The Hoax

by Paul Clayton

  Ashmere Court consisted of two large Edwardian houses knocked into one with an unsympathetic two-storey red-brick extension set to one side. Mr Dale’s office occupied the front drawing room of one house. It was a cavernous affair with an odd smell; it reminded Lottie of the beer bottles that Harry had drunk from at meals. A vast desk sat in the centre of a bay window and bookcases filled two of the walls.

  In front of the desk were two comfortable chairs in which a man and a woman were sitting. Mr Dale put his hand on Lottie’s shoulder, led her around the desk and took his seat facing the couple. ‘This is Charlotte,’ he said. ‘Charlotte, this is Mr and Mrs Cooper.’

  The couple smiled. Lottie kept her face still, reserving judgement. Mr Cooper was sporting a red tracksuit top and had a cruel nose and greying hair. He made Lottie think of a vulture, an unfortunate analogy since Mrs Cooper resembled a plump little hen. A hen about to lay eggs. She had a bright little blotchy face, straggly blonde hair and looked like one of those toys that refused to fall down if it was pushed over.

  ‘Say hello, Charlotte,’ said Mr Dale. He started to fill out a form which lay on the desk in front of him. He looked neither at her nor at the Coopers.

  Lottie managed a fairly tight-lipped hello. Mr Cooper nodded. Mrs Cooper clucked into life. ‘Hello, Lottie, it’s lovely to meet you at last we’ve seen lots of pictures of you but you’re a much prettier girl in real life.’ She spoke with no punctuation and without taking breath.

  Lottie wondered why they had looked at pictures of her. What did the woman mean?

  The woman was grinning. ‘That’s an awfully pretty dress do you like pretty dresses? I know most girls wear jeans and things don’t they but no matter when you come and live with us you can wear whatever you like.’

  Lottie’s bottom lip narrowed. What did this woman mean – ‘when you live with us’? Nobody had mentioned anything about living with another couple. She lived here in the home. She had a bedroom that she shared with Little Girl. She was wearing a dress simply because they had to wear a dress on schooldays.

  She didn’t want a couple to buy her clothes. She didn’t want a home with people she didn’t know. They would let her down, like Harry and Joan had. She’d been imprisoned in this home, and yet here she had found a friend in Little Girl. She didn’t want that to end, not now, not today, not tomorrow, not ever.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Frankie parked the car on Village Way next to the gates at the south of the park. She couldn’t bear to go home.

  This wasn’t how the day should have ended. She’d been told to take her things and get out of the office. They’d suspended her pending further enquiries, and she knew that meant they had fired her. It was a question of who had said what in the room. There was no proof that Terry Breen had made his ridiculous request.

  She hadn’t cried. Inside, she was angry with herself. She could have played it better and pretended that she would go on a date with him. He’d probably have been foolish enough to give her the job before the date. But inside, she knew she couldn’t have done that. She couldn’t lie; her parents had brought her up to speak the truth. Yet this was not the first time the truth had got her into trouble.

  She had let the anger wash over her like a child filling in a colouring book, daubing the figures in one colour. She’d let it push through her without a second thought. Mind you, she’d aimed a pretty expert shot with the computer monitor. The entire glass wall had come crashing down.

  She walked into the park. When she saw the dog signs, she thought of driving home to collect Dimwit from Mr Jenkinson, but instead she set off down the No Dogs side to one of her favourite benches. Alderman Parkin’s bench was in a peaceful place on a little terrace by the edge of the lake.

  She watched the moorhens, the grebes and all the birds she’d learned to identify from the large noticeboard at the water’s edge. She wasn’t sure how long she sat there. She must have closed her eyes and fallen asleep.

  ‘I expect I’m the last person you want to see.’

  Frankie opened her eyes. The first thing she saw was a snatch of the green-and-yellow coat. She wondered why Cora wore it almost every day. Not for the first time did the red hair, the coat and this morning’s yellow training shoes with a hint of orange bring to mind the clowns Frankie had found so unfunny and frightening in the circus as a child.

  ‘Hello. Not sure I’m good company. Not been the best of days.’

  ‘You’d better tell me all about it, then,’ said Cora, settling herself on the bench next to Frankie. ‘After all, that’s what friends are for, isn’t it?’

  Cora listened to Frankie’s story. She could see her flick between anger and despair: anger that she’d let Breen put her in such a position and despair at feeling so helpless. She finished the story.

  ‘Thanks for listening.’ Frankie suddenly became more tearful.

  Cora didn’t do touching; she found it painful to console and hug people. Her entire body tensed as she laid a hand on Frankie’s forearm and patted it. She didn’t know what to suggest. She found it hard to understand why Frankie was so distressed. Surely there were other jobs? Not that Cora knew much about work. She found it hard to comprehend Frankie’s behaviour. ‘Is it a good time for a pot of tea?’ she asked.

  Frankie sniffed, nodded and stood up. Together they strode along the side of the lake. They were turning onto the central path up to the north gate when a crocodile of young children came towards them. They stepped to one side to let them pass. The youngsters all wore red sweatshirts and black shorts or skirts. There were four adults wearing the same red shirts with yellow hi-viz jackets with the words Teaching Assistant on the back. The crocodile moved in an exceedingly orderly fashion, rippling with animated chatter as the children continued their afternoon trip into the park.

  Once it had passed, Cora stepped onto the path and they headed towards Deli Do.

  ***

  ‘That’s something I’d like to do,’ said Frankie, tipping another spoonful of sugar into her cup.

  ‘Teaching assistant?’ Cora sipped her tea. ‘But you’ve got three marvellous children.’

  ‘I know, and I love them, but I don’t get paid for looking after them. Imagine if I did. What if I had a job where I got paid for doing something I do well and I enjoy? Something where I didn’t have to deal with idiots who don’t know their USB from their arsehole?’

  ‘I certainly know what the latter is,’ said Cora.

  Frankie spluttered into her tea. She liked Cora and loved the fact that she could still surprise her.

  ‘You’d like a job working in childcare?’ asked Cora.

  ‘Yes, I would. I don’t have a chance of getting one, but it’s what I’d like.’

  ‘Don’t give up before you’ve started. Think positive.’

  Frankie laughed. ‘With three kids and no cash coming in, it’s hard to jump for joy.’

  Cora finished her tea and picked up her bag. ‘Things to do, people to see!’

  Frankie stood to embrace her. She felt Cora stiffen. ‘Thanks for today, Cora. And I’m sorry about this morning.’

  Cora pulled back out of the embrace and laughed. ‘I think cranberry juice can bring out the worst in all of us.’

  ***

  Back in her flat, Cora gazed out of the window while she waited for her computer to boot up. She loved watching people in the park through the trees, moving around like little ants, scurrying along their own path with no pattern or reason. She was far enough removed to be a passive observer, untroubled by their strife, but knowing that, like ants, they were so easy to trample.

  The computer flickered into life. It was getting past its sell-by date. Everything took a bit longer than Cora would like. Clicking onto her Frankie Baxter document, she checked what was now three full pages of text. Then she started to type:

  Childcare.

  J
ob.

  Opportunity …

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  It was five days later when the email arrived. Frankie’s contract with the Techno Factory hadn’t ended, but she’d cleared her desk when she left and had not been back. Nobody had requested her to return the company laptop she used at home, so the kids were using it. She allowed Shannon and Henry access for a couple of hours each night under the pretence of doing homework. Jonny had managed to invest in a Smart phone and tablet. Frankie knew she should have asked where he’d earned the money to buy them but she wanted him to know that she trusted him, so she decided to let sleeping iPads lie.

  Now her days advising people on how to deal with hardware and software problems were over, Frankie didn’t spend much time on the laptop. She did online banking and would occasionally look things up, although she preferred the kids to do that on their phones. Once a day or so, she opened the laptop to go through her email. That was when she saw it: a little red number six clinging to the outside of a blue circle on her menu bar.

  Once she had turned down offers of limitless wealth from Nigeria, three phishing emails from a bank and an imaginary building society, and an offer to sign up to meditation apps for inner calm, there was one unopened email.

  Childcare assistant vacancy application PU 791F, it said in the subject box. She knew all about not clicking on strange emails but the subject matter caught her attention.

  Jonny had told her about a programme he’d watched on TV revealing how your phone could listen to you. ‘That’s how they know what adverts to send,’ he’d told her.

  She’d been sceptical. ‘I think my phone listens to me about as much as you three do,’ she’d said. Now, seeing the email, she thought about her phone resting on the table in Deli Do last week while she’d chatted to Cora about being a childcare assistant. Was she putting two and two together and making five? There didn’t seem to be any other answer.

  Sure enough, the email contained a dream job opportunity.

  Develop your career in childcare in our award-winning day nursery!

  Are you looking for a new rewarding and challenging role? We are seeking a confident, knowledgeable and enthusiastic candidate to join our friendly, passionate team and continue our high-quality provision.

  The right candidate will have a strong work ethic and be enthusiastic about learning new skills. You will complete your childcare qualification with Langley Training, who will work closely with the nursery to support you through your course.

  This is a full-time position working 42.5 hours a week between 7.30am and 6.00pm Monday–Friday.

  We have an amazing learning environment which includes 10 playrooms, a sensory room, a sports hall, a large outdoor learning environment, a baby garden and sand pit. We are just a three-minute walk from Langley overground station.

  These posts are covered by the Rehabilitation of Offenders (Exceptions) Act 1975. If successful, you will be required to apply to the disclosure and barring service for an enhanced disclosure.

  The job description made Frankie sit up. Getting paid to do something she loved and was good at? Wasn’t that what she’d said to Cora? It was a dream in an email. And training was provided for the successful applicant!

  She clicked on the link at the bottom of the mail and, sure enough, it took her straight through to the website for Langley Park. It looked like too good an opportunity to miss; now there was just the problem of writing a wonderful application letter and dazzling CV that would secure her an interview.

  There comes a point in the life of most mothers when they realise that they don’t know their daughters. Few have remained unsurprised by their female offspring, no matter how close they are. Over tea at the kitchen table that evening – oven chips and a fairly divided steak and mushroom pie – Frankie mentioned that she was thinking of a change of job and would need a CV. None of them seem surprised at the news.

  Henry asked, ‘Does that mean we’ve got to move, Mum?’ and needed reassuring that it didn’t. Then Shannon uttered what had to be the most remarkable sentence Frankie had ever heard her construct. ‘I could make your CV for you, Mum. On the computer. I know how to do those.’

  ‘Can you?’ Frankie tried not to sound too astonished.

  ‘Yes. I’ve made them at school. I did one for Mr Betts, the chemistry teacher, when he was leaving. I want to work in a publishing and graphic design when I leave school.’ She shovelled another eight chips into her mouth.

  ‘Thank you, my love. That would be great.’

  Later that evening, Frankie sat at the kitchen table watching in awe as Shannon’s fingers whizzed across the keyboard, moving page borders and headings, changing font sizes, and producing what in Frankie’s eyes was easily the most professional CV she’d ever seen. After another half hour spent completing the online application form and attaching the document, Frankie pressed send.

  Shannon mooched through into the living room and flopped onto the sofa.

  ‘Thanks love. That was really helpful,’ said Frankie.

  The reply, unintelligible as it was, established that Shannon had reverted to full grunt mode.

  ***

  ‘And you’ve applied?’ said Cora

  ‘About four or five days ago. Haven’t heard anything yet. Don’t think I’ve ever spent so much time checking my email.’

  ‘Good luck. It sounds right up your street, exactly what you’re looking for.’ The two of them were trying out Snifters, a wine bar at the bottom end of the high street opposite the park gates.

  ‘I left Jonny in control. I had to tell somebody I’ve done something about it. All my mates were people from work and I don’t see them any more. And as you and I were talking about jobs the other day, it seemed right to let you know.’

  Cora smiled. ‘Well done you.’

  They spent the rest of the evening finishing two bottles of an expensive Pinot Grigio Cora had put on the table when Frankie had arrived.

  ‘Better make sure that Jonny’s got the other two in bed.’ Frankie slurred her words. A night out with a mate and a bottle of wine each was not something she was used to. Cora seemed fine, but Frankie tripped on the step leaving the wine bar and then on the kerb outside the park. They parted at the gates and Cora headed up the hill.

  Frankie didn’t actually know where Cora lived. She talked of living by the park, but there were lots of houses and blocks of flats along Parkside, some of them rather grand. Perhaps next time they met, she should try and get an invitation?

  Frankie stumbled along the pavement, following the outside of the park towards the south gates from where she could turn for home. The evening had tipped into darkness and along this particular road it was a question of moving from pool to pool of streetlight.

  She’d been walking for about five minutes when she heard a noise behind her. Not sure whether she should turn and check, she stopped and bent down, pretending to tie her shoelace and steadying herself with a hand on the railing. As she did so, she peered back over her shoulder. The street was empty, the three pools of light behind her clear, their edges defined by velvet darkness.

  She set off once again and, sure enough, there was the noise again. It was from a hard shoe, not a stiletto but something low, clicking on the pavement. Frankie crossed the road, glancing back from where she’d come. Bushes poked through the park railings and the darkness beyond seemed forbidding and impenetrable. On the other side of the road there were a number of driveways and gardens bordered by hedges. Lots of places for someone to hide, she thought.

  It might have been the wine, but she felt very nervous and alone. She could see the main road ahead of her. That was where she needed to be so she would feel safe.

  She quickened her step, taking comfort from the knowledge that if someone rushed at her she could run up to one of the houses she was passing and bang on the door. She hurried forward and was almost at
the main road with its well-lit pavements when she heard a metallic clash and a stifled groan.

  Stopping dead in her tracks, she turned. Something about the sound was familiar. She took a deep breath. ‘You’d better come out. I know who you are.’

  Chapter Thirty

  Frankie had a sore head. She managed to burn the toast and give Henry the wrong cereal. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d had a hangover, but there was something satisfying about it. Part of her knew this was what her soul had been missing, some ‘me time’. Although loving her children was still the fundamental reason for her existence, she realised she’d do it better if she had a little happiness in her own life.

  Her stumbling around didn’t pass unnoticed.

  ‘Are you ill?’ asked Jonny. Remarkably, all three children were ready to leave the house and Frankie was still sitting, clutching a cup of coffee.

  ‘No, I’m fine. I went out with Cora. We had a bottle of wine. Two, if I’m being honest.’ She chuckled. ‘I was a little merry. Cora had to escort me home.’

  ***

  Having been called out as the mystery stalker, Cora had stepped out of a nearby driveway. ‘I knew it was you.’ Frankie started to laugh. ‘What on earth are you doing?’

  ‘Someone has to make sure you get home okay. You were a bit of a sight crossing the road when you left me. I thought a walk round the block would do me good and let me keep an eye on you.’ Cora moved into the light.

  ‘I’d hoped you were a stalker.’ Frankie giggled. ‘Come to get me.’

  ‘Of course not. Well, not yet anyway.’ Cora laughed and reached out to steady her. Frankie hooked arms and they wandered along the street, Cora trying to provide a steady anchor for Frankie’s wobbling.

  ‘Do you need me to come in with you?’ asked Cora as they arrived at the corner by Frankie’s flat.