‘Do I look like that, Mummy? Do I?’
‘No, no baby. The doctor made you all better, remember. The tiny scars you have will go away forever soon. Remember, the nice doctor promised.’
As she held her daughter, Jessica began thinking of her options again. The longer this went on, the longer Rachel remained in danger of another ‘fall’. Ms Scott would have to get to the bottom of that picture in the morning, but until then, Jessica would mull over the problem of how to save her little girl from the bullies. There had to be an answer somewhere.
Sadly, it didn’t lie in the complete and utter betrayal of the BIBs. Tomorrow night, the plan would unfold, and four lives, and families, could possibly be torn apart.
Watching Rachel cry herself to sleep, patting her back to try and sooth her, Jessica decided that she didn’t care. That Sienna Jordan was probably behind the drawing, so the sooner her mother went to jail the better.
But watching a crying child, and anticipating the tears of another – no matter how much of a bully – didn’t sit well with Jessica, so instead, she tried to figure out how to save her hapless fellow ‘clubbers’ from Gerry Courtauld.
But without sacrificing herself, she couldn’t, for the life of her, work out how.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
AS THEY STOOD THERE, at the back of the jewellers, looking incredibly suspicious in their all-black ensembles and concentrated expressions, a siren began wailing. It was coming closer.
‘Where is Chelsea? She should have parked the car by now?’ Rita’s and Hailey’s senses were obviously on overload, what with the approaching police car, and needed Chelsea’s bolshy reassurance that they weren’t in danger. But the head BIB had gone to stash the car somewhere safe – a task Jessica didn’t understand because the further they were from their car, the more likely it was they’d get caught.
Not that Jessica was planning to get caught. Gerry had told her he would text when the cops were due to make the bust, and she could slip away and escape capture. That’s why the siren didn’t concern her – it wasn’t part of the plan, and there was no text yet.
She’d met the rest of the Club members at Chelsea’s and they all rode down in her Range Rover. Ronald was looking after the kids, after Jessica told him he had no choice but to be home on time. It felt good, getting tough with him, and although he had blustered about having loads of work and how inconvenient it was that she was off enjoying herself on a school night, he was home before seven thirty, and Jessica had actually made it to Chelsea’s just after Frieda and before Hailey and Rita.
Jessica went straight up to the Norwegian and asked how she was feeling. Right after their last meeting, Frieda had called on Jessica and insisted that she was having a crisis of confidence. ‘I don’t need the money, and it is such a big risk.’ Knowing that one way or another, poor Frieda was going to be caught by Gerry and his subordinates if she didn’t give up her ‘job’ or ‘hobby’ or whatever she called it, Jessica told the Norwegian that perhaps it was time to give up stealing for, say, a job in John Lewis. But Frieda said that there was no thrill in working for money, and somehow, the conversation reassured her to such a degree that she thanked Jessica for bringing her back on track.
Now, however, Frieda looked scared shitless, and Jessica longed to tell her to run. If Chelsea, Hailey and Rita were caught, Jessica would find it difficult to feel too upset, but Frieda? Frieda was another matter.
‘That siren can’t be for us, we haven’t even done the job yet.’ Rita looked baffled.
Jessica was thinking exactly the same thing. But it gave her an idea. Now was the time to get them all out of here, before they were caught. She could tell Gerry that they got spooked by the sirens. It was a legitimate reason for running.
No exactly a wonderful plan, Jessica. Gerry will just throw you in jail instead.
She’d have to risk it. At least she had the money for an independent lawyer now.
‘I think I just saw a cop, they’ve busted us. Let’s get out of here,’ Jessica whispered, and giving Frieda, who couldn’t quite believe the abrupt ending to their many hours of planning and plotting, a shove towards the car park, they began to run. After a moment or two, Rita and Hailey followed.
Only Jessica saw Chelsea Jordan, strolling towards them swinging her car keys, and the round ‘O’ her mouth made as she saw them run, and clocked the approaching siren. She tried to wave at her, but Chelsea was on the phone and didn’t notice. Cool as a cucumber, that was how to describe Chelsea Jordan.
When they were safe in a small, dingy café that offered kebabs and fresh juice in a dusty, filth-encrusted environment, Rita spoke the words that they were all thinking.
‘Where the bloody hell did Chelsea go?’
Jessica didn’t answer because she was wondering how to answer the frantic texts of DCI Courtauld. They all basically said the same thing: ‘Where did you all go?’. Rita coughed an order for some coffee and led them into a booth at the back of the store.
Astonishingly, the Gods were once again smiling on Jessica, and the three women got the totally wrong end of the stick.
‘Chelsea tried to shop us.’
‘No.’ Rita’s expression didn’t quite match her words. ‘She wouldn’t.’
‘Well, the only other people who knew what was happening were the three of us. And we’re all here. She’s inexplicably missing.’
‘Maybe she couldn’t find a park,’ Frieda said helpfully.
‘Fuck that,’ Hailey said. ‘Someone told those cops we’d be there. And today, of all days, Chelsea develops a conscience about parking properly – at night! She parks on double-yellows all the time. Since when does she care where she parks?’
Jessica had to admit it was a good point. She tried to make her fellow ‘Clubbers’ see sense. ‘Look, this could have been really bad for us. Why don’t we walk away from stealing?’
‘And do what, tubby?’ Rita spat. ‘The money is too good to ignore.’
‘Not if you get caught,’ Jessica replied. ‘Surely there is some other business you could try?’
‘At this point, I’d be happy to knock off people for money. Beginning with Chelsea.’
Hailey giggled at that. ‘You, a hit person? Oh Rita, imagine it, in your stilettos and Ray Bans.’
Jessica thought that the blame shouldn’t lie with the head BIB. After all, Jessica knew the blonde had just parked her car in a nearby car lot. ‘Chelsea Jordan is a battered woman. We need to give her some slack.’
All three women stared at Jessica, and then, one by one, began to laugh.
Did they have no shame? Assault wasn’t amusing. Even Frieda, who, in Jessica’s estimation, was a cut above the rest, was giggling.
‘You actually think Chelsea is being worked over by that spindly little husband of hers?’ Rita was laughing so hard she choked.
‘I’ve seen it. Well, technically heard it through her front door, but still. There was definite violence.’ Jessica knew she sounded overly defensive but come on, surely they cared enough about Chelsea to not want her subjected to abuse?
Rita condescendingly patted Jessica’s hand. ‘I think you’ve somehow stumbled upon her other little secret.’
‘I don’t get what you mean?’
Frieda leaned on her shoulder. Jessica wished they’d stop touching her. It was becoming creepy. ‘She does it for money.’
Were they all totally bonkers? ‘Does what for money? Her husband is her husband. She doesn’t need to allow him to beat her so that she can pay for the groceries.’
Hailey actually had tears running down her cheeks. ‘You still don’t get it.’
‘That’s ‘cause she fucking naïve,’ Rita said.
‘Get what? Is she a masochist or something?’
Frieda tried to put an end to the misery. ‘Chelsea does it for money.’
‘So Hailey said, but I’m sorry, I don’t understand?’
‘She’s a hooker,’ Rita finally revealed. ‘Men pay heaps to bash
her up. Thousands.’
‘Thousands?’ Jessica figured that explained why Chelsea was mucking about parking the car – probably arranging dates via Bluetooth and didn’t want to be overhead. ‘But if she makes that kind of money, why do the shoplifting thing?’
‘She’s actually the main breadwinner. The husband has depression and hardly works. She doesn’t want anyone to know. So she goes about with bruises and takes all the riskiest jobs at the Club, so that she can pay for all the trappings of wealth.’
‘That’s crazy.’
‘Doesn’t mean it’s not the truth,’ Rita said. ‘So, what do we do now? Go back and accuse Chelsea of snitching?’
The other two concurred, but Jessica had no idea what to suggest. Her phone was buzzing crazily; no doubt thanks to incoming texts from DCI Gerry Courtauld, asking what the hell had happened to the heist.
With the latest news of Chelsea’s sideline career in the oldest profession, Jessica’s head was spinning with the intrigue – and she’d never been one for it in the first place.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
‘THIS HAD BETTER BE good.’ Gerry’s voice sounded echoed off the tiles and even with the running tap water, Jessica was certain Ronald would overhear. Jessica was huddled in the bathroom so that her husband didn’t happen to wake up and ask why she was talking to the police detective at midnight. Ronald assumed that still Jessica was helping the police with their enquiries, because Gerry had said to keep the diamond plan to herself.
‘They got spooked by the sirens.’
‘They were for a pub brawl.’
‘You told me to act normal – remember? Normal for anyone not on crack would have been to run.’
‘Well, my gov’ is demanding someone get arrested. We’ve spent a lot of money on this.’
‘By someone, I hope you don’t mean me?’
‘No, a deal is a deal. And I suppose now that we have the names and addresses we will pick them up in time. Just won’t get them for anything big enough to make them stop their little scam – that’s my worry.’
Jessica was acutely aware that the intrigue had to stop, and there was a possible way to achieve that. ‘I might have something for you; I just have to think it through.’
‘Well, hurry up, before I am booted back to constable.’
‘Let’s meet at the café cum crèche at four tomorrow. The kids have afternoon sports, so I don’t pick them up until five.’
‘Fine, but think hard – or at least give me the movements of your Club members for the next week so that I can round them up.’
‘Oh, I think you’ll be happy with the offer,’ Jessica said. ‘I just need to check a couple of things.’
Hanging up, and quickly washing her face and teeth, she threw open the bathroom door to hear Ronald on the phone.
‘Got to go, you too. Bye.’
That didn’t sound like work. ‘Who was that?’ Jessica asked, walking into the bedroom. ‘I thought you were asleep.’
‘I was, just someone from the office.’
‘At this hour?’
‘It’s morning somewhere else in the world, you know. That’s the deal with immigration law – things can happen any time of the day or night.’ He turned over. ‘Turn off the light, will you? I need some sleep.’
Glaring at his narrow back and balding, greying head, Jessica punched at the switch and then, grabbing her dressing gown, went to sleep on the sofa.
Did she believe him? Why not? What else would he be doing? Planning his own heist?
Well, let him.
She had enough to deal with.
Frieda was surprised to see her at the gym. She’d tried encouraging Jessica to accompany her – guests were free – but Jessica associated the gym with women like the BIBs and steered clear.
‘I need to talk to you, it’s urgent.’
Getting off the state-of-the-art treadmill she was unenthusiastically using, Frieda grabbed her towel and followed Jessica to the small café set up between two dance studios.
‘What’s happened?’
‘A lot. Listen, you have to promise not to repeat anything you are about to hear, because I could get into big trouble.’
Frieda looked scared. So she should. ‘Yes, of course. You can trust me.’
‘The cops are on to the Club.’
Now the Norwegian looked petrified. ‘What? How?’
‘They arrested me, and said I would go to jail if I didn’t give them details of the other people who had worn that stupid ‘Lady Muck’ disguise.’
‘You broke the code?’ The words were barely audible.
‘I had no choice. They had CCTV of me, and Rita and Hailey wearing the stupid suit.’
‘So if they know, why did you go along with the diamond theft?’ Frieda’s watery blue eyes stared at Jessica, and after a few moments, she understood. ‘It was a set up?’
‘Yes. If I told you about it, then they would just arrest me. I had no choice.’
Frieda shook her head sadly. ‘I don’t think Chelsea and the others will see it that way.’
‘Look, I might be able to do a deal, and save you if I shop Chelsea for the prostitution. After all, it’s not safe for Sienna, being in that environment.’
‘And where do you think the little girl will end up if Chelsea goes to prison? The husband is a mess – he can’t look after her.’
‘That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. What if you took her in?’
Appalled, Frieda’s hand was shaking no before the words were out. ‘That child bullies my Annika mercilessly. You think I want her in my home?’
‘I think she made Rachel jump off that roof – so I fully understand your concerns, but think of it this way, you wanted another child, and you might be able to make a difference to her life. You might even be able to save her from becoming her mother.’
‘I don’t know . . .’
‘Look, Frieda, if I don’t come up with something, the police will arrest all of you. That can’t be good for Annika, or the other kids. Rita and Hailey might be foul, but it’s Chelsea who is the ringleader. The Club is run by her, in her home. If she is stopped, you all are. That’s the deal I can offer the police. But I can’t do it knowing that Sienna Jordan will be shipped off to some children’s home. I’d take her in myself, but Ronald would never agree.’
Besides, Jessica’s marriage was too unstable to introduce a damaged child to the mix.
‘And there is no other way?’ The black fear was still lurking behind the pale blue eyes.
‘Trust me, the cops spent a lot on that diamond operation. They don’t know I encouraged you all to run. Now, they need an arrest to justify their time. Why should it be me, or you?’
‘Fine, I’ll offer to take Sienna, but you’ve got to share some of the burden. Lots of play dates.’ Frieda met Jessica’s eyes. ‘Loads and loads of them.’
‘You’re doing the right thing,’ Jessica said, standing up. ‘Just don’t say anything to anyone for now. It might take a while for the arrest to happen.’
‘Who would I talk to about this? If I tell Rita or Chelsea that you betrayed us, they will mow you down in their Range Rovers.’
If it wasn’t for the money Jessica had just received, she might had told Frieda that she would welcome the violence as a way of dealing with the pain in her life.
As it was, she just smiled and said that everything would be okay. ‘We just have to hold our nerve. Now, do you know how Chelsea touts for her, um, other business . . . ?’
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
SHE WAS DUE TO meet the detective later, but Jessica decided that having sorted things in her mind, it was time to do a little house-cleaning. Ronald was right – the place was a total pigsty.
Beginning with the clean washing that was piled, almost roof height, in the utility room, she quickly folded it into neat stacks for each respective member of the family and put the clothes away. She came to Ronald’s pile, and feeling altruistic thanks to the money from her mother
and Frieda’s agreement to the plan, she decided to put it away, instead of just leaving it on his side of the bed. Ronald was anal about his cupboards – hated her touching them – but he’d surely appreciate his clothing being placed back where it belonged.
Opening the top drawer on his side of the wardrobe, she drew a sharp intake of breath.
What the hell . . .
They were empty.
She called Ronald at work, and got one of the younger lawyers, a lovely boy called Hussein. ‘Is he in?’
‘Sorry, Mrs Maroni, he’s in court. Is there a message?’
What message could she leave? Ask him what happened to his clothes? She’d done a quick reconnaissance of his belongings and more than two-thirds were missing. But what did she actually know? He might be selling them on eBay to pay for, well, God knows what. She had told Hussein not to worry, just to tell Ronald she’d called.
The DCI placed a huge mug in front of her, a child raced by and slammed into the chair next to him, causing him to spill the drink onto her lap.
‘Shit, sorry about that. I wish my powers of arrest extended to toddlers.’
‘Well, you do take me to the classiest places.’
‘It’s a shame you’re married,’ Gerry said, plying her with napkins. ‘I’ve got a great place for a first date that I am longing to try – better than a coffee shop riddled with babies.’
The Shoplifting Mothers' Club Page 13
