by Judy Jarvie
I feel as dented as my car.
Will’s a liar and he’s dead to me. He’s a cheat.
* * * *
Rampant hurt doesn’t cover my feelings. Inside me is a churning, dark pool of pissed-off rage. I can’t believe Will is two-timing me. I know for a fact he’s lied. I’ve swallowed his lines and he must think I’m easy to hustle.
I’m so gutted about it all I can’t bear to discuss these events. Not even with my closest pals. I cry and drink a bottle of wine as a nightcap but next day throw myself into work and developing a full avoidance strategy and anti-Will emotional shield.
“Still no news on Dibian. Will’s not in today,” says Jack when he pours me my tea. Jack is back at work on a trial basis—it’s his first day in. There’s more emphasis on tea than actual manual labor but it’s great to have him back.
“Hold on, girl. You got an asbestos throat or something?”
I set a new tea-drinking speed record, because Will’s not in and I want to seize my chance. I leave a note in his office in an envelope and the deed is done in under ten minutes.
It reads,
We’re over, Will. I saw Tessa. I don’t want to talk. Leave me the hell alone. Bullshit is your specialty. Keep your key and put it somewhere painful.
The key he entrusted to me is now in two bits, thanks to a hacksaw and a dose of revenge.
Now attached to the biggest piece is a cardboard tag that reads,
For Tessa. Your next in line.
* * * *
I almost walk right into Lydia Salter on my way back from Will’s office.
“Um. I think it’s best we don’t talk. I got your message.” I begin to walk past, but Lydia reaches out a hand to stop me.
“I’m sorry. I came to find you to apologize. I lied and I’ve felt terrible ever since.”
“What for? Making sure my boss told me off for taking an interest in your welfare? I’m sorry you felt I was poking in my nose.”
Lydia shakes her head. “I tried to cut myself—self-harming, the doctor calls it. I’ve been doing it since the stuff with Sophie and Ellen started but hiding it from Mum. She surprised me in the shower and saw the marks. I thought by lying about you and making it your fault, I could ditch the blame. You were right. You’ve always been right.”
I stand still staring at her. Lydia’s okay. I was right. She’s okay. But she might not have been. Thank God this has all come out.
I try to take in the enormity of what she’s told me. “Lydia. Why have you been hiding this?”
“I wanted to be accepted. I know they weren’t being kind but I wanted a gang. I was sick of being a nerdy, clever geek.”
God. It’s like listening to a tape of myself at her age, recorded for hideous posterity. I badly wanted to fit but did at the expense of my trust. I almost ended up with a broken neck. How low is self-esteem when you’re prepared to take those odds?
“Lydia. I’m sorry. Thanks for the apology.”
“I am sorry I pushed you away.” She’s crying, so I comfort her and rub her hand.
“I’m glad you’re here to tell the tale. How are you going to cope with seeing these girls again? Aren’t you back at school a bit soon?”
“They’re being talked to now—Mum came in to see Rogerson. I said I wanted to come back. I can’t avoid it forever. When Miss James called to say you’d been worried about me, Mum asked questions and I felt cornered. Then she came into the shower. I was so embarrassed but I couldn’t evade admitting that something was wrong. She saw the wounds.”
“You’re alive. That’s what counts.” I hug Lydia. “Why was it so hard to tell me?”
“Like an idiot running to teacher?”
“I meant what I said.” I stare at her long and hard. “Like you, I made a big mistake when I was at school. I fitted in with the bullies by not speaking out. I nearly came unstuck—we both need to go and thank Ms. James for stepping in.”
“Thanks for telling my guidance teacher. She helped sort this out.”
“Come on. Let’s go and find Miss James then. Thanks and apologies all round.”
And that’s not a phrase I ever thought I’d hear myself saying. But I’m very glad Lydia’s come through this.
* * * *
Lydia leaves after we’ve done the necessary and Annie slides a note into my hand as I go to leave her office. I stall, shocked, and stare at her, wondering what she’s doing and what this is about.
“From Dibian.” Annie’s features are pinched as she stares at the envelope in my hand.
“She’s been in touch?”
“There’s a meeting shortly and you’ll know the full story soon enough. The letter arrived in my pigeon hole and I intended to pass it straight to police. There was an entreaty to give it to you. Look, I’m taking a risk here so please give it on to the cops when you’re done. Dibian’s in custody already so it’s evidence.”
“Shit!” I raise my eyebrows at this news. “I’ll make sure the police get it.”
“There’s a nice computer fraud sergeant called Tessa who came to interview me when I first had suspicions about Dibian.”
“You reported Dibian to the police?” I say it slowly because I’m struggling to process this revelation. “Wait, Tessa—is a policewoman?”
“I knew Dibian was up to something so I voiced my concerns to Rogerson. Dibian was always at work, in her office, at night on the computer, sometimes weekends. I’d agreed extra overtime with Rogerson to develop an orchestra workshop. When I caught Dibian lurking in the admin office after hours when she’d no business to be there, my suspicions arose.”
“So where did Tessa come in?” I’m still struggling to work out why she’s moonlighting as Will’s maid or if that was all a cover for their liaison.
“Sergeant Tessa Davenport came from Scotland Yard to interview me. Initially I thought the case had gone cold or maybe I’d imagined it. Tessa has told me today that Dibian’s been apprehended and charged. And you should tell her about your letter. I’m trusting you to do the right thing.”
How crazy and weird and messed up has life become? My pulse is racing and I’m finding breathing normally tricky. I want to back out and run to sit down quietly to absorb this but I don’t. I stand my ground. I struggle to find my voice. “I’ll get this to the police. Thanks, Annie. It seems you’ve done a lot of things right lately.”
I need to find out what the hell’s been happening directly under my nose. But first I need to read what Dibian has to tell me.
* * * *
Dibian has sent me a letter. With the username and password for my Omazod royalty account. The letter is briefish but written in her familiar fountain-penned flourish.
Izzy, I’m sorry for what’s happened. Please pass on to Jack how much I regret what I did to him too.
You’ve probably guessed but there was no fraudster boyfriend. No amount of excuses or words can wipe away the shame of what I’ve done.
I’ll say only this—I never meant to use you or Jack but I do find temptation hard to resist. I knew you had a bestseller on your hands and Jack was too trusting—I couldn’t stop myself, even though I’d been defrauding online for years.
The police are on to me. It started as an experiment—I’m good with computers and great at numbers. English teaching isn’t my only flair. Then it became habit. I’ve amassed a fortune—with good reason.
My sister lives in the States and has a rare cancer with no insurance cover. I’ve been funding her care. Yes, it’s no excuse, especially when I’ve taken so much. When you found me crying in my car I’d had bad news about my sister’s worsening health. I’d promised myself I’d give up the online racket. I wanted to stop but it was an addiction. Like I said, I have a problem.
You’d be surprised how easy it is to get into a system and secrete away a company’s cash. I knew you were writing the book before you told me, I’d been reading it on the server. I always knew you had something special.
You were a friend. It�
��s over now and I’m glad they’ve stopped me.
Dibian
The day’s end bell rings and I’ve a staff meeting. I shove the letter in my pocket and go.
The staff meeting is in the library and I’m there before anyone else arrives. I have so many questions and I need time to myself to collect my thoughts.
Why has Will lied about Tessa? And what the hell’s been going on—from Dibian’s hidden thievery to the realization that our school is a tangled web of intrigue?
Fiona marches up and sits next to me with a loud exhalation. “God, this place has boarded the loony express. Have you heard? It’s everywhere. Even the radio. And officially nobody’s told us yet.”
I purse my lips, summoning the strength to say it. “Dibian’s been charged with fraud.”
“And the rest! Massive fraud—using the school system to access the local authority’s bank accounts, I heard. She’s been nicking left, right and center from a lot of people for a long time. The story makes for juicy copy. They’re saying there were piles of money stacked inside the grand piano in her living room! Can you believe that? And to think I used to lend her change for a coffee in the canteen. Sheesh, some people take the piss! Wanna read the story?”
The strangled gasp I’ve tried to keep inside because I long to cry escapes without permission and it’s loud. I hold back the tears but I’m gulping in air. Fiona grabs me into her hugging arms.
“Shit, Iz!”
My voice is shaky with hurt when I whisper, “The grand piano—I sat admiring it in her room. I asked if she’d duet an Elton-George Michael number for a laugh. Shoulda been a rendition of Abba’s Money Money Money. Was I a willing dupe?”
“Should’ve been I Fought the Law and the Law Won. She’s going to go to prison for a very long time, babe. And you need to realize it’s got nothing to do with you.”
“I trusted her. What kind of crap judge of character am I?”
“She was charmingly believable, doll. Don’t beat yourself up. You weren’t the only one to fall foul of her sticky fingers. Somebody told me they saw her nicking the silver cutlery at Will’s buffet by sticking it in her Carmen Miranda skirts!” Fiona shoves a piece of printed paper in front of me. It’s a leaked news article about Dibian that’s already appeared online.
I scan the text and have to go back and read whole sentences again because the shocks derail me. Her fraud amounts to millions. What she took from me and Jack is nothing compared to her aspirations as a fraudster. I’m speed-scanning the print to glean more.
Scotland Yard’s fraud squad have arrested a North London secondary school teacher in connection with the theft of embezzled funds from the authority’s education service and assorted companies. Her haul of at least two million pounds is the biggest in UK online fraud history perpetrated by a single individual. Victims include local authorities, travel firms, a hotel company, online banking accounts and a department store chain.
My eyes fall on a name lower in the story and I stall. My heart beats fast as I replay the words and realize I can’t take more in. These developments have corrupted my head’s programming.
“Scotland Yard’s fraud inspector Will Darby successfully led the covert operation within the school.”
Fiona’s voice is right beside me but I don’t absorb her words. “Once a footballer, now William Darby, secret star of the Yard.”
“Will is a chief fraud cop,” I whisper, processing what’s happened as I speak it aloud. “Tessa works with him. It was an undercover sting to catch Dibian. Was I being investigated too?”
The article falls from my grasp and Fiona retrieves then reads it, “One time pro footballer Will Darby scored fast-tracked detective promotion post-football after trailblazing in a pilot scheme partnered with FBI fraud experts. Scotland Yard continue to develop such partnerships to great acclaim. Darby’s track record is unparalleled.”
I stare ahead in iron-clad disbelief, then I see the man himself walk through the doorway. He’s tall and grim-faced in his dark suit, with slicked-back hair, and inside me there’s a maelstrom of stormy disbelief.
I’m angrier at his lies than I’m ready for and I grip my bag’s rim so tightly it hurts my palm.
“Lies and more lessons on who not to trust,” I whisper.
“You okay, Iz?” Fiona asks, and she touches my arm.
“Never. Fucking. Better.”
Who am I kidding? Anger is so much easier to swallow as a bitter pill than heartache.
“Is it me or does Will look like a total policeman now I know?” I ask her.
“He’s the same to me. You don’t look okay.” Fi watches me oddly. As if I’ve styled my pet chihuahua’s hair with a set of rollers and tongs. If I had either to hand I’d use them to inflict harm on the inspector who’s come to visit.
Will looks tired. I don’t know whether to be concerned or gratified. Why have I been so ruddy effing thick? Has any of what I’ve been experiencing of late been real? The realization hurts like a throbbing ache that won’t abate.
He walks past me without meeting my gaze so I speak out. “Sir? Nice undercover performance. You played us a blinder.”
He flashes me a steely warning glance and his jaw clenches. I find I want to kick him somewhere painful but Tessa enters the room and Annie’s by her side and they’re talking.
“Oh, look. You’ve brought your cheerleading squad.”
“Izzy. Stop this now,” Will commands.
The police, Rogerson and the guy I saw Will with in the canteen the other week stand in a group. Annie comes to my side and slips her hand over mine. She squeezes when I hand her Dibian’s letter with my other hand. She nods, then gives it to Tessa who flashes a hesitant smile.
Tessa approaches. “Izzy, I’m sorry about my visit. I thought you were going to blow our cover and took action. Got the rap for it, too, from the boss. You didn’t deserve to get so caught up in things.”
“You’re right. Maybe some of you could’ve told me the truth.”
“Couldn’t risk it. We were close to a collar,” Tessa answers.
“She is his colleague,” Annie explains. “Not Will’s girlfriend. I know when you’re jealous—can read it a mile off—I’ve had plenty of practice.” My eyes search Annie’s for truth, because I find, right now, I’m not sure who to believe. “Tessa’s got a partner. Let it sink in.”
I force on a sarcastic face. “Cagney or Lacey? I don’t give a stuff.”
“She’s into girls. How many ways do I need to say your man is still your man? For fuck’s sake, girlfriend, wakey-wakey!” Annie walks off.
Will stands nearby and doesn’t make any move to communicate. There is not a flicker of a glance or a glimmer of emotion. I feel like the biggest idiot ever to breathe, so I say nothing.
It’s over. He’s only involved in ‘the job’. I was a mere casualty of crime busting. Bugger if that’s not shit, so I can’t hold my anger.
“When were you going to confide?” I challenge him but Will is still tight-lipped.
Rogerson throws me a dagger-spiked glare and even Tessa looks like she’s about to go Hawaii Five-O crazy and cuff me against a wall. In a blink, they’ve closed ranks to protect their hero.
I refuse not to have the last word. “I guess you were on work experience. The FBI may think you’re hot shit but I’m left less than impressed.”
* * * *
“So you see,” says Rogerson, summing up like a vicar at a turgid wake, “the BBC were here undercover for Crimewatch. Their staff are covert Scotland Yard. This was a huge sting and an important case.” He steeples his fingers, and I figure this will be the biggest deal of his entire teaching career. “Miss Hicks not only defrauded the London Borough of Barnet’s education department, via cleverly linking into their management accounting system and syphoning off money, she also had an Internet fraud scam going with a whole string of companies.”
Will sits behind a desk, in front of a Scotland Yard logo, looking like Batman without the su
it or gizmos. He’s a policeman. An inspector. And he was never a teacher, he used that as a suitable foil for his undercover machinations.
“I can’t believe he kept it all secret,” I’m muttering.
Fiona flicks me a shush glance and some of those in the front stare to see what I’m on about. They probably think I’m having a flush.
Will briefly slides me a silent quiet command. Shit. It’s Daniel Craig complex come to life. And I’m a Bond Girl gone bonkers.
I should’ve guessed it was too much to dream. The bottom would fall from my fantasy relationship—it always does. I should stick to books—and teaching. I’m passable at those.
Will stands and inhales. “I want to offer Netherfield Secondary School my sincere apologies for the duplicity and undercover surveillance necessary in this case and the impact our actions have had on individuals at the school. This is a major case—Netherfield played a key role in securing our success. Scotland Yard is immensely grateful.”
I stand up. I say nothing. But I walk out.
The sex room in the basement wasn’t a dungeon or a playroom but a cell. A place that should have been padded because it’s certainly affected my mental health. The handcuffs were his day job. And I was sap enough to fall for the emerald eyes and smooth lines.
I can hear Will’s sum-up as I walk out. “We appreciate your involvement in this project. The mentoring footage will not be used by Crimewatch. Police will no longer be based at Netherfield and as of today filming is officially over.”
Amen to that.
Good bloody riddance. I feel kicked in the privates and my heart’s been shredded and pulped.
