She’s just sent John another email and is wondering if they give away unused email addresses like they do phone numbers. Surely not.
From her spot, sitting at the kitchen table, she glances anxiously out of the window. It’s dark, gone eight p.m. Who would be calling round at this hour?
She gets up, something gnawing at her stomach, and heads for the door. As she reaches for the latch, she remembers.
We’ll be back.
Her autopilot has the door open before she can register the fear she suddenly feels. The two men from a week and a half ago are there. Waiting. The same two men as before; as big and ominous as ever. But this time the larger one at the front – the one who’d referred to himself as Craig – is smiling. Widely.
‘Paula!’ He greets her by her first name like they are old friends. It makes that fear tickling the edges of her brain double down and her stomach drop. His tone is friendly, but his energy is chilling. ‘Lovely to see you again. I know John’s not in but can we come in anyway?’ he asks, still smiling. Hermind goes blank, gripping on to the door frame. Everything inside her is screamingshut the doorand run away.But she’s too British to slam a door in someone’s face.
She’s alone in the house. Even if she could make a loud enough noise to reach the garden shed, Seb will have his gamer headphones on. He would never hear. And even if he could hear, there’s not a lot he wouldn’t sacrifice for a new top score.
‘Oh! Well, actually, it’s not a good time,’ she says, forcing her voice to sound steady. ‘We’re having a family get-together right now, absolutely overflowing with people. So many . . . tall, er, well-built male family members.’ She swallows. ‘What is this regarding anyway? Who are you?’ She glances over her own shoulder, into the house, wishing she had more lights turned on. She still worries too much about the electricity bill, even though she could power the actual sun with her bank balance.
The large man, Craig, tuts. ‘Well, now, Paula, I don’t know what to believe anymore, since you lied to us the last time we came to see you.’ He narrows his eyes and leans back on his heels. ‘You said John was out, didn’t you? But we now know he’s dead, eh? We were a little late to the news, but we’ve seen the papers. Car accident, was it?’ He tuts again. ‘What a shame, nice man like that, fiery death.’
Paula swallows. ‘I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘I didn’t mean to lie’ – she really didn’t – ‘but it’s sometimes hard for me to say it out loud.’ She takes them in, craning to see the smaller man standing behind Craig. He looks a bit bored. ‘Are you . . . Are you friends of his?’
Craig chuckles meanly. ‘I wouldn’t say that. Not exactly. More like business acquaintances.’ He pauses and the nasty smile fades. ‘He owed us a lot of money.’
‘He . . . what?’ Paula blinks. ‘No, you’re wrong, he . . . what?’ She feels like she’s been slapped. John owed money? Tothesepeople? How? Why? He wouldn’t, would he? Yes, she knew there were loans and re-mortgages on the house, but John wouldn’t have borrowed money from people like this. From people who would turn up on your doorstep with threatening smiles, calling you by your first name. He wouldn’t!
Craig raises his eyebrows. ‘They never tell the missus, do they?’ He tuts again, as does the smaller man beside him, who has so far been silent. If he’s meant to be some kind of henchman, he’s not a terribly effective choice. He’s not nearly as threatening as Craig himself, wearing a white hoodie easily two sizes too small, with ‘University of Huddersfield’ emblazoned across it. ‘But either way,’ Craig – who is wearing well-proportioned all-black with no logos – continues, ‘it’s the truth, I’m afraid, Paula, and he is way past due.’ He sighs. ‘I know he’s conveniently dead and all that, but it’s fine, isn’t it? Because we knowyouhave the money to pay us.’ He winks. ‘Like I said, we’ve seen the papers.’
‘But I don’t know anything about a loan!’ Paula cries. ‘John never—’
The large man raises a warning hand and she stops. ‘Paula, love,’ he says in that frighteningly low tone. ‘I don’t give a shit what you knew about or didn’t. I’m telling you: he borrowed my money.’ He smiles again. ‘Liked a bit of snooker, didn’t he, your John? Though it would appear he wasn’t all that good at it.’ Paula’s mind is spinning. John was gambling? Is that what he’s saying? Craig continues. ‘We’ll be back, and we’re expecting you to have fifty thousand pounds in cash here, waiting. Clever move, getting himself killed like that,but John can’t get out of this that easily. We want our money and we’ll get our money.’
Paula puts a hand to her chest.Fifty thousand pounds?John owed these horrible people fifty thousand pounds? No, she can’t believe it, shewon’tbelieve it. She stares at Craig, adrenaline coursing through her body as he keeps talking. ‘No need to leave me your contact details, by the way, Paula,’ he says breezily. He smiles at her, that same slow, horrible sort of psychopath smile, and pulls out his phone. He presses a few buttons and behind her in the house, Paula’s landline starts to ring. He hangs up and the ringing stops. Smiling even wider, he taps the screen again and this time, the mobile phone in Paula’s pocket starts vibrating against John’s notebook.
Nausea pushes its way up her throat and Paula fights to keep it down and hold her ground. Everything in her is screaming to run. This man has her address and her phone numbers. What else does he have? What else does he know?
Craig turns to go, elbowing University of Huddersfield. ‘Like I said,’ he says, nodding as he walks off, ‘it was very nice to see you again, Paula. And we’ll be back. Maybe we’ll come in next time – when you’re not, y’know, having afamily get-together.’ He laughs as he walks off, the smaller man scurrying in his wake.
Paula stands in her doorway, watching them go, her whole body shaking. They’re coming back, and they want fifty thousand pounds in cash.
15
Paula is immensely relieved to find it is just Audrey in the car waiting outside her house the next morning. For all her nice hair and expensive skirts, the idea of sitting on Teddy’s lap again does not appeal.
‘Paula, darling!’ Audrey exclaims when she sees her, leaping out of the low car with ease and running up the front path, pashmina flying in her wake. She sweeps Paula up in her arms, breathing warm car air onto her neck.
‘Hello,’ Paula squeaks from inside the tight hug. It feels nice to be held this time, if unfamiliar. She realises how much she needed a hug after last night’s horrible encounter with those men.
She’s been up half the night, pacing the house, unsure what to do. She’s still processing how she feels about it all, but she recognises hot, bubbly anger working its way through her veins. Howdarethese men turn up like that at her house? How dare they try to frighten her? And how dare they try to get her to turn on her husband like this?
Because of course there’s no way it can be true. It can’t be. John wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t be so irresponsible. Yes, he played a lot of snooker but there was no money involved.It’s far more likely that these men are chancing their arm. They saw the news about her lottery win and are now trying to get money from her by besmirching John’s good name.
She won’t believe it, not without proof.
On the other hand, true or not, they seem serious about the money. But do they really expect her to get fifty thousand pounds out of her account and hand it over? To these nasty, threatening, grimacing strangers? And what would happen once they got it? How likely is it that these men – theseloan sharks– will keep coming back for more? There’s no way she can give it to them.
And apart from anything else, she’s pretty sure the cash limit on her card is £250 per day. How long will it take Paula to gather together that vast sum at such a slow rate? She can’t do the maths, but it must be months, surely. And that man Craig didn’t seem like he’d be willing to wait months. Going into the bank, requesting such a large amount would no doubt raise a lot of red flags, too.
So what to do? She daren’t go to the police, not with her new friends from The Lottery Winner Widows Club hanging about, and she can’t get her children involved.
Because what if . . . what if John really did do this? No, it can’t be true. Can it? If it were true – if there was proof – what then? It would destroy Tilly and Seb, knowing their father had done such a thing. It would destroy her.
