Personal Favour (The Neve & Egan cases)

by Cristelle Comby

  I’m only half paying attention to the subject at hand, distracted by the things I’d overheard Stephanie saying by the benches. Had her mother really lent her the money? I know my mother would never do such a thing. She’d tell me that I have enough clothes in my closet already. Had Stephanie lied to her friend then? Is she the thief? Porca vacca! Why is this so difficult? It shouldn’t be that hard to find someone acting cagey and weird around their friend when they’ve stolen something.

  I don’t realise I’m muttering under my breath until I look up to see that Professor Egan’s attention is directed straight at me. I expect him to frown at me, but instead his mouth quirks into an almost smile. It’s an odd look to wear when you’ve caught one of your students in the act of doing something they really shouldn’t be when they’re attending a lecture. I’m expecting a call out, but he just turns back to the lesson at hand and I stare at the back of his ginger head. I make an effort to keep my thoughts to myself for the remainder of the hour.

  With the lesson over, I put my things back in my bag and hurry out of the classroom. My first instinct is to find Irina and tell her what I’ve found out so far, but I know that I need to be sure before I accuse anybody. Stalking Stephanie in the corridors of the university sounds creepy and weird, but I’m not above using that as a final option. I surprise myself to realise that I’m now caught in the game and quite determined to find out who stole the card. I’m on a case, it would seem, and Stephanie is my prime suspect at the moment.

  I’m so lost in thought that, as I turn on my heel, I almost run smack into Professor Egan who’s making his way down the corridor with his customary white cane in hand. ‘Gosh, sorry,’ I say, clear enough that he can hear me.

  ‘Ah,’ he says, raising his eyebrows, as he smoothes down imaginary creases on his navy blue turtleneck pullover. ‘Would that be the dulcet tones of Alexandra Neve?’

  ‘Uh,’ I start, and then nod. Realising that he won’t be able to see, I hurry to say, ‘Yes, it is.’

  I move to the side, and expect him to just walk forward, but he seems content to remain where he is. ‘You took a lot from my lecture today, I hope?’ he asks.

  I flush, fully aware that he knows I wasn’t paying complete attention. ‘I did.’ He frowns at my reply and I add, ‘I’m a little distracted at the moment.’

  ‘So I heard,’ he says, with a tilt to his lips that could almost be a smile. It reminds me of the one he gave me in the classroom and I’m irritated; what the hell is his problem?

  ‘Is there anything else, Professor? I really have to get home,’ I say, trying to back away. Something about his expression shifts, then, but I don’t have time to analyze what it means.

  He nods quickly. ‘Of course. Have a good day, Miss Neve.’

  He turns his back on me and leaves. I watch him go, shaking my head incredulously. Bloody hell, I feel guilty and have no idea why; I haven’t said anything particularly nasty or rude to him, but for a moment it looked as though he was sad about something. I keep watching until he’s turned the corner and can’t help but wonder a little about Ashford Egan. Goodness knows there are many layers to people, but so far I hadn’t considered Professor Egan as anything other than the cold and aloof persona he presents. Perhaps I was wrong. That realisation makes me wonder if I may be wrong about Stephanie as well.

  I take the Tube home, like I usually do, and open the door to the apartment I share with my mother in Hackney. I can hear her in the kitchen as I make my way through to my bedroom, dropping my bag just inside the door and then poke my head around the kitchen door. ‘Hi, Mum.’

  ‘Lexa, darling.’ I take a seat at the table, resting my black converse on the seat across the table, and let my mother’s voice wash over me as she talks about her day.

  ‘— and she came in to collect her order, and then she thanked me and we started talking. She told me how she was having to be careful with her money now, and she looked sad. I can understand. It must be hard to come from money like that and then have nothing. But she is a lovely lady. Mrs. Corrigan, I think her name was. It was on the order slip.’

  I immediately tune back in to what my mother is saying. ‘Did you say Mrs. Corrigan?’

  My mother nods, and continues to chop onions, pushing them to the end of the board. ‘Yes. She came in looking for new shoes. I think we met her once at your University? During orientation.’

  I do remember seeing Lily there, but not what her mother looked like. It helped to know, however.

  My mother shakes her head and drops the knife in the sink. ‘It was odd, though.’

  ‘Why?’ I’m intrigued. Whatever she has to say about Lily’s mother could be helpful.

  ‘You know I don’t like to cast aspersions on people,’ my mother chastises, but she continues anyway. ‘She had the manner of someone who isn’t—’

  ‘—used to shopping in shops like yours?’ I say, grinning. My mother throws a piece of onion at me and I catch it in the air and pop it into my mouth.

  ‘Well, yes,’ my mother continues eventually. ‘Oh, and I meant to tell you. The shop next to ours has a vacancy and I thought of you.’

  I have no intention of getting a job at the moment. I’ve only just started university and I don’t have the time. When I climb into bed that night, I wonder about Lily. Her absences from university, the envy she always seems to have around other students, the hurried changing in the toilets, and now someone who could very well be her mother shopping in some regular, affordable stores. They weren’t the hallmarks one would usually associate with one of Irina’s friends; the ones who came from money and didn’t need to do the things I’d caught Lily doing over the past few days. With a pleased smile, I mentally rearrange my suspect’s list, awarding Lily the first place. If only I could find some kind of proof that Lily is the one who stole the card. I have none.

  I have to get some.

  Following someone isn’t as uncomfortable and creepy as I would have thought. The next day, as I follow Lily home, I keep telling myself that this is for Irina; someone is stealing from her and she asked me to find out whom. If it isn’t Lily, I can reconcile that with myself later, but for now I have to know for sure whether or not she is the one who stole Irina’s credit card.

  It’s easy enough to follow her home. She isn’t taking cabs like most of her friends, instead she takes the Tube. I follow her onto the platform of Euston Square station and sit on one of the benches. I keep a few people between us so that she won’t notice me, not that I think she’d recognise me if she did, but it’s a precaution. When she steps on to the next train, I jog over to the doors she’s just entered and squeeze my way between a couple. I keep Lily in sight as I lean against the glass partition. She’s sitting next to a businessman tapping away on a Blackberry and she looks down at his phone briefly, looking wistful. It’s an expression I’ve seen on her face a lot lately and it fits with everything I already know.

  Lily’s acting as though she doesn’t have the money she once did, and putting that together with what my mother said about Mrs. Corrigan, I wonder if perhaps someone in her family is ill. I know what that can be like, having lost my father at a young age, and my heart goes out to her. If she’s stolen the card, I’ll act accordingly, but that doesn’t mean I have to stop being a decent human being about somebody else’s problems. If they are problems.

  As we pull into Tower Gateway, Lily stands and heads for the doors. This station makes no sense. I don’t know her home address, but there’s no way it can be anywhere near here. I’m curious as to her destination now and careful to keep Lily in sight as she makes her way towards the District line. I keep on her heels right up until we exit at Barking, a district known for being cheap and a little bit rough. As soon as we step outside of the station into the cutting wind, Lily digs into her bag for her phone. Unlike the iPhone I had seen her using on the grass this morning, she pulls out an old phone that looks a lot like mine. She frowns at it an instant, then, after the push of a button, she press
es it to her ear.

  I keep on her heels as she walks, hoping to catch some of the conversation. I hug my jacket closer, making sure my scarf is tight around my neck as a gust of wind almost blows me over. Lily seems oblivious as she says, ‘Hi, Mum, sorry I missed your call. I was on the Tube; I’m on my way home.’

  That settles it; for whatever reason, Lily now lives in Barking. I add this new detail to the long list of things that don’t make sense, confident that understanding will come soon. As we make our way down George Street, Lily seems to fold in on herself, almost as if she’s trying to make herself smaller.

  ‘Tell Dad I won’t be late, I promise. We can talk about it when I get there.’ Lily lets out a small, watery laugh and I wish I could see her face. ‘No Mum, I have enough credit on my phone. I’d just rather talk to him face-to-face, it’s all.’

  Lily needs credit on her phone? I don’t have the money she and her friends do, and I can afford a contract phone. I wonder how bad things have really become for Lily that she needs to do that. I also wonder why she carries around an iPhone still if she can’t use it.

  ‘Okay. I’ll see you later. Love you too, bye.’ Lily hangs up the phone and slips it into her bag, swiping at her a face a little as she does so. We end up walking for a little while longer and while the neighbourhood isn’t awful, it’s a total step down from what I’m used to seeing from the girls that hang out with Lily and Irina. They don’t look like the kind of people that are used to ‘slumming it’ in Barking with the lower classes.

  We come to a small cul-de-sac of red-bricked houses with gardens slightly overgrown and kids’ toys littering the lawns. I hang out at the corner as Lily enters the gate of one nearer the road and I frown as a middle-aged woman appears and envelops Lily in a hug. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but I assume that this is Lily’s mother; and this is Lily’s house. I turn away from what I’ve learned and make my way back to Barking station.

  Before talking to Irina, I decide to confront Lily knowing that it’s better to be on neutral ground, I approach her at university the next day, cornering her in the bathroom. ‘I need to speak to you.’

  ‘You’re Alexandra, right?’ She frowns a little. ‘Um, what do you want to talk about?’

  ‘I know what you did,’ I say, holding her elbow. ‘I think you should come clean.’

  ‘I don’t—’Lily starts, before snapping her mouth shut. She looks resolved, but I’m just as stubborn when I want to be and glare at her.

  ‘You do,’ I counter. ‘I know you stole Irina’s card.’

  Lily’s face visibly pales and her resolve falters.

  ‘I don’t know why.’

  ‘Look,’ she says, wrenching her elbow out of my grasp. ‘I have class. Can we meet somewhere later to talk?’

  I agree to meet Lily at the Pescoti restaurant near the university. It’s a little more classy than I usually like to frequent with someone I didn’t even consider a friend, but it helps to make a point — something I’ve always been good at.

  As I enter the restaurant, after my last class, a waiter greets me and leads me to a seat close to the windows. I order a drink, but don’t bother ordering one for Lily. We’re not friends and I’m not all that sure I’ll like what she says to me.

  ‘Alexandra?’

  Lily has her red hair hanging loosely about her shoulders, which are sagging a little. She’s nervous, I realise, and with good reason. I nod and wait for her to sit down. ‘Are you sure you can afford this?’

  It’s mean and not like me to be that way with someone I don’t know, but she stole Irina’s credit card and I’m not feeling charitable enough to let her off the hook.

  Lily shrugs and sets her pricy leather bag down on the floor beside her chair. ‘You must think I’m an awful person.’

  ‘Not really,’ I say and realise it is true. ‘I think you did something awful. There’s a difference.’

  ‘I disagree.’ Lily looks disgusted with herself. ‘What I did was awful and it makes me a terrible person.’

  Well, at least she’s admitting to it. I don’t bother to agree or disagree with her, that’s not what I’m here for. My curiosity gets the better of me, despite how much I’ve already discovered, and I lean across the table. ‘Why did you do it?’

  Lily plays with the napkin on the table and lets out a soft sigh. ‘My father lost his job. We had to leave our house, cancel our holidays. I didn’t want to lose my friends as well.’ She shrugs a little and then looks at me. ‘Have you ever wanted to fit in so badly that you’ll do anything?’

  ‘No,’ I say, and it’s true. I could never resort to stealing to remain friends with someone. ‘If they really like you for you, they won’t care how much money you have.’

  The laugh when it comes is a little deprecating. ‘It must be so nice to be you.’ She bats her mascara-coated lashes at me. ‘If you have friends, I’m sure they’re nothing like mine.’

  ‘I have friends,’ I point out. ‘Irina is one of them. She would have liked you no matter what happened.’

  I don’t have to point out that she’s friends with me, but I can see that Lily is considering that. She sits up a little straighter in her chair. ‘Are you going to tell her?’

  I nod, and Lily looks resigned, as though she already knew the answer.

  ‘I really didn’t mean to hurt her.’

  Despite how I feel about Lily’s actions, I believe her on that. I know desperation can push people to extreme decisions. I also know there always comes a time when they have to face the consequences of those decisions.

  We sit in silence for a little while longer and I’m considering leaving when Lily picks up her bag again and roots around for something inside. She retrieves a credit card — Irina’s probably — and places it on the table.

  I find myself considering Lily’s position and remember what my mother said about the job vacancy in town.

  Lily slides Irina’s credit card across the table to me. ‘Here. Tell her that I’m sorry?’

  ‘You can do that yourself,’ I take the card and place it securely into my coat pocket.

  After a brief hesitation, I tell her about the job. ‘You should look into it,’ I offer. ‘It would be a legal way to get cash if you’re so desperate to keep the friends you already have.’

  With that said, I grab my bag from the chair and throw some money on the table for my drink. I leave Lily alone to ponder whatever it is she’s going to do now. I have a credit card to return to its rightful owner.

  I have to take a cab to get to the Anderson’s Estate in the north of London. I text Irina on the way and she’s there to greet me as I arrive. She leads me into her bedroom and I take my customary seat at the end of her bed, crossing my legs and resting my bag between them. I don’t waste any time handing back her credit card.

  ‘You found it?’ Irina runs a finger over the card and then turns an expression on me that’s thankful, curious and demanding all at once. ‘Who had it?’

  I tell her everything — from the small observations I had made about Lily, to me following her home and how everything added up to her taking the card.

  ‘You’re a regular detective,’ Irina says with a devious smile.

  As if. I laugh and shake my head. ‘I don’t think so. It was easy enough to discover if you knew where to look.’

  ‘I didn’t.’ I have a feeling that Irina’s pointed look is supposed to mean something, but I ignore it. I was doing a favour for a friend, there’s nothing else there to consider. ‘What are you going to do about Lily?’

  Irina shrugs and looks torn. ‘I don’t know. She stole from me, but I still—’ she trails off, but I understand. ‘I’ll tell my father that I bought those things. He’ll be mad for awhile, but he’ll forget it soon enough.’

  I raise both eyebrows, it’s more generous than I would have been, under the circumstances. ‘Well you don’t have to worry about that right now,’ I say. ‘You wanna catch a movie?’

  Irina grins and gr
abs her bag from the dresser.

  I may not have achieved some great feat by finding Irina’s credit card and I meant what I said; this was just a personal favour.

  The end.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Cristelle Comby was born and raised in the French-speaking area of Switzerland, in Greater Geneva, where she still resides.

  She attributes to her origins her ever-peaceful nature and her undying love for chocolate. She has a passion for art, which also include an interest in drawing and acting.

  Find out more at www.cristelle-comby.com