‘I do apol…Terribly sorry!’ He repeated himself a dozen times but seemed to have no idea how to let her go.
I circled so that she could see me and he couldn’t. What I meant to do was grab him by the shoulders and prise him off. But at last, simply by backing away, she managed to free herself.
He tried to crawl after her. ‘I did apolo – I did. I kept apologising. I did. I positively ejaculated my apology.’
I was fairly sure he’d hit on the word by accident but now he’d found it he was going to have a spot of harmless fun embarrassing a young woman.
‘I ejaculated,’ he repeated, adding in a confidential tone that rang round the square, ‘I often ejaculate.’ He lurched towards her again. I moved in swiftly behind him. ‘I often ejaculate.’
‘I’m sure you do,’ I told him as I grabbed his arms above the elbows, wheeling him round. ‘And prematurely, if I’m any judge.’ A simple shove was enough to pitch him face down again. I didn’t think he was hurt. Drunks seem to bounce, don’t they?
Linking arms with the girl, I propelled her away from him more briskly than he’d ever manage, even assuming he’d get to his feet again. The pace was soon too much for her. Well, she was wearing those strappy sandals. I’d recognised her at once – she was the police station receptionist with the messy mascara. She clearly didn’t recognise me, and I was happy not to introduce myself. What did surprise me was that she was so shocked – I’d have thought she had plenty of practice dealing with the drunk and the insane in her job. But upset she certainly was. She’d been heading for a swim down at the Stour Centre, she said, after a late shift at work.
‘Next time, slam your bag full in the guy’s face,’ I suggested. Then I realised that I had a plan B for the damned eavesdropping pen. ‘Look, you look awful. If I walked you back to wherever you work, wouldn’t someone look after you? Give you a cuppa? Run you home?’
All this solicitousness must have convinced the poor kid she was at death’s door. Alas, I’d conveniently brought her to a halt by a pizza place that also sold coffee. Plan C. ‘Look, at least come and have a coffee. Sit down till you feel steadier.’
She nodded. ‘My boyfriend – that’s Dave, he’s a trainee manager at the big Asda by the Outlet – is picking me up at half-nine,’ she said. ‘From the Centre. So I mustn’t be late. But I do feel a bit wobbly – must be shock I suppose, though fancy being shocked by a little thing like that. Maybe a swim wouldn’t be a good idea.’
Just about the best therapy, I’d have thought, but I was in selfish mode. I couldn’t justify what I was going to do. I was using her, and I didn’t approve of using people. Even for something good. If getting someone off my back were good, which I certainly thought it would be. And it wouldn’t get anyone into trouble either. Yet. It might of course precipitate a little crisis, with me at the centre, but I seemed to have been dealing with crises reasonably well, weeping episodes apart. That’s what I told myself, anyway.
My plan would mean I had to fork out money I could ill afford for her drink, though. ‘You might do better with hot sweet tea,’ I said thoughtfully, as she collapsed at a table, ‘or hot chocolate.’
To my surprise it was waitress service. The girl who drooped over would clearly have preferred us to order double pizza with plenty on the side, but since we were the only ones in the place she could hardly protest that tables were for eaters only. Messy Mascara proved to have a name, Sherree, poor girl. Sherree Wagford. I clearly wasn’t going to be Caffy, and rather hesitated to be Lucy, given my current state of paranoia. No, they definitely were out to get me, and I’d err on the side of caution. I told her I was Karen. When the drinking chocolates appeared, we both grabbed our purses. I let her out argue me: she could hardly be paid less than me, and there was a boyfriend in the frame. As I returned my money to my bag, it was easy enough to drop the Judas pen into hers.
We talked a bit about Ashford.
‘It’s really grand these days, with the Outlet and that. And all these nice little starter homes they’re building. We’re saving up for a starter home out Park Farm way, really convenient for Dave’s work, though of course it’d be even better if he worked at Tesco, but maybe he’ll get a promotion there when he’s finished his training. The trouble is, we’re both on shift work, so there are days we don’t see each other. Though they do say that absence makes the heart grow stronger, don’t they? Have you got a boyfriend?’
I shook my head. The less of my voice that disembodied listener heard the better.
‘Pity – we could have got up a foursome, if you like bowls, that is. Dave’s ever so good. I’m still learning and he’s ever so patient. Mostly.’
At last she felt strong enough to walk the few yards to the Stour centre. Waving her across the pedestrian lights, I hoped that Sherree and her bloke didn’t get vocal if they got amorous, and that the spy in the sky wasn’t hovering in Ashford Police Station.
I told myself that my flat felt no worse than if I’d come back from holiday. The mustiness would soon disappear. I opened a couple of windows, not all of them, because by now the evening was quite chilly, at least compared with the previous balmy ones. I tipped everything in the fridge, not a lot, really, into a couple of carrier bags which I tied off. Then, gathering them and what change I could, I nipped down to the phone box. I’d need a lift in from Paula, wouldn’t I? I popped the bags into a convenient litter basket.
‘You left him there! Well, his bosses aren’t going to be too pleased with you. But as his other boss, I tell you, I’m bloody furious with him. How many times did I warn him?’
‘He should have taken notice after just one warning,’ I agreed. ‘Did you find anything to suggest a bug, by the way?’
‘You know, I forgot to look.’
‘It might be worth it. You see, I did – and I found someone had planted a very clever pen on me.’ I explained what had happened to it.
‘You think Sid –?’
‘I’d like to think it was Sid. Because the only other obvious candidates for the job would be either Taz or John Moffatt. Would you do something for me, Paula? On your way over here – not at home and nowhere near your usual route – could you phone the hotel and see if you can find out who’s really paying for my stay?’ If anyone could sound as official as the police, Paula could.
‘What?’
‘Say that you haven’t had an account from them yet, anything,’ I said, deliberately misunderstanding her.
There was a short silence. ‘You don’t think an assistant chief constable could be bent! For God’s sake, C – I really think you’re paranoid!’
‘The pen, Paula,’ I said.
Another silence. ‘OK. And where shall I meet you?’ She sounded almost humble.
‘Not my flat. The Stour Centre?’
‘Half-eight. On the dot.’ That was the Paula I knew and loved. But she added, in a voice I didn’t know, ‘You will take care of yourself? Promise?’
‘Promise.’ But my money had run out and she might not have heard.
One of my favourite escapist books was Northanger Abbey, where a naïve but decent heroine has an adventure but is rescued by a kind and pleasant young man. A bit of wish-fulfilment, I suppose, with me as Catherine Morland. Maybe it would work its magic again. I burrowed through the books. No, it must be one I’d thrust at Jan. In any case, I wasn’t a naïve young woman, not any more. What was left? I burrowed again, rejecting book after book. Well, my closest friends would be with Catherine Morland. At last I found a rather battered Jude the Obscure. Would that work?
‘You look rough,’ Paula said as she let me into the Transit the next morning.
I didn’t argue. I felt rough. Very rough. The rough you feel when you’re cold and hungry and had a sleepless night. Those children being hanged, of course. Or did I identify too closely with the self-educated Jude? Whatever it was, something had driven sleep away and the nightmares had come flooding back in the brief moments I had had. Funny: I’d been in real dange
r, I suspect, for some days, but hadn’t woken so much as whimpering. This time – well, what a good job the neighbours were used to my yells.
‘No electricity,’ I said briefly. Who the hell had told them to cut me off?
She slammed into reverse.
‘Where are you going?’
‘Back to the Centre. You can get hot snacks there.’
I didn’t argue. The Centre was already full of people all looking refreshingly normal. A sweaty middle-aged couple carrying badminton gear held the door for me. Kids seethed around the pay-desk while the teacher tried to count heads and pay. Wet-haired swimmers with the most enormous bags slung on their shoulders to the danger of everyone else, shouted their preference for the snacks machine. We slipped between the lot, past homely adverts for bowls and women’s cricket and over-sixties aerobics into the deserted café. Deserted because it wasn’t open, of course.
‘Sit down anyway,’ Paula said, heading for a payphone and counting out change. I didn’t argue. A public phone might be safer than her own mobile.
Listening to her was a treat. Sounding just like a bored clerk, she asked for the accounts department. ‘I’m just checking why you haven’t invoiced us for Ms Taylor’s room. Number 703. Kent County Constabulary. No?’
My stomach clenched.
‘In whose name is it booked then? Who? What? Can you spell that?’
I didn’t need to look at the clear block letters on the back of a gas bill envelope she laid before me. TADEUZS MOSCICKI.
The counter staff came in, laughing as if the world was still turning. Paula patted me on the shoulder and flourished her purse again. A big pot of tea appeared in seconds, toast a minute later.
‘Well?’
‘Well what? It’s like it was before. I don’t know what’s happening or who to trust. And, Paula, I’m bloody scared.’
She didn’t shake her head at the swear word. She gripped my hands tightly. ‘So am I,’ she said. And she burst into tears.
The sight of safe, solid Paula crying shocked me as much as anything I’d seen during the last couple of weeks. ‘I don’t know what to do,’ she sobbed. ‘I’ve got to hold the business together and everything seems to be against it. Taz can’t wave a paintbrush to save his life; Sid ends up in Casualty; Meg gets her migraines and next you’ll say you’ve got to disappear again. If I don’t get the money off van der Poele, how am I going to pay everyone?’
Well, it was a different set of priorities from mine, but I could see that she was thinking of the greatest good of the greatest number.
‘If I disappear,’ I said firmly, if listening to myself with some surprise, ‘it’ll be to Fullers. I can work away there without anyone knowing and – once I’ve found that priest hole or whatever – be as safe as houses. And once work’s underway, Jan and Todd’ll be more than happy to pay as we go. Not that they wouldn’t anyway. They don’t expect the whole job to be completed before dipping into their pockets. Come on, Paula, they’d bankroll you interest free if they had the slightest inkling you’d got a cash-flow crisis.’
She nodded, but I could see Jan and Todd would have their work cut out to persuade her to accept their largesse. ‘And it’s bloody van der Poele, isn’t it? Mean bugger. And knowing he’ll be standing there with his watch like some dreadful Victorian father checking what time we arrive.’
‘Which had better be soon, then,’ I said, sinking the last of my tea and gathering my things. ‘What about the others?’
‘I gave Helen my car and told her to pick up Meg if she was fit.’
‘You’ve been up and about for ages then?’
She nodded. ‘And still nothing done.’
‘If I know Helen and Meg, they’ll have finished the south side already. Come on, we’ve broken the back of it.’ I passed her her bag. ‘You’re absolutely sure there’s no bug in this?’
‘I used another one. Nothing but tissues and purse in this.’
‘Good.’ I suddenly felt I was in charge. ‘Now, the way I see it is this: if I stay my last night at the hotel, no one’s going to suspect anything’s –’
‘Yes, they will. They’ll know your bug’s not transmitting from where it should be. And they’ll have a description of you from Cherie or whatever her name is.’
I nodded. ‘Look, three of you should put on a convincing performance for van der Poele. We’re on safe ground with him. We know he’s evil and possibly a killer with a nasty taste in domestic pets. But all he seems to be worrying about now the “blonde tart’s” gone is progress on his house. He knows members of the team come and go but tend to come back. If he asks about me, tell him – oh, I don’t know… Yes, tell him Sid’s off sick and I’m going to talk to an old friend to see if they’re free.’
‘And where will you be?’
‘On the nine twenty-seven to Charing Cross.’
‘What?’ This seemed to be becoming one of her standard exclamations.
‘I’ve got to talk to Taz, haven’t I? And it’d be a lot better face to face.’
‘But –’
‘I’ll get a cheap ticket. I’ll be fine.’ Of course I would. So long as I could find Taz, and, better still, Jan and Todd.
Chapter Twenty-One
‘How on earth did you get here?’ Jan demanded, almost in lawyer mode, now our welcoming hugs were over.
‘The train.’
Her eyebrows asked about money.
‘Look, Jan, being poor teaches you all sorts of tricks about travel. Just don’t ask. You really don’t want to know.’
Laughing, probably as much as the shock on his wife’s face as at me, Todd intercepted room service and laid a tray on one of their several occasional tables. They might prefer playing camping at Fullers, but they weren’t having a bad life here. Goodness knows how much a simple room cost at a place like this: they had a suite. No wonder the guy on the big front door had wanted to keep me out; no wonder the concierge had stood me in front of a security camera and beamed up my image for them to OK. I wasn’t all that bad, either, hair apart. I’d stopped off at Debenhams so I could at least present myself in clean and decent clothes. I’d remembered all too clearly that it wasn’t my money I was spending so I hadn’t bought more than was absolutely necessary, just a clean top and skirt, both in the sale. But absolutely necessary wasn’t good enough for a place like this. Come to think of it, even a damned good splurge on clothes like mine might not have been good enough. Look at Jan: her slopping-around-in-her-room outfit was a good deal more chic than what was now scheduled to be my Sunday best.
To my relief, Todd’s gear wouldn’t have been out of place on one of Paula’s sites.
‘Drink up, and then we’ll sort this out,’ he said, ruffling the top of my head as if I were a favourite puppy. ‘Including, I have to say, your roots before you’re much older.’
‘Pray God it won’t be necessary,’ Jan said, squeezing my hand. ‘I don’t even know how you like your coffee – or would you prefer tea?’
The coffee smelt as if a princess could have bathed in it, with or without cream. And the biscuits … Well, I’d thought the hotel I’d been staying at was fine, but this was simply in a different league. Or was it simply that I’d never had coffee poured with such love before. No, I’d enjoy – I wouldn’t cry. Paula’s tears had been more than enough for one day. Which is where I started my account. I continued, with only occasional interruptions.
Todd plonked himself down beside me. ‘Taz booked your room? You’re sure of that? And is paying for it?’
‘That’s what the hotel told Paula. And it’s hard to think they’d get a name like that wrong. The thing is, does he know he’s paying? Or has Moffatt pulled a flanker?’
‘You mean, discredited Taz and put himself in the clear?’ Jan asked, sitting opposite us.
‘I thought he was a good guy. Yes, Taz and Moffatt. I trusted them both. Almost –’
‘Almost?’
Almost as much as I trust you two. No, nowhere near as much as
that. ‘Almost is as far as I got with trusting Moffatt. Taz – well, with my life, at one point. Two points. I told you. I’d be pushing up the daisies without him.’
‘That was then,’ Todd said sombrely. ‘Think now. Is he still the same Taz?’
I thought of the awkwardness between us, his embarrassment during the hotel meal. Was it because he’d changed? Or because I had? I shook my head, not to say no but to show I didn’t know.
‘You need to see him. Somewhere you can really talk,’ Jan said. She and Todd exchanged a tiny unspoken conversation, I’ve no idea about what. It was almost as if he were reminding her about something. Hell – were they supposed to be meeting friends for lunch or something? I hadn’t even considered that they might be busy.
All I could do was nod dumbly. In both senses.
‘Why don’t we leave you to it?’ Todd was on his feet, reaching to haul Jan to her feet.
I shook my head. ‘There’s nothing between us. Nothing to make a phone call private.’
He passed over the hotel phone. I dialled. And got nothing but a long burr. He’d disconnected his number. Without telling me.
I held the phone so they could hear.
Todd tutted with irritation. ‘What’s the number again?’ Taking the phone, he punched the numbers in as if daring them to defy him.
To my amazement, they didn’t. The tone came over sweet as a nut. And then the familiar plastic voice of his answering service.
Scar Tissue Page 20
