The Art of Hiding

by Amanda Prowse

  Nina jumped from the driver’s seat and ran to Connor, placing her arms around his tense form and trying to maintain eye contact. ‘Listen to me, Connor, it’s okay!’ she said, trying to sound convincing.

  ‘What’s going on? What’s happening, Mum?’ He looked and sounded like the little boy he had been only a heartbeat ago, when all manner of things from bumps in the night to shapes in the garden frightened him straight into her arms.

  She released her grip and stared at him, knowing that time was of the essence. Panic swam through her veins, but this time there was no daddy around to cushion the blows with a witty retort or the promise of a treat. She had to take control. ‘Things are a bit of a mess. Dad had some problems with the business and we have been struggling to pay the bills.’ She levelled with him. ‘I think this might be connected with that. In fact, I know it is.’

  Connor shook his head; she could see that he was in shock and this small explanation made little or no sense.

  ‘I didn’t mean to let them in.’ He pointed towards the house. ‘They were here on the drive when I arrived home,’ he gasped, his eyes darting towards the truck. ‘And they had this paper, they waved it at me, saying something about court. I didn’t know what to do!’

  ‘This is not your fault. It’s not your fault.’ She tried to reassure him. ‘I’ll go inside now and talk to the men and get to the bottom of it. You go and wait with Declan in the car and—’

  ‘No. I’m coming in with you. You are not going in there on your own.’

  She squeezed her son’s arm, torn between the rush of love at the boy showing how grown-up he could be, and angry at the fact that he had to. Nina pushed through the door and headed into the grand hallway. She caught sight of dirty footprints on the marble and felt a strange sensation. These muddy marks of invasion had served to do something that nothing else had managed, not since she and Finn had first walked through the door all those years ago: they made her want to be somewhere else.

  ‘The owner of the property?’ A short, fat, balding man in a padded waistcoat strolled from the kitchen and asked the question in a casual, presumptuous manner, as if on a sales call. She stared at him and then looked through to the kitchen, her kitchen, where two very large men with big meaty arms and shaved heads and wearing thick, heavy anoraks seemed to be packing up her small appliances.

  They leaned over the counter-tops, reaching up into her cupboards, their unfamiliar fingers delving into the neat, clean, organised spaces. Their eyes darted about, searching among her possessions. She shuddered with revulsion, knowing the room would forever be tainted by the invasion – not that she would be here to remember, and this realisation only heightened her anguish.

  One of the men caught her eye and didn’t look away, his stare a challenge, with none of the awkwardness she might have expected him to feel. If anything, he looked triumphant, as if he were teaching her a lesson. She felt her skin shiver into goosebumps. The other man unplugged a food processor and placed it in a cardboard box, already full of other appliances.

  ‘Yes,’ she finally answered, ‘I am the owner of the property.’

  The man stepped forward with his clipboard and a stubby pencil held between his grubby fingers on which he wore two very large, weighty gold rings. She smelled the sweat and grime that sat on his skin in a greasy sheen.

  ‘My name is Mr Ludlow and I am here today representing the company Mackintosh and Vooght.’

  ‘Yes.’ She pictured the letters in the drawer, saw the red stamp with their words of warning. Connor took a step closer to her and she was grateful. She had always felt better able to cope when someone else was in close proximity: her mum, dad, Tiggy, Finn . . . Mr Ludlow spoke in a monotonous, well-rehearsed, slightly irritated manner, as though this was business as usual, just another job, which of course, for him, it was.

  ‘Mr Finn McCarrick was served with notice to attend the original court hearing on February the fifteenth last year, which he failed to attend. He was then summoned to a second hearing held on March the fifteenth, which he also failed to attend and then finally having failed to turn up to his third and final hearing on April the fifth, the court made the judgement in absentia and appointed my company to act in our capacity as bailiffs to retrieve goods to the value of the full amount owing to Mackintosh and Vooght. We are exercising that duty today and can confirm we did not enter your property with force.’

  ‘He didn’t turn up? Not once?’ She momentarily forgot Connor was close by.

  ‘Not once. Hence our visit today.’ The man placed his palm on his chest and bowed his head obsequiously. She couldn’t have hated anyone more.

  ‘I didn’t mean to let them in. They walked past me when I put the key in the door,’ Connor reminded her. She nodded without taking her eyes off the little man.

  He continued. ‘We will today be removing goods to cover the cost of the debt, plus the court fees and our services. Is that quite clear?’ He breathed through his nose and she heard a faint whistle of a dirty nose.

  ‘Are you allowed to do this?’

  He gave a wide smile, revealing coffee-coloured teeth. ‘Oh yes, all legal and above board.’ Apparently he welcomed questions like this – a chance for him to give the many practised responses he knew by heart, as if this were a game.

  ‘But I live here with my kids! You can’t just come in and take things from my kitchen! I demand that you stop!’

  ‘I would take the matter up with Mr McCarrick.’

  Connor balled his fingers into a fist. Nina reached for his arm and shook her head. ‘It’s okay, Connor.’ She tried to keep the tremor from her voice and looked again at the men who grabbed rarely used bouquets of silver cutlery from presentation drawers, dropping them like clanking confetti into cardboard boxes.

  ‘I do not want you and these men in my house!’ She stood her ground.

  ‘My advice?’ Mr Ludlow sniffed. ‘Would be to stand back and let the boys get on with their job. That makes it easier for everyone.’ He walked towards the front door and shouted back at her, without turning his head, ‘I will be cataloguing everything we remove and you will of course be given a receipt.’

  ‘I didn’t mean to let them in,’ Connor repeated, his breath coming in short bursts.

  ‘Connor, this is not your fault.’ She tried again to reassure him. ‘I’m going to call the police!’ she shouted.

  ‘Yep.’ The man lifted his clipboard in a jovial acknowledgement, as if this too were par for the course.

  She felt Connor’s eyes on her as she spoke to the person on the line, who asked if she had been physically threatened.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did they force entry into the property?’

  ‘No.’

  She ended the call, despondent. It was a court matter and the bailiffs were acting legitimately. She felt utterly powerless and wondered not for the first time why people thought it was okay to treat her this way – first Finn, now these men – as if she weren’t worthy of consultation, as if she had no voice.

  Connor stared at her with his chest heaving.

  ‘Listen to me, Connor. They are only taking things, stuff. It doesn’t matter, not really,’ she managed. ‘What’s important is that we keep things as normal as possible for Declan. We don’t want him frightened,’ she whispered, and just like that she made her eldest son an ally, an equal. This realisation was quickly followed by a wave of guilt. ‘I know this is a terrible, terrible day, but soon it will be tomorrow and we will move on, go forward.’

  Connor gave a brief nod, his eyes wide.

  One of the burly men walked out the door with a box full of kitchen equipment and put it next to the lorry. Mr Ludlow licked the end of the pencil and jotted a note, cataloguing the items onto a sheet designed for the purpose. Nina walked up to him to try again. ‘I understand that you are only doing your job.’ she said.

  ‘That’s good,’ he acknowledged, and carried on scribbling furiously.

  She concentrated on keeping
the wobble from her voice. Her throat felt as if it was full of razor blades, such was the effort of breathing and not howling. ‘But is there anything I can do to stop this? My boys have just lost their dad. He died,’ she clarified, ‘and I just need a bit of time . . .’

  Mr Ludlow smiled and cocked his head to one side. ‘All we need is the outstanding amount settled in full and we will return these items and be on our way.’

  ‘How . . . how much do we owe you?’ She swallowed.

  ‘Sixty-four thousand, seven hundred and eighty-two pounds and forty-three pence.’

  Nina pictured the Post-it note stuck to the side of Finn’s computer. ‘Mac 64500’: not in fact a computer reference – it was ‘Mac’ short for ‘Mackintosh’, and the amount, over sixty-four thousand pounds. She had no words. It seemed that everywhere she turned she faced an avalanche of debt that was coming at her quicker than she could take a breath. ‘For fuck’s sake!’ she muttered under her breath, twisting her wedding ring, trying to take comfort from the small band of gold given in love and binding her forever to Finn McCarrick. ‘For richer or poorer. You were not supposed to run out on me, Finn! You bastard,’ she whispered.

  Mr Ludlow had resumed his scribbling. ‘Your expensive watch, and the rings on your fingers are exempt because they are on your person, but any other jewellery found in the premises will be taken.’

  She pictured the boxes she had already packed up, the jewellery nestled inside along with ornaments and other electronica. With a plan forming, she ran inside and up the stairs, and tucked one of the boxes under her arm. She ran down and past Mr Ludlow, who coughed loudly. Nina stood with her shoulders back, and tried to sound authoritative. ‘These things aren’t mine. They are things I’ve been looking after for a friend. So I’m going to put them to one side.’

  ‘I’m afraid it doesn’t quite work like that.’ Mr Ludlow sucked his teeth. ‘You’d be surprised at the things people say to try and hide the good stuff, and trust me, we have heard them all. Not that I am suggesting that you are being anything other than honest.’ He smiled. ‘Best thing you can do is explain the situation to your friend and if they can produce a legitimate receipt or record or ownership, we can of course return those items to them. This will all be explained in the literature I shall leave with you.’

  ‘But that’s ridiculous! I have told you they aren’t mine, you can’t take them!’

  ‘I’m afraid we can, Mrs McCarrick.’

  She became aware of someone touching her arm and looked down to see Declan patting her.

  ‘Declan! I told you to stay in the car!’ She shouted louder than she had intended.

  ‘I did stay there, Mum, for a bit, but I got scared and I am worried about you and Connor.’ He looked up at her wide-eyed. ‘Why are they taking our things?’

  ‘We owe them some money, darling.’ She couldn’t think of a lie quick enough and as her energy diminished, the truth felt like the best thing. She placed the boxes on the driveway.

  ‘Why don’t you just give them the money?’

  ‘Because I don’t have it. But everything is going to be okay. I promise.’ She wondered how often she could regurgitate this phrase without screaming.

  A sudden yell made them both look towards the front door. Connor stumbled from the house. His expression was one she had never seen; he looked bewildered as he tried to hold on to his laptop, tussling with a heavyset man who sneered at the boy who was trying to hang on to this one thing. ‘That’s mine!’ he yelled, his voice hoarse. ‘Tell them, Mum! It’s got everything on it! Everything, all my photos, everything!’

  The sight sent a bolt of anger through her very being. How dare they treat her son this way, especially when he was already grieving?

  ‘For God’s sake, let him keep his laptop! What kind of people are you? He needs it and it’s got photos of him and his dad on it. Please!’ she urged Mr Ludlow.

  He looked at the boy and then at her, before letting his eyes sweep over their grand, solid home. ‘Here’s the thing, Mrs McCarrick. Rules is rules. You and your husband failed to attend the court despite the hearing being scheduled three times, and as I explained, we are now at liberty to enter your home and take goods to the value of the amount owed, unless you can pay the amount in full.’

  ‘You know I can’t!’ she shouted. ‘Take all of my possessions, furniture, anything, but please let the kids keep their laptops and their things. Please!’

  ‘I’m afraid it doesn’t quite work like that.’ The little man shook his head. ‘The time to negotiate is in front of the judge where you failed to turn up. Put it in the lorry.’ He nodded at the laptop and then at the big man holding it on one side.

  Connor let the slim silver laptop slide through his fingers. He took a deep breath and yelled, ‘You can’t do this! These are our things! How am I going to do my schoolwork? I’ve got projects on there that I need to hand in next term!’

  ‘You won’t be at that school next term, Connor!’ Nina blurted, instantly regretting it. ‘We can’t afford the fees. You have to leave. I am sorry! I am so sorry!’ All her consideration over the last couple of days, and instead it all came out in this rushed, unconsidered outburst that tumbled from her mouth in an unguarded moment. She knew it was as damaging as it was shocking.

  There was a beat of silence while the news settled in the boys’ minds. Declan began to whimper as Connor sank down onto his knees on the gravel and held his chest, struggling to catch a breath. ‘What the fuck is going on?’ he screamed. ‘What the fuck is happening?’

  ‘Connor!’ She walked over to him and laid her hand on his back. ‘Listen to me. We will find a way. It’ll be fine. We will get through this. It’s only things, just stuff . . .’

  He looked up at her, his expression tortured. ‘How can you keep saying that? Do you think it makes things better? Because it doesn’t! It’s not going to be fine, is it, Mum? I don’t think anything is going to be fine ever again. And it’s not “just stuff”. They are packing up our life and taking it away, bit by bit.’ He placed his hands on his thighs and closed his eyes as he took deep breaths.

  ‘Actually, on reflection, you are right. If you need the laptop for educational purposes, then it is exempt,’ Mr Ludlow interrupted, before handing Connor back the laptop. The boy stared at him, unable to thank him.

  Declan clung to her. She could feel his small body shaking. ‘I want my dad,’ he whispered. ‘I want my dad.’

  ‘Well Dad’s not here, is he? You’ve got me, Declan! That’s it, just me!’ Nina yelled, then instantly felt aghast at the look of horror on her son’s face. He released his grip on her and let his arms fall to his sides, sobbing openly.

  Nina sought the words that might offer comfort, remove the harm she’d done. But how could she explain to her kids the struggle to reconcile the man they loved and missed, the man who might be able to get them out of the situation and who always had a plan, with the man who had led them into this mess and left her to pick up the pieces?

  She shepherded the boys inside as dusk descended. They sat at the breakfast bar, watching as the men tramped from room to room, over the beautiful oak flooring and onto the pale carpets in their heavy, dirty shoes. The men went upstairs, returning almost immediately with a television set. They made the trip over and over, with tablets in their arms and watches taken from Finn’s bedside cabinet. They got into a rhythm, handing the smaller items to Mr Ludlow, who made a note with his pencil, loading the bigger things up onto the van. One of the men smiled at her.

  ‘Don’t you smile at me! How dare you? Do you take pleasure from your work? What kind of person comes into a home and takes possessions from children?’ she spat. The man continued to smile. Nina felt impotent and exhausted. It was an effort to remain upright. ‘Are you hungry?’ she whispered to her sons, suddenly aware they hadn’t eaten. They both shook their heads. She was relieved, unsure how she would have managed in the kitchen with what remained of their plates and cutlery.

  ‘I did
n’t know what to do, Mum,’ Connor explained. ‘They sort of rushed at the door and I only opened it because I wanted to get inside.’

  ‘Connor, you have to stop going over it. I have told you it’s not your fault!’ she snapped again. ‘They would have got in anyway. I’d have let them in. It’s not your fault. And over-analysing it will not help anyone.’

  He stared at her with his eyes blazing. Two men sidled past the open doorway, carrying a leather chair between them.

  Nina closed her eyes, unable to watch the parade of their belongings, things she and Finn had chosen together, worked for and kept in their home, the fabric of their lives being unstitched piece by piece. The trouser press, digital radio, foot spa, the oversized lamps from the sitting room, her dinner service, which had been on display in the dining room, pictures from the walls, the wireless telephone from the study and three of her designer handbags from the front hallway. The garage yielded similar booty, including the family’s bikes. Finally one of the men walked into the kitchen and asked for her car keys.

  ‘My car keys? You have to be kidding me,’ she said with incredulity. It hadn’t occurred to her that they might take the car.

  The man nodded and cracked his knuckles.

  ‘I need to empty it.’ She exchanged a look with Connor and went out to the front drive, removing the handbag she had forgotten about from the boot and her make-up bag from the console.

  ‘I will be taking the bag.’ Mr Ludlow fixed his beady, piggy eyes on the Mulberry badge.

  ‘But it’s—’ she began.

  ‘I know,’ he interrupted her. ‘Of great sentimental value, I’m sure, but you already have one handbag on your person and this one has value.’ Nina handed over the empty bag. She had been going to say, ‘It’s full of vomit,’ but he had cut her short. Let him find out the hard way.

  She made her way back into the kitchen and sat next to Connor.

  ‘Are you okay?’

  He gave a single, brief nod, his mouth set in a thin line. His laptop rested under his palm, as if he were afraid to lose contact with it.