by Lacey Dearie
‘What about her?’ Vicky nodded towards a petite brunette pushing a pram.
Flic shook her head. ‘No, she’s not George’s type.’
Vicky rolled her eyes. ‘Do I need to be here? Everything I suggest is wrong. I don’t know George’s type. Why don’t you just do this yourself?’ she snapped.
Flic raised her eyebrows and sighed. ‘Why don’t you head to Starbucks and get yourself a drink. I’ll find us a suitable Diana and bring her to you.’
‘Make it Debenhams. More child friendly,’ Vicky huffed. ‘I’m heading to HMV first to get Pamela a birthday present.’
‘Fine,’ Flic humphed.
Vicky stood and almost immediately slid on the wet floor. She inhaled deeply and fought back a curse.
‘Today is not my day,’ she muttered before manoeuvring the stroller across the slippery tiles towards her destination and then slipping again as she reached the door of HMV. She felt her boot skim the floor and attempted to support herself with her arm, grabbing for the shoulder-high alarm sensors. There was a split second when she felt her heart race and knew she was about to fall on her backside in front of everyone and hopefully not take Sasha’s stroller down with her. Then she felt a hand grab her elbow and support her weight.
She panted from relief and steadied herself by grabbing the mystery saviour’s arm with her other hand. She let out a little laugh – purely from nerves as she saw no humour in the situation.
‘Thank you so much! I thought I was going to fall on my bum there!’
‘That’s ok,’ the girl smiled. Her voice was slightly accented, although Vicky couldn’t pin-point the nationality.
Vicky recognised the girl’s face, but couldn’t place it. She had weather-beaten cheeks and a rosy nose. She licked her cracked lips and let go of Vicky’s arm. Vicky watched as the girl clutched her shoulder bag and surveyed the shop floor. The boniness of her hands gave away that the girl was thin, but all Vicky could see was layer upon layer of clothing. Yes, it was a cold day, but her rescuer looked ready for an expedition to the arctic.
She straightened herself up and smiled shyly at the security guard rocking himself back and forth on his heels. He returned her smile then paced forward.
‘I’d check you still have your purse, if I were you,’ he winked.
Vicky shook her head. ‘It’s in my bag, down there.’ She pointed to the basket under the stroller. He simply nodded in response, and then indiscreetly followed the girl who had helped Vicky.
Vicky watched with interest to see where the girl was heading and noted she was going to the reggae section – just as she was. She marched across the shop floor and came to a halt next to her. Vicky flashed her another smile and reached for the new UB40 CD. She could tell the girl would be pretty if she made a bit more of an effort. Sensing there would be no conversation, having not received a smile back, Vicky joined the queue to pay for the CD and an iTunes gift card. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she knew this girl from somewhere.
The queue moved slowly and Vicky alternated between people watching and glancing down at Sasha, who had fallen asleep. She became aware of the accented voice behind her.
‘Can you please tell me if you’re looking for any staff at the moment?’
‘No, sorry,’ was the blunt reply.
‘I know from your website you are looking for a sales person for merchandising. I know a lot about music – not just British music. I am highly knowledgeable about international music too.’
‘You need sales experience,’ the man countered.
‘I do! I have this. I’ve been working for The Big Issue for many months and have been very successful. I manage my own workload, and I am responsible. It’s really like running your own business.’
Yes! That’s where she recognised her from! She was the girl who sold The Big Issue outside the shopping centre!
‘Position’s not available.’
‘Ok, I understand.’
Vicky watched the girl hold her head up and confidently walk out of the shop. She noted the obvious disappointment in her eyes, even if her demeanour was all defiance. In her head, Vicky started to piece together an imaginary jigsaw.
This girl was young, needed money, wouldn’t be recognised by George, and was attractive – or at least she would be once Vicky had worked her make-up magic on her. Would this work?
She reached the front of the queue and considered ditching the CD and gift-card so she could follow the girl. She decided against it, but hopped from one foot to the other as she mentally urged the cashier to get a move on. She paid for Pamela’s present, but was certain the cashier was working ever slower, the more anxious she appeared.
Finally, the transaction was complete. She grabbed her plastic bag and sped off, only slowing down when she reached the door because she didn’t want to slip again.
She frantically scanned the shopping centre, looking for her potential Diana, but quickly came to the realisation that she was gone. Perhaps she could call Flic and ask her to look for the girl outside the shopping centre. After all, she had to start selling her magazines again. Saturday must be her most rewarding day. That’s when the shops were busiest.
‘Flic! It’s me. I found the perfect model!’ she trilled into her phone.
‘Is she with you?’ Flic demanded.
‘No, but I know where she’ll be.’
‘Ok. I’m at Starbucks. I’ve just been trying to design a business card. Got you a hot chocolate. Meet me there.’
Vicky sighed. She had specified Debenhams. ‘Ok, be there in a second.’ She let Flic’s choice of meeting place slide as she was feeling satisfied that she managed to find someone before Flic did.
Her eyes went directly to Flic as soon as she entered the seating area of the coffee shop. Flic was wearing a long damson coloured coat, unbuttoned to show her black figure hugging turtle necked dress, fishnet tights and knee length black boots. Vicky felt a tad scruffy in comparison in her jeans, Doc Martens and red duffle coat. Flic had positioned herself at a table that definitely wouldn’t allow space for Sasha’s stroller. Vicky sat at a more suitable table and rang Flic’s mobile.
‘You’ll have to come over to your left…Sasha won’t fit in there…yeah, here.’ She waved to Flic as their eyes met.
‘Sorry babe, forgot all about the pushchair. Amazing the things that don’t enter your mind when you’re free and single.’
Vicky ground her teeth in annoyance. She reminded herself Flic hadn’t meant anything derogatory with her comment. She was just having a sensitive day. And Flic was just being Flic. She hugged her mug of hot chocolate for comfort and double checked Sasha was still asleep before she began her pitch.
‘I’ve found the perfect Diana. She’s young, she’s pretty, she needs the money and I doubt if she’ll ask questions,’ Vicky announced.
‘Who?’
‘The girl who sells The Big Issue outside!’
‘Oh my. You’re not serious, are you? I bought a copy from her yesterday. She’s a mess,’ Flic sniggered
‘She’s not! I looked at her face up close and I think with a bit of make-up, and a good wash, and some nice clothes, we could have the perfect Diana,’ Vicky insisted, sipping from her mug.
‘Ok, so we do a makeover, and what if she’s still repugnant? We’ll have wasted our time and money.’ Flic shook her head dismissively and sipped her latte.
‘Have you done your sums? How much is this going to cost us?’ Vicky grimaced.
‘Well, I added it up and I think we charge a fifty pound flat fee for taking the case on, a tenner for each social network we have to add him on – found him on five so far – so that’s a hundred quid, then there’s the twenty pound per week charge for each week we have the case on our books. I reckon it could take as little as a month to build up a rapport. Add fifteen quid per hour for each chat. Maybe two or three a week. Then seventy-five pence for each text. Could make about three hundred quid, easy,’ Flic concluded.
‘We
could pay this girl thirty pounds for the photos. Not bad for an afternoon’s work. Plus she gets a makeover,’ Vicky added.
‘Even if she wanted to keep the clothes we use for the makeover, we’d still make a couple of hundred quid. Ok, let’s go and have a look at her and see if she’s interested,’ Flic nodded.
They drained their mugs and made their way to the entrance of the mall, Vicky placing each step very carefully to avoid any more embarrassment.
‘Do you think she’s really living on the streets?’ Flic pondered.
‘No, she’s probably not. You know, a lot of the people who actually sell the magazine aren’t living in cardboard boxes. She probably just has housing issues,’ Vicky convinced herself. Flic didn’t look won over on that point.
‘I wonder how long it would take her to make fifty quid selling magazines?’ Flic wondered aloud.
‘She would probably have to sell at least fifty or sixty magazines to make that much,’ Vicky noted.
‘Do you think it would be as many as that?’ Flic gasped.
‘Yeah, they have to buy the magazines first and then they sell them on at twice the price they were when they bought them,’ Vicky advised.
‘How do you know so much about this?’ Flic wheedled.
‘Magnus told me. Apparently he used to volunteer at a shelter for the homeless down in Glasgow. He’s done loads of voluntary work,’ Vicky swooned.
‘Pffft. Yeah. Of course he did. Anyway, we might have to get her something decent to wear,’ Flic conceded as they reached the door and the girl came into their eye-line.
Vicky noted that she was wearing a long black skirt and an oversized black puffa jacket. Her hair was tucked into a snood but some greasy strands had escaped. Vicky remembered a faint smell of sweat when they had met in HMV.
‘Do you agree that she would be perfect?’ Vicky smirked.
‘I’m not saying perfect, but it’s worth a try,’ Flic conceded.
By the time they reached her pitch, the girl had started chatting to a passer-by in an attempt to sell a magazine. Flic breezed over to a security guard standing close to the door with his arms folded.
‘See that Big Issue seller over there? Do you know her at all?’ Flic wheedled.
‘Aye, that’s Lumi,’ he nodded.
‘She’s foreign, isn’t she?’ Vicky asked.
‘Romanian, I think,’ he replied.
‘Where does she live?’ Flic continued her interrogation. ‘Oh, hang on, she’s homeless, she doesn’t live anywhere,’ Flic pretended to correct herself without waiting for a reply.
‘Actually, she does have a place,’ the guard advised, stroking his bearded chin.
‘Really? Where is it?’ Vicky probed.
‘I don’t know. I just know that she’s sleeping on a friend’s couch. She has been for the last two months. Before that she was in a hostel, but it wasn’t in Inverness. I think it was in London,’ he said, nodding to himself.
‘London?’ Vicky and Flic repeated in unison.
‘That’s perfect, Diana’s supposed to live in London,’ Flic chortled. The reaction from Flic made the guard eye them suspiciously.
‘Any more questions, you can ask her yourself. I’m sure she’ll be happy to chat if you buy one of her papers,’ he scowled before walking off in the direction of the food court.
Flic pounced the second that the potential customer began to edge away. She lifted her chin and marched towards Lumi who was arranging her magazines in her arm for display.
‘Hello,’ Lumi smiled. ‘Beeg Eeshoo Ma’am?’
‘Hello. I’ll take one,’ Flic nodded towards her bundle of magazines.
Lumi handed a copy of the magazine to Flic, who handed over a twenty pound note. Flic leaned closer to Lumi’s face and blatantly examined her. Lumi pulled back and scowled.
‘I’ll take them all actually!’ Flic grinned.
‘Flic, what are you doing?’ Vicky snapped from behind her. Lumi’s eyes darted from Flic to Vicky and back to Flic, looking wary.
‘We actually wanted to talk to you about something,’ Vicky began, hoping to dispense with the creepy awkwardness Flic was creating.
‘It wasn’t me who stole your socks, I promise,’ Lumi whined in a thick accent, taking another step back.
Flic shook her head in confusion. ‘No, I think you’re confusing us with someone else. We have a business proposition for you,’ she asserted.
‘I don’t sell that stuff anymore. You want Viagra, you’ll have to talk to Magda,’ Lumi nodded abruptly.
‘Viagra? This isn’t about socks, or Viagra. This is about an offer we have to make to you,’ Vicky said more quietly, trying to soften her approach.
‘What kind of offer?’ Lumi queried. Her dark eyes were cautious and alert.
Flic pulled Vicky’s elbow and muttered, ‘This is a no-go, Diana has blonde hair and blue eyes.’
‘We can shoot her in black and white,’ Vicky winked at Flic.
Flic sighed, folded her arms and nodded, ‘Ok, fine.’
‘Shoot?’ Lumi panicked then began to fire abuse at them in Romanian.
Vicky turned back to Lumi. ‘No, no, not shoot with a gun! We’re photographers and we need models for a photo shoot,’ she fibbed.
‘What kinds of photographers wear your clothes? Where’s your cameras? You have no cameras,’ Lumi observed. She looked Flic over, deciding her outfit wasn’t appropriate for a photographer.
‘I’ll be honest with you. We’re private investigators and we work undercover,’ Flic interrupted.
Vicky scrunched her face. Flic was being too upfront. Her honesty actually sounded like lies.
‘Really? What do you investigate?’ Lumi asked, suddenly more interested.
‘Cheating husbands mostly, but sometimes we investigate cheating wives too,’ she replied coolly, using her most professional and polished voice, one Vicky usually only heard her using on the phone. The snooty unhelpful cow voice.
‘What do you need me for? I’m single and have no boyfriend,’ Lumi shrugged.
‘Why don’t you come inside? We’ll go for a coffee and talk about it,’ Vicky proposed.
‘I have work to do. Unless you were serious about buying them all,’ Lumi reminded them, lifting her bundle of magazines.
‘How many do you have left?’ Flic asked.
Lumi quickly counted her bundle. ‘I have seven,’ she said.
‘Ok, we’ll buy all your magazines, and buy you a lunch as long as you hear us out,’ Flic proposed.
Lumi showed the palm of her hand, gesturing she was looking for the payment and Flic placed the twenty pound note in her palm.
‘And I want that UB40 CD you bought. I couldn’t afford it,’ she smirked in Vicky’s direction.
‘Fine. I’ll get another one for Pamela,’ Vicky grumped.
‘Lets go have lunch!’ Lumi enthused.
*****
Ten minutes later they were dining at the Debenhams café. Lumi and Flic both picked seats next to the window, overlooking the train station. Vicky stayed away from the window to give her easier access to Sasha’s stroller. She was thankful her daughter had gone to sleep.
Lumi tucked into her lasagne and chips and didn’t appear too interested in why they had bought her a meal. She asked no questions. Vicky and Flic exchanged nervous glances as they sipped on their carrot and coriander soups. As soon as Flic was finished she pulled her red folder from her oversized black patent handbag. She didn’t wait for Lumi to finish eating.
‘This folder is our portfolio,’ Flic began, suddenly appearing very business-like.
Vicky leaned forward and clasped her hands in front of her. She too wanted to look like she could be taken seriously. Lumi slurped her cola and listened intently.
‘We’ve been in business for a short time, but we’ve been very successful so far. We’re a web-based company who use social networking sites to trap cheating spouses. We’re called HunE-trap Investigations,’ she continued, pointing to the
newspaper article written by Peter with the headline from which they took their name. Lumi’s eyes widened when she saw the newspaper article.
‘Fuck! You’re famous! So how do you trap them?’ Lumi asked shovelling in more pasta.
Vicky noticed that, now that she had relaxed, Lumi’s accent wasn’t quite as strong as it had been when she was selling her magazines. Her English was actually very good. In fact, it was almost perfect. Vicky wondered if maybe she exaggerated her accent and tried to dumb down her vocabulary to play the sympathy card. It had certainly worked on her.
‘We make a fake profile with a character we think the cheating spouse will be attracted to and we befriend them. We try to involve them in conversations which show that they are willing to cheat on their partner, either by cybersex, or by meeting in real life to start a real affair,’ Flic explained.
‘That’s not a very nice job. Is it successful?’ Lumi furrowed her brow.
‘Yes, sometimes it is. There have been times when the spouse we’re investigating suggests a meeting and there have been times when the spouse sends explicit emails or messages. We’ve had one man who made it clear that he wasn’t interested in anything but friendship. That was the most satisfying assignment,’ Flic smiled.
‘Good money for this type of work?’ Lumi probed.
‘Well, it depends on how long the job takes and how much time we spend working,’ Vicky replied.
Lumi turned to look out of the window at the train station, clasping her cola cup. She turned her attention back to Flic and Vicky after a moment, appearing thoughtful.
‘What kind of picture do you want? I don’t do naked pictures,’ she asserted.
