by Adam Croft
I shrug. ‘So there’d be no witnesses and she couldn’t say it was missing?’
‘I’m not being funny, love, but a fortnight before she died she claimed Alfred the Great was living in her wardrobe. They could’ve nicked the roof from over her head and she wouldn’t have noticed.’
‘The paramedics and the doctor were in the house,’ I say. ‘And the police.’
‘Police?’ Tom asks.
‘Standard procedure,’ Mum says. ‘It’s because she died at home. They have to come out as a matter of course to rule out foul play. And a doctor has to pronounce her dead.’
‘Unless you’re trying to tell me it was the police who nicked her necklace,’ Dad adds.
I look at him, a blank expression on my face. ‘I don’t know what you want me to tell you,’ I reply. ‘I haven’t been up there since she died, and Tom’s never been in his life. I don’t know how you imagine we pulled off the Great Heist. An elaborate set of magnets, perhaps? A series of homing pigeons with lock picks?’
‘There’s no need to get sarcastic, Grace.’
‘Trust me, Dad. Sarcasm is the least of your worries right now.’
‘Look,’ Dad says, leaning forward. ‘We’re just concerned. Maybe we didn’t get it right. That’s fine. I’m sure there’s a perfectly innocent explanation.’
‘Like the care workers on minimum wage who are practically strangers and had unfettered access to her place while she was lying there dead, you mean?’
Mum and Dad share a look.
‘Perhaps,’ Dad says. ‘I’ll have a look at the CCTV from the front door around that time, but I doubt very much it’ll be any use unless the thief skipped down the front drive twirling the fucking thing around in the air.’
‘Looks like it’s the best hope you’ve got,’ I say. ‘Because it wasn’t anything to do with me or Tom. I told you. Tom’s never set foot in that house.’
‘In that case, Thomas, we’re sorry,’ Dad says. I genuinely think it’s the first time I’ve ever heard him use those words.
‘Thank you,’ I say.
‘Thanks,’ Tom adds. ‘If it’s alright with you guys, I’m going to go upstairs for a bit and give you all some space.’
Mum and Dad say nothing as Tom leaves the room and jogs up the stairs to the bedroom.
‘Look, maybe we were overreacting, but it does come from the best possible place, we assure you,’ Mum says.
Dad seems to be either pacified by the clearing of the air or feeling awkward at the way things have played out. It’s impossible to tell which. ‘How are things going at work?’ he says.
I swallow hard. ‘Fine. Absolutely fine.’
Dad nods. ‘Any interesting projects on at the moment?’
I shake my head. ‘No, not really.’ It’s not a lie.
‘And money? Are you okay for money?’
‘Yes, fine thanks,’ I say.
‘No worries on that front at all?’
‘No. None. All fine, thanks.’
Mum and Dad look at each other, then back at me.
‘You know you can always come to us if you’re struggling, don’t you?’ Mum says. ‘Money-wise, I mean.’
My eyes narrow. ‘But I just told you I was absolutely fine. Twice.’
‘I know you did, dear. But we just want to…. check.’
‘You don’t believe me.’
‘Of course we do. We just want to make sure.’
‘How many times? Three? Four? Sixteen?’
‘Grace…’ Dad mumbles.
‘If you’re under stress,’ Mum says, ‘we can help you out. We’ve all been there. It’s difficult at times. And we know you’ve been worried about potential redundancies at work, and… Well, if something were to happen on that front then we’d be able to help.’
There’s something in the way they say this that makes me wonder. This isn’t them just mentioning things on the off-chance I might bear it in mind in the future. This isn’t a case of checking I’m alright. There’s more to it. Almost as if they know something is wrong.
I force a smile. ‘No. Like I say. Everything’s fine, thanks.’
This house is about as soundproof as a cardboard box. That’s something that tends to be an inconvenience, but which I’m now grateful for.
It’s always fascinating to hear what your parents have to say when they think I’m not listening. They haven’t dropped me in it, though, which is handy. They haven’t told you that I confided in them about the difficulties you’ve been having and your problems at work.
I was just looking out for you, you understand. It was only right they knew. They needed to, Grace. This way, you can prove to yourself that you can stand on your own two feet. You’ll be able to tell them — and yourself — that you don’t need them. I know you’re ready. I know this is where you finally break free.
They won’t say anything. Not directly. They assured me it would be confidential, and I persuaded them I was only looking out for your best interests. And I am. I always am. Nothing else matters but you. Us.
I can see they’re trying to push you. I know you’ve realised. You’ve finally reached the point where you don’t need them. I have faith in you, Grace. I know you’ll back away. You don’t need them. You’re so much better off without them. This is the test.
I hope I didn’t show a reaction when your dad mentioned the CCTV. Stupid, stupid. I can’t see it being a problem, though. I had my hat pulled forward that day, just in case. You can never be too careful. Besides which, I’ve got plenty on my side. As you rightly told them, I didn’t even know the address, did I? In a way, part of me hopes they still suspect. Because then they’ll keep pushing. Pushing you away.
You can see the sort of people they are now. You know you’re better off without them. I’m going to have to keep my wits about me. Keep a close eye on them. Because otherwise I’m going to have to do something about them.
It’s you and me against the world.
24
Sunday 2 February
I wake up with a sore head after one too many drinks the night before. We decided to head into town for a bit of a blow-out, which seemed like a good idea at the time. Tom wasn’t drinking, as per usual, but I certainly had more than my fair share.
While he’s still snoring away in bed, I decide to get up and do a bit of housekeeping. Once the headache’s cleared a bit, I decide to brave looking at a screen and check my bank balance. I mostly used my debit card to buy drinks yesterday, and am worried about how much I might have spent.
The online banking app loads and I log in. The balance immediately looks off. By quite a bit. I don’t check my balance half as often as I should do, but I’m pretty certain this isn’t right.
I scroll back through the history, and nothing looks out of place. Until it strikes me. The mortgage money’s gone out, but Tom’s half hasn’t come in to help cover it. As a result, I’m hundreds of pounds down.
I’m sure it’s an innocent mistake. I wouldn’t normally mind, but after the expense of Christmas I’m already in my overdraft as it is.
Half an hour or so later, he comes plodding downstairs in his boxers and heads straight for the thermostat.
‘Probably be a bit warmer if you put some clothes on,’ I say. ‘And it’d save us money.’
I wonder if this will prod his memory, but I’m pretty certain it won’t.
‘I’ll get dressed after I have a shower,’ he says, yawning. ‘Not much point doing it twice in the space of ten minutes.’
‘Well, the place is clean. Ish. Just trying to get a few things ticked off my list so I can collapse on the sofa this afternoon. I’ve sorted out the kitchen, tidied the living room, done the finances. Oh, that reminds me,’ I say, as if it’s a minor thing I’d almost forgotten. ‘For some reason your half of the mortgage hasn’t been coming through.’
‘Oh. Yeah. Sorry about that. Problems with the bank. I’ll get it sorted, I promise.’
‘When?’
‘I don�
�t know. Christ, I’ve only just woken up.’
‘I know, but it’s important, Tom. I’m in the red as it is, and I don’t know if I’m going to have a job for much longer.’
‘Alright, I’ll try and sort it out today.’
This sounds like an excuse to me. ‘You’ve been living here for a while now and you said you’d contribute your half.’
‘Yeah, and I will. I just said I would, didn’t I? I’ll speak to my boss and see what I can do.’
‘Your boss?’
I swear I see Tom wince slightly. ‘Yeah, some sort of problem with the finance department. They haven’t been paying people on time. Just an admin error apparently. Nothing to worry about, but it’s slowing things down.’
‘I thought it was a problem with the bank?’
‘It is. Something between the finance department and the bank. I don’t really know. All far too complicated for me.’
‘How are you paying for things?’ I ask.
Tom shrugs. ‘There’s not much to pay for. He’s been forwarding me a bit of cash to keep things going in the meantime. It’s fine, these things happen. I’m not worried, so you definitely don’t need to be.’
‘I am worried, though, Tom. I’m not made of money. Do you think it’ll come in before the end of the month?’
‘Honestly? I’ve no idea, babe.’
‘Because if it doesn’t I’m going to max out my overdraft. There’ll be nothing left.’
Tom scratches his head. ‘Can’t you speak to your parents?’
‘And say what?’
‘I don’t know. The truth. Tell them the finance department have fucked up at work and what with Christmas and everything you’re having cashflow issues.’
‘I can’t do that, Tom. You know I can’t. They stopped subbing me when you moved in. And I’m not going back to them after everything that’s happened.’
Tom shrugs again. ‘I dunno. Maybe. But there’s not a whole lot we can do about it, is there?’
I watch as he trundles back up the stairs towards the bathroom, leaving me with the metaphorical mess downstairs.
25
Tuesday 4 February
It’s the day of Nan’s funeral. It isn’t a day I’ve been looking forward to, but one I’ve been looking forward to getting out of the way.
It looks as if there’s going to be a good turnout. Nan had made a lot of friends over the years through the church — something else which helped us ensure the funeral arrangements were sorted out quickly — and it was heartening to see so many of her friends and family from around the country, and further afield, saying they wanted to come to pay their last respects.
Tom’s been incredibly supportive, too. He’s spent most of the rest of the time working, keeping an eye on things from home and trying to deal with the work project from his laptop. It doesn’t seem to be causing any problems, which has put me at ease.
We’re due to meet the rest of the family at my parents’ in a couple of hours, and Tom’s busy working on his laptop while I get ready. As I’m doing my make-up, I catch sight of the computer screen in the mirror. It looks familiar.
‘I thought you said it was best for us to hide our social media profiles?’ I ask him, trying to make it sound as casual and non-combative as possible.
‘I did,’ he says, after a short pause. ‘I’m just checking on some work stuff on Facebook. I’ve got a dummy account for that, under a false name so I can keep an eye on things. No way around that, unfortunately.’
‘What sort of stuff?’
‘I can’t say,’ he says, shutting me down immediately.
I don’t know much about the ins and outs of Tom’s job — it always seems way beyond me – but I didn’t think it had anything much to do with Facebook or social media.
‘Is it to do with those guys who got sacked?’ I ask. Maybe he’s got to keep an eye on them, or perhaps he’s watching what other employees are saying and doing. There are always stories online about bosses spying on their staff’s social media accounts, trying to make sure they’re not badmouthing the company or misusing it in any way.
‘What? Oh, no. Don’t worry about them. They won’t be a problem.’
‘Oh right. Well, that’s good. Does that mean we can put our accounts back up again?’
‘No,’ Tom says, quickly. ‘Not yet. Best to play it safe. I’ll speak to my boss and see what he says.’
‘Was it his decision then?’
‘No. But he’ll have a better idea of what it’s like on the ground. I haven’t been over there, so I don’t want to make any decisions at the moment. I’ll speak to him and let you know.’
I nod. ‘Got much left to do?’
‘Hopefully not.’
‘We’ve got to leave in twenty minutes,’ I say. We’ve agreed to pick up one of Nan’s friends on the way.
‘I know,’ Tom says. ‘I’m perfectly capable of telling the time.’
‘Alright. Just saying. We don’t want to be late.’
In the mirror, I see Tom whip round and glare at me. ‘We’re not going to be late, alright?’
‘Okay,’ I say. ‘Fine. Sorry.’
I carry on getting ready, the silence deafening between us. Fifteen minutes later, though, I’m starting to get more and more anxious, and I now know we’re almost certainly going to be late.
‘Tom?’ I say, poking my head around the bedroom door. ‘We’ve got less than five minutes. We need to go.’
If I’d seen the look on his face before I started talking, I don’t think I would have said anything. The anger and tension had clearly been building before I even came into the room, and now it explodes in a way I’ve never seen Tom react before.
‘For fuck’s sake, Grace! Stop fucking badgering me, alright? If you want to go, go. There’s hours to go until the funeral, so what’s the rush? She’s fucking dead already, what’s another ten minutes going to matter?’
The words hit me like a bullet, and I try to tell myself this isn’t how he’d normally react. He’s stressed because of work. Because of the guys he had to let go. Because he’s miles away from it all, back here, having to go to a family funeral.
‘Tom, please don’t say things like that,’ I reply, my voice almost a whisper.
‘Why not? What does it matter?’ he barks.
‘Because we’re all very upset at what’s happened and today’s going to be a difficult day for all of us. It’s probably best if we keep calm heads.’
Tom scoffs. ‘She was an old woman who was going to die anyway. What’s the point in getting upset about it?’
‘She was my nan and I loved her,’ I say, fighting back the tears whilst doing my best to stand up to his comments. I know he doesn’t mean them. He’s upset too, and sometimes people react badly. This isn’t him. It’s not the Tom I know and love.
‘Alright, fuck’s sake,’ he says, slamming his laptop lid shut and casting it to one side. ‘Get out of my way, then. At least let me get dressed in peace.’
I swallow — hard — then head downstairs to wait for him.
26
We drove in silence to my parents’ house, only making polite conversation with Nan’s friend after picking her up. The atmosphere could have been cut with a knife, but as far as anyone else was concerned that was entirely down to the occasion. Funerals are rarely happy events, even at the best of times.
If truth be told, I’m waiting for Tom to apologise. It won’t automatically make things better, but it’ll at least tell me he recognises what he says and regrets it. Well, at the very least it’ll mean he knows he’s upset me.
When we get to Mum and Dad’s house, the formalities kick in. There are lots of hugs, plenty of it’s-been-years-since-I’ve-seen-yous and even a few my-haven’t-you-growns. Tom works his way around, introducing himself to anyone he hasn’t already met. It always amazes me how he can put on a totally different face in front of others. I guess that’s what makes him such a people person.
‘Listen,’ he
says, walking up to me while I’m in their kitchen making tea and coffee. ‘I’m sorry about earlier, alright? I’m up to here with all the work stuff, and I shouldn’t have snapped. I know it’s no excuse, but I was in an email conversation with my boss all morning about the situation over there, and when you walked in I’d just got a message from him saying the client in China had heard about the guys we’d let go and were threatening to pull the deal.’
‘Oh no,’ I say, realising the enormity of the situation. ‘Can they do that?’
‘I don’t know. That’s for the legal guys to sort out. He reckons he’s pacified them for now, but we’re skating on really thin ice. You can imagine how it looks. They’ve hired us to design a state-of-the-art computer security system to keep them safe from criminals, and find out we’ve hired three of them to build the system. It’s like hiring a bank robber to fit a new front door at NatWest. Absolute fucking shambles.’
‘But it’ll be alright? I mean, if you rumbled the guys and got rid of them, it should all be smooth enough from here, shouldn’t it?’
Tom shrugs. ‘You’d hope so, wouldn’t you? But at the end of the day, if they failed to even do basic background checks on the people they were hiring, it makes you wonder what else we’ve missed. We might have got away with that particular fuck up, but the client will be on the look out for any little mistakes now. We’ve got to tread carefully.’
‘Will they need you to go over there?’
‘I don’t know. I hope not, but who knows? I’ll do my best to make sure I don’t need to. Fingers crossed, eh?’
‘Yeah. Fingers crossed,’ I say, stirring another cup of tea.
The service goes off without a hitch, other than Dad making a remark to Mum about how they’re now the oldest generation and will probably be the next to die. She wasn’t too keen on that idea, being four years older than him.
It’s refreshing to see so many people talking fondly of Nan and celebrating all the good she did with her life, instead of being upset that she’s gone. That gives all of us a lot of comfort, although it doesn’t make things any easier.
