A mother passes with a pushchair. She avoids my eye.
‘It’s just that you have a pair of pants stuck to your leg,’ she says.
I look down. A red thong from the washing basket is clingingto my trousers. I pull it off, curse Aimée, and push it into my pocket.
‘Good luck,’ says Mattoo.
I get in the car and start the engine. It’s only a matter of time before my bank shows a deposit of £50,000 from Lawrence and they come back with more questions. I don’t really know where this will end, but I need to find a solution.
At the entrance to Tesco’s car park, I look down at my phone and try to stop DS Birch’s voice circling in my mind. The green dot remains motionless, so I drive towards it, and park close by. I get out of my car, look around and then cross over to Stephen’s car. I put my face to the window and there it is. Mystery solved. His phone is sitting there in the central console on his wireless charging mat. Hollis is lying. Stephen and I can still work.
I know it’s childish but I let down all four of his tyres and return to my car. I’m about to leave when a blue Audi A3 drives up and stops just beyond Stephen’s car. To my astonishment, Stephen gets out of the sporty Audi, flicks open its boot, and then proceeds to move several Tesco shopping bags into his own car.
I stare, confused, as Stephen notices one of the back tyres and the Audi takes off at speed. It’s as if I’ve watched a county-lines drug transaction. I put the car into drive and power away, skidding on the tarmac, but turn the wrong way up a one-way lane and meet another car head-on, only just avoiding a collision.
I beep wildly. The woman in the car points to the arrows, and although she’s in the right, I edge up to her until she loses confidence and moves backwards. I skirt around her car, speed out of the car park and up the road to the lights, my eyes peeled for the blue Audi, but it’s nowhere.
I cross two lines of traffic to a succession of beeps, and drive home with my mind racing. My God, I thought he was being unfaithful, but if he’s been cheating on domestic chores, this is even worse.
Chapter63Blackmailing
Tuesday, 14 January
First thing in the morning, I find a man at the door with a huge bouquet of flowers. There’s also a small package addressed to me on the doormat. The flowers I sent myself are beautiful (even if I do say so myself) and have a mysterious note attached that just says ‘from an admirer xxx’. I place them as ostentatiously as possible on the kitchen table for Stephen to see; divorce and domestic betrayal notwithstanding, there’s still much to play for.
The package is less welcome. It contains two thousand pounds, with a note from Mrs Pembury’s PA, saying that I mistakenly posted this through her letter box the previous evening, and that she informed the police about the incident as it was a considerable amount. The letter also had a postscript that said she will file a harassment complaint if I ever visit her house again. What a devious woman!
I’m not displeased to get my money back, of course, but I’m not even sure I’ve achieved my aim of convincing her to help Nelly. I suspect that applying any more pressure will lead to a formal police complaint, which DS Birch would no doubt find a way to use against me.
At lunchtime, Nelly is sent home from school. Aimée has to collect her and tells me with unnecessary venom that she’s not ‘on shift’ until pickup. Aimée’s wearing a new outfit, courtesy of her additional money for trying to flirt with Stephen. It galls me to pay for incompetence, but she looks amazing.
‘What did you do, Nelly?’ I say, as I’m cooking fish fingers (minus points for nutrition but plus points for happiness). Nathan stares through the oven window and reports on progress. I can’t help thinking of what Madeleine called him every time he calls out, ‘Not ready yet.’
‘Nothing,’ says Nelly, already changed into her full ballerina costume, and practising positions.
‘She stapled a girl to her seat,’ says Aimée.
‘Did you staple someone to their seat, Nelly?’
Nelly scrunches up her face. ‘Yes. But I said I didn’t, so I shouldn’t be told off.’
‘That’s how it works in court, but not in school,’ I say, with the word ‘maniac’ reverberating. ‘Anyway, I’m sure it was an accident.’
‘I did it on purpose,’ Nelly says, moving through fourth and fifth positions quite elegantly.
‘Well, at least pretend it was an accident,’ I say.
‘I did pretend, but she didn’t pretend with me,’ says Nelly, now attempting an arabesque that needs significant improvement but now isn’t the time.
Nathan interrupts. ‘Fishy fingers have cracked open!’
‘Thank you, darling. You keep a close eye, it’s ever so helpful.’
Nelly crosses over to Nathan and kneels by his side to look into the oven, then comes to me and rests her head against my arm. I’m touched. She rarely touches anyone. I reach my hand down and stroke her soft cheek.
She bites me.
I yelp and she howls with laughter.
