by Lacey Dearie
She replied that she was only having one and he was being naughty by trying to lead her astray, then looked up to find Adam placing a fishbowl sized glass of rosé in front of her. She brightened with the relief and attempted to nudge her head in the direction of the drunk next to her while furrowing her brow to signal there had been some trouble with him. Adam was oblivious to her signals.
‘Shouldn’t be long for the food. Had to queue for a while to order though,’ he commented.
‘Are you French too?’ the tattooed man asked Adam.
‘What?’ Adam squinted.
‘You look French,’ was the reply.
Flic grimaced. ‘Do you want to move tables?’
‘No,’ Adam shook his head at Flic before turning his attention back to the pest. ‘I’m not French pal, I’m Russian.’
This was sufficient to confuse and silence the drunk and Adam turned his attention back to Flic, much to her satisfaction.
‘So, what are you going to do now that you’ve found yourself between jobs? Do you think you’ll get something similar or go for a complete change?’
Flic shuffled in her seat. The temptation to tell him about the business venture she and Vicky had decided to embark upon was increasing. She had felt a pang of guilt as she sent those messages to Peter, even though it was as Jemma and in no way genuine. She was unsure how Adam would react to the news that he was on a date with a woman who flirted online with other people’s partners for money, so decided to keep the information to herself.
‘Well, there aren’t any jobs suitable for me in this area. I’ve been looking all week and there’s nothing at all. In fact, there weren’t any jobs in offices at all. So I went for an interview at the local tech college to see if I could enrol on a course to keep me busy while I’m waiting,’ she informed him.
‘Great idea!’ Adam enthused. ‘Doing what?’
‘Plumbing,’ she replied.
Adam chortled then asked, ‘No, seriously, doing what?’
‘Plumbing. It was all they had available,’ Flic nodded. She was well aware of the irony in the situation. She was all about appearances and flamboyance. Nobody would look at her and instantly think, “Plumber.”
Adam pressed his lips together, which Flic guessed was to prevent him from sniggering. ‘Do you think that’s something you’ll enjoy?’
‘Well, I’ll never know unless I try! And I think I could bring a bit of sparkle to the plumbing world,’ she shrugged.
‘I think a lot of women living on their own would prefer to use a female plumber,’ Adam contemplated, taking a large gulp of lager shandy.
‘We’ll see how it goes,’ she muttered. She had no intention of following it as a career. It was just something to put on her CV until she either found another job in the legal profession or made a success of being a private investigator.
‘I’m sure you’ll make a great plumber,’ Adam smirked.
‘How’s your plans for the gym coming along?’ Flic changed the subject.
‘We’re on schedule to open the first week in March. Still a lot of stuff to do though,’ Adam reflected.
‘How long have you and Magnus been planning it?’ she asked.
‘Well, it’s something I’ve talked about for a while but I never thought about it seriously. Magnus has always been a carpe diem type of guy though and he’s big on following dreams and stuff. So, since it’s the start of a new year, and time is moving on and I’m not getting any younger, it seemed like the perfect time to do it.’
Flic smiled at the reference to his age. He couldn’t have been any more than twenty-two or twenty-three. Then remembered herself at that age. She had thought everyone over twenty-five seemed ancient. She let the remark go and avoided making a sarcastic comment.
Adam nodded toward her phone pulsating on top of the sticky table. ‘You still ignoring it?’
She waved a hand dismissively. ‘It’s probably just junk mail.’
He frowned at the phone sympathetically and Flic picked it up to get him off her case. It was another message from Peter to Jemma. “Think u can handle my curly wurly babe?” Flic pursed her lips together to mask her contempt at the innuendo, guessing what he really meant and wondering who in their right mind refers to that part of the body as a curly wurly.
‘Yeah, it’s junk!’ she covered, placing the phone back down on the table, thankful that their meals had arrived and she could take her mind off Peter’s lewd message.
‘This looks good,’ Adam licked his lips in anticipation.
Flic stared at her plate. ‘They’ve given me Hollandaise sauce. I asked for it without the sauce,’ she grumped with disappointment.
‘Can’t you just scrape the sauce off?’ Adam suggested through a mouthful of onion rings.
‘I suppose,’ she surmised. She lifted her glass to take a glug of wine and picked up her knife, ready to scrape the sauce off when her plate was whisked away from under her nose. Her confusion was evident and Adam’s perplexed expression told her he was just as surprised. She looked up to see the drunk from the table next to her walking towards the bar, moaning, ‘That mademoiselle asked for no sauce. Is this how we should be treating visitors to our country?’
‘Oh no,’ she gasped and clambered out of her chair towards the bar.
‘It’s alright cherie, I’m fixing this for you. Your boyfriend didn’t look like he was much help, bloody Russians,’ was the explanation she received.
‘Please, it’s fine, I’m just going to scrape it off.’
Her protestations went unnoticed in the stranger’s attempt at chivalry and Flic was mortified that so many people had now begun to stare – and no doubt wonder why he had announced she was French yet sounded suspiciously like she was from the West Country.
An awkward exchange of offers to change the meal and confirmation that it was not necessary ensued before Flic made her way back to the table and sat down across from Adam.
‘That was so embarrassing,’ she flustered.
‘Mmm-hmm,’ he sneered, stony-faced.
Flic studied his expression. His jaw was tight and his eyes were cast downwards. What had happened to change the friendly casual appearance he had a few minutes ago to this hostility? She was completely befuddled.
She began to eat but with each mouthful she became more and more paranoid about his surly demeanour. By the time she had finished her meal, he had been silent for a good fifteen minutes, finished his meal and shandy and was looking at his watch. She had made two attempts to start up a conversation again, and failed. She felt ready to scream with frustration.
‘Shall we go?’ he snapped as she drained her glass.
‘Ok,’ she whispered. This had to be the shortest, weirdest date she had ever had. She shuffled into her coat and slipped on her gloves in preparation to leave.
‘Don’t forget your phone,’ he spat before turning towards the door.
She absent-mindedly picked it up and slipped it in her bag before saying a short au revoir to the drunk who was now back in his seat. He had probably been the friendliest, most sane person in that pub tonight.
She and Adam were silent for the first five minutes of their journey. Flic noted that Adam hadn’t opened her car door for her when they were leaving – something she definitely did expect on a first date. Maybe it was a good thing their date was being cut short. She couldn’t abide moody men. And he was certainly in a mood, although she had no idea why.
Her phone buzzed yet again and she had no issues with picking it up straight away this time. It was a text from Vicky.
“Plz come over ASAP, major disaster re Peter. DO NOT MSG HIM AGAIN!”
Flic cursed inwardly. What did that mean?
‘Can you take me to Vicky’s instead of my house please? She’s asked me to go over urgently.’
Adam tutted but seemed to be complying. Flic’s annoyance was increasing. She couldn’t understand what his problem was. One minute they were chatting, about to start eating their meal. The ne
xt, the weird drunk guy from the table next to them grabbed her meal and she had a fight on her hands trying to get it back. That incident hadn’t been her fault. Surely that wasn’t the problem. What happened between her leaving the table and returning to make him so hostile?
Her phone was still in her hand when she got another notification of a message from Peter. It read, “I’m onto u Flic.” She felt blood surging through her ears and her face and neck felt hot from the surprise and embarrassment that she had been found out so soon. How could he possibly have known? Where did she trip up? She didn’t even have a profile of her own, on this site or any other, so he couldn’t have made a connection between her and Jemma.
Flic’s mind raced as she tried to think of an explanation and failed. Perhaps she had said something and let it slip. Did she have some kind of signature on her messages that she hadn’t been aware of? She scrolled through the archived messages right from the start. There was nothing incriminating.
She did a double take as she reached the last message sent by her. This wasn’t right. She looked again at the final messages between Jemma and Peter - she hadn’t seen Peter’s most recent one and the last one from Jemma was baffling. She hadn’t written it. Only she and Vicky had the password as they were going to keep the same password for all the active characters, but Vicky didn’t know the username yet.
The messages read, “I’ll give u my number, if u think u can handle my curly wurly, give me a call” followed by her reply of, “Listen creep, if your curly wurly isn’t 12 inches long and covered in chocolate, I’m not interested.”
Flic mused that it was rather witty and she wished she had thought of that herself. But she hadn’t sent it.
Adam pulled up outside his family home. His father was outside, wrapped up in a large jacket, hat and gloves, practising his putting. Adam merely waved at his father as Flic was leaving the car and then sped off.
‘Hi Flic! Busy house tonight. Scarlett’s here already,’ he advised.
‘Hi Bob. Um…nice night for it!’ Flic flustered. Putting in the dark? She found Vicky’s father really strange.
Equally strange was the fact that Vicky had asked to see her when Scarlett was already here and she couldn’t get her head around the messages that had appeared in the fake account. Something had gone horribly wrong somewhere and Flic was determined to get an explanation.
She knocked on the door.
‘Just let yourself in!’ Bob called over to her before cursing succinctly as his ball landed in the replica of Loch Ness.
She didn’t reply as she felt guilty for distracting Bob enough already and made her way inside. The first thing she heard was sniffing coming from the living room. Feeling like an intruder she nudged the door and peered round the other side. Scarlett was in tears with a lap full of sodden tissues and Vicky sat next to her, her head in her hands, repeating, ‘Why did you tell him?’
‘Can I come in?’ Flic asked gingerly.
‘You’d better sit down,’ Vicky replied. Scarlett burst into fresh tears at the sight of Flic.
‘What’s happened?’ Flic demanded. She was getting more worried now.
Vicky and Scarlett exchanged worried, anxious glances.
‘Somebody tell me what’s going on,’ Flic pressed.
‘Scarlett told Peter about us. She told him she had employed us to set up a virtual honey trap. That was this afternoon. He knows everything.’ Vicky shook her head as she recounted this.
‘This afternoon? But he’s been messaging me all night,’ Flic muddled.
‘He’s trying to see how far you’ll take it. He said this afternoon he wants to write an exposé on your company,’ Scarlett sobbed.
‘But it’s not a company! It’s just a couple of daft women kidding themselves!’ Flic protested.
‘Is that really how you see this? I thought we were serious!’ Vicky gasped. Her phone began to play the first few notes of A Message To You Rudy and she reached over for it.
‘Did you log in to the account and send a message to him tonight?’ Flic asked Vicky, remembering that this still required an explanation.
‘No, I don’t know what username you’ve used,’ Vicky shook her head while reading her phone’s screen. ‘Flic, I take it your date didn’t go well?’
‘No, it didn’t,’ Flic huffed. She guessed that Adam was texting Vicky about it. She wanted to ask if he had intimated what the problem was and why he had suddenly gone off her but at the same time, felt an unease about doing so. Did she really want to know?
‘Flic, Adam knows something about us too. Read this,’ she cringed, passing the phone to Flic.
“Ur new mate is a tart. Caught her sexting some perv on Tête-a-net while on our date! Fucking raging!” she read aloud.
Flic’s face burned with shame. He must have picked up her phone while she was trying to rescue her salmon. And had he sent that message to Peter?
She passed the phone back to Vicky and picked her own out from her bag again. What could she possibly say in her defence?
“I’m sorry, it’s not what you think. Plz let me explain.” She pressed send, reclined and sighed.
All three women were silent, staring blankly at the wall and going over the day’s events in their minds. It had been a complete disaster. Scarlett had been in a major argument with Peter and was certain she would be dumped. Vicky and Flic were about to be exposed before they had even begun this business venture, and Flic’s date had been a catastrophe. She had lost Adam’s trust before they had even finished their first date. He thought she was a cheat, and that was something she was definitely not.
‘Shall we have a drink?’ Flic asked them both. Scarlett had stopped sniffling and Vicky looked lost.
‘Why not?’ Scarlett quavered.
‘Well, there’s bugger all else we can do,’ Vicky shrugged.
They relocated to the kitchen and sat at a small white metal table. Flic noted that it appeared to be a patio table, even though it was indoors. She was getting used to the eccentricities of this family though and gently sat on one of the matching metal chairs, shivering at the coolness of the metal permeating through the fabric of her dress.
Vicky removed a bottle of white wine from the fridge and poured three glasses. They drank in silence for half an hour. Scarlett only took a few sips and she didn’t seem to be enjoying it. Vicky and Flic drained their glasses and each poured a top-up before Vicky decided aloud, ‘We should try and limit the damage. Is there any way we can prevent Peter from writing about us?’
‘I’m not sure. He said it would make an excellent story. He seems determined to write about you,’ Scarlett scowled.
‘He can write about the business without writing about us. Could we get him to change our names to protect our identities?’ Flic wondered.
‘Possibly,’ Scarlett nodded.
‘You’ve got some real sucking up to do then,’ Vicky scolded her.
‘I think I might be getting dumped. He wasn’t impressed that I didn’t trust him,’ Scarlett pouted.
Flic didn’t see how this was her problem, or Vicky’s. Scarlett should never have betrayed their trust by telling Peter about the attempt to honey trap him.
She looked at Vicky sternly. ‘If we ever do anything like this again, lessons will have to be learned. No friends or family as clients. And we would have to get the clients to sign some kind of agreement to say that they do not mention the investigation to the suspect prior to the full fee being paid and our pictures taken off the profile used. Under any circumstances.’ Flic was already thinking ahead to prevent her from becoming more angry at Scarlett.
The James Bond theme tune sounded from the living room. Vicky rose from her chair. ‘There’s the doorbell. Dad must have finished his putting and locked himself out again.’
‘We’ll still need paid, even though this has gone wrong,’ Flic reminded Scarlett once Vicky had left the room.
‘Of course. Just send me a bill. I’ll make sure I pay it this week,’ Scarlet
t agreed.
Flic doubted they would see the money but simply nodded. She could see why Adam had no time for Scarlett. She was undoubtedly the most irritating, vacuous woman she had ever met. Vicky deserved a medal for working with her on a daily basis.
‘Do you hear that?’ Scarlett asked, narrowing her eyes.
‘What?’ Flic heard nothing.
‘Sounds like Vicky’s crying.’ Scarlett scrambled from her chair through to the living room. Flic’s instinct was to be dismissive but after a moment she too heard a sob. Curiosity gave way to worry and Flic followed Scarlett, picking up her glass and transporting it along with her.
She reached the front door and found Scarlett repeating, “Oh my God!” while Vicky was being comforted by Magnus. Magnus had been the person at the door. Bob and Maria were dressing themselves in coats and scarves and discussing which car to take, Maria wiping away tears at the same time.
Again, feeling like an intruder, Flic pulled back and stood just inside the living room.
She realised there was some kind of drama, but was reluctant to ask what was causing the problem. Scarlett had clearly asked though. Perhaps she should too.
She edged forward and tugged lightly on Magnus’s arm, looking searchingly at him. His own face was etched with concern and emotion as he held Vicky close to him. Flic’s brain tried to make the connection. Vicky and her family were distraught, Magnus looked emotional, and Scarlett was shocked but not quite as bothered as everyone else. It had to be a problem with Adam.
Her blood ran cold when Magnus whispered, ‘Adam has been in a car crash.’
6
17th January
‘There were nine in the bed and the little one said, roll over, roll over,’ Pamela sang tunelessly.
‘It’s not really the time for songs,’ Maria fretted.
‘So what do we do? Tell Sasha that her uncle is getting cut open and we’re all waiting to see what happens?’ Pamela blinked in her mother’s direction.
Maria burst into fresh tears. Possibly the fourth or fifth time she had cried that night already.
