelings were as strong as the day we married. I forgot how to show them.’

  Liz was floundering, out of her depth. There was vitriol pouring out of Rosie. ‘Rosie…’

  ‘Just get out, Liz. Leave my home, get out of our lives.’

  ‘I need Phil’s signature.’ Liz was aware how stubborn she sounded.

  ‘You’re not going to get it here. Don’t you understand, Liz. He’s gone! I haven’t heard from him in months. He walked out one day and left. I have no idea where he is, and frankly, I don’t want to know, now.’