Ivy’s brow furrowed. ‘I don’t like this. Theft is theft, no matter the reason. It’s wrong.’
Ru rose, a grim look on his face. ‘Either Ivy commits a sin and breaks her vow, or we commit a crime. I know which one I’m more comfortable with.’
Fiona’s mother glared at her sister, then her father rose and spoke. ‘We are law-abiding citizens. But we are also parents, and that comes first.’
‘So, are we doing this?’ Fiona asked, still stunned but determined.
Ru grimaced. ‘Sorry, notus... just you.’
‘What?’
He gave her a reassuring look. ‘Everything’s going to be fine,’ he said, and for the first time in a while, Fiona truly believed it.
Ru’s text arrived at 8 p.m. ‘Coast’s clear. You’ve got an hour. Good luck.’ He signed it with a beating heart that made her own flutter. Wearing a black beanie hat pulled over her ears and one of Ru’s jumpers, which reached her thighs, Fiona bolted out of his flat. Her father was right behind her, his long strides matching her pace despite his age. When a last minute attack of nerves had struck Fiona that afternoon and she asked him to help, he had smiled and replied, ‘let’s do this!’
Together they jogged down the hill, past the pub and onto the narrow path beneath the harbour wall. Fiona’s breath came in quick clouds, the wind tugging at her clothes and pulling at her conscience. To clear her name, she was about to commit a crime. If caught, it would provide more evidence implicating her in the wine theft. It would also damage her father’s reputation. That last thought made her heart clench.
Under the faint light of the moon, they moved swiftly, the stillness of the night broken only by the sound of their footsteps and the distant crash of dark waves against the harbour wall. Her father undid his thick woollen coat and pushed his glasses – which must have slipped down his nose while he was running – back into place, then scanned the surroundings with a professor’s meticulous eye. It was tough to imagine her academic dad prowling around, but he had spent the afternoon playing the amateur detective, studying the building, noting every entry point and assessing every potential risk.
Her former employer’s flat loomed above her, a shadow against the night sky. Ru believed it held the evidence they needed, but getting inside and back out again without being seen was a daunting prospect. Every step felt leaden, and although he wasn’t admitting it, Fiona sensed her father’s nervous energy.This was unfamiliar territory for them both.
‘Keep an eye on that back door,’ he murmured, his voice steady but low.
The pair crouched in the pub’s car park, waiting for the signal Ru and her father had agreed. Suddenly, the back door opened. Fiona took a sharp breath but felt a steadying hand on her shoulder. ‘Wait,’ hissed her father.
Josh emerged, a crate of empty bottles rattling in his arms. Fiona exhaled slowly.
For what seemed like hours, she and her father stood hunched over in the shadows, listening to the waves rumble and roar around them. For a second time, the back door opened, letting out a triangle of light. This time, no one emerged. She started forward, only for her father’s hand to catch her arm. ‘Wait. Patience. Count to ten.’
She left the counting to her father – she lost track after reaching three. He released her arm, then whispered, ‘Ready?’
Fiona nodded, her pulse quickening. Together, they moved forward silently, like shadows in the night.
Thirty-two
Noiselessly, Fiona tiptoed through the deserted reception, her heart thumping in her chest, then started up the stairs, grateful for the reassuring soft tread of her father’s footsteps behind her.
The flat door hung ajar, as Ru had promised it would. The faintest sliver of light cut through the gap, inviting her in, yet filling her with dread. She puffed out a breath – Ru hadn’t explained how he was going to achieve this, and she hadn’t asked, but it must have involved pinching George’s keys. She felt the invisible threads tying her to the two men she loved, a sense of safety enveloping her like a fortress built of soft pillows. Her hand hovered over the handle, but she realized she didn’t need to touch it; Ru had purposely left it like this.
She nudged the door open, stepping inside silently, then paused, allowing her eyes to adjust to the dimness, cocking her ears to listen for sounds of the children despite Ru’s reassurance that they were both away on a sleepover. Her father moved beside her, treading with the same stealthy care.
The air was thick with the musty scent of old wooden floorboards reminding Fiona of Ivy’s sitting room, and for a second, Fiona wished she was there instead, but she crept forward.
‘You’re certain this is the right place?’ whispered her father in a tone so low it almost merged with the silence.
Fiona met his eyes. ‘Yes. I’ve been here lots of times,’ she hissed back.
‘Right. Let’s be quick.’
Guided by the soft light from her phone’s torch she inched towards George’s desk, her breath sounding unnaturally loud in the silence. She pulled on the top flap, but it wouldn’t budge. ‘It’s locked,’ she whispered.Where did he keep the key?
‘Try the drawers,’ suggested her father, his voice clipped, as though his mind had already analysed the best course of action.
As she opened each drawer, the quiet sound of rasping wood seemed to echo through the space. Cold handles slid open one by one, revealing papers, old menus, clutter. No key.
A soft rustle broke the silence. Her father lay on the floor, peering under the desk. ‘The drawer to the right. I think there’s something wedged beneath it.’
Fiona’s heart thudded. She crouched, carefully lifting out the drawer. A sliver of paper caught her attention. She fished it out, unfolding a betting slip. ‘Ru was right,’ she murmured, her voice tight with realization. Spurred on by her discovery, she dug inside that drawer a second time.
