‘Or…’ I try to sound nonchalant. ‘There’s a great breakfast place down the road if you’d rather come back at nine. Their full English is legendary.’
‘That’s okay,’ Cathleen says. ‘We have a lot of work to get through, so we’d rather make a start.’
‘Of course.’ I’m suddenly embarrassed by my crass attempt to get rid of them for a while. They’ve probably seen it all before. I need to try to accept that they’re going to be in my face for the foreseeable future. The sooner I get used to it, the easier it will be, right? I should have stayed at home for longer. I could have sat and stared at the lake. Tried to get into a better frame of mind. Now it’s going to be an even longer day than usual. And I get the feeling that John and Cathleen aren’t the type to knock off early. They’ll be here for as long as I am.
‘We’ll head on into the office,’ John says, following Cathleen, who’s already through the office door.
I should have come back late last night to take a look when there was no chance of them being around. I should have checked that there’s nothing lurking in the files and drawers to land me in trouble. Too late now. I’ll do it tonight though. I’ll come back later and see what they’ve been up to.
‘Can I make either of you a drink?’
‘One black coffee, one black tea, no sugar, thanks.’
‘No problem.’ I head over to the oak dresser in the showroom that I upcycled into a drinks station. The countertop is covered in tea stains and cake crumbs. Molly’s supposed to keep it clean, but she’s been getting very lax about everything lately. I’ll have to have a word.
Before I put the kettle on, I nip down the road to Ida’s Bakery to pick up some pastries. I’m determined to get on Cathleen and John’s good side, and if that means bribing them with freshly baked flaky pastry and apple custard, then that’s what I’ll do. Ten minutes later I walk into the office bearing hot beverages and an assortment of pastries.
Cathleen is sitting in my ergonomic office chair at my desk, while John is crouched over the open filing cabinet, pulling out a folder. I risk a quick peek over his shoulder but frustratingly I can’t read what’s written on the label, so I cross the room to lay the tray down on the desk. Before I do so, Cathleen takes her mug of tea and sets it straight down on my marble-topped desk, ignoring the coaster. It takes every inch of willpower I possess not to say anything about it. She then takes John’s mug and does the same. I can already see a ring of brown coffee seeping into the Carrara.
‘No cakes for me, thanks,’ she says, getting straight back to her note taking.
‘What about John? Would he li—’
‘No thank you.’ Cathleen replies on his behalf, which I feel is a little out of order, so I turn to him and show him the tray.
‘Oh, no. No thanks.’ Neither of them has cracked a smile yet. So much for me winning them over.
As I leave the office, Cathleen adds, ‘Can you please close the door behind you, and would you mind knocking if you need to come back in.’
‘Uh, sure.’ I close the door, walk back into the showroom and set the tray down on the drinks station, feeling almost on the verge of tears. The two of them are so abrupt. Not rude, exactly – it’s as though they’re only as polite as they need to be. I know it must be the nature of the job. They can’t allow themselves to get friendly in case they find something untoward in the books. They can’t afford to be personal. But this is my space. The place I come to be me. And now it doesn’t feel like mine any more. I glance back through the Crittall windows. Cathleen and John appear to be deep in conversation and I wonder what they’re talking about. I wonder if their tone with one another is any different to their tone with me. But I can’t hear anything through the glass. Maybe I should learn to lip read. On second thoughts, they’d see the payment for the classes and grill me for that too.
So what happens if theydofind something untoward? I don’t think they will. But they might. What if the truth comes out? Nathan will go mad. Could I go to prison for something like that, or would it just be a fine? I open up Google on my phone and start typing into the search bar. But before pressing ‘enter’, I pause, then delete the words. What if HMRC somehow have access to my phone and can view my search history? They might think I’m guilty just because I looked something up.
I’m becoming paranoid. Driving myself crazy. I need to get out of here.
I can’t face knocking on my own office door, so I don’t bother to tell them that I’m going out. I won’t be long anyway. Just a quick walk around the block to shake off this restless feeling.
I step out onto the pavement, taking a deep, steadying breath. The thing to do is to concentrate on my work rather than on this intrusion. There’s nothing I can do about it anyway, so it’s pointless stressing. I head up the road, towards the town hall, past the library and the supermarket, theclip-clipof my heels on the concrete going some way to alleviating my anxiousness. The town is still waking up. ‘Open’ signs being turned around, doors flung wide, A-boards set out, and tables and chairs arranged for the breakfast and coffee crowd. I navigate my way past all of it, nodding good morning to friends and neighbours as I go. As though nothing is wrong.
I’ve lived in Ashridge Falls all my life, but I’m not a beloved member of the community. I’m too stand-offish. Too self-contained. Sure, I’m liked, maybe even respected a little – I like to think so anyway – but not loved. Not like Kelly or Ed, or even Tia. That’s fine though. It suits me. Although a part of me admits that it would be lovely to be more easy going. More friendly and approachable. I guess it just isn’t in my nature, though maybe it used to be.
I stop in my tracks. Up ahead I see a familiar dark-haired figure talking animatedly to Tia’s brother, Ash. Ash Dewan is a local police officer. A nice guy, strait-laced and responsible – the complete opposite of his sister, who was always a bit of a tearaway. Right now, Ash is standing by his car sharing a laugh with Paul Barton, the local dentist. And Paul Barton is definitely someone I do not want to see.
If I turn around and head back the way I came, he might still spot me and catch up. So instead, I keep my head low, cross over the road and duck into a residential side street. I amble past the stone-fronted fisherman’s cottages, deciding to go for a longer walk than intended. Molly will arrive at work soon anyway, so she can deal with any customer queries that might come in.
I try to empty my mind, admiring the colourful window boxes and smartly painted front doors. Most of these houses are spruced-up holiday cottages. I’ve worked on a couple of them myself. They’re tiny, but full of charm and character. It’s nice and shady down here. Cool and quiet. I’ll keep walking until I’m sure the coast is clear.
Eight
She stumbles along the lake towards home. Her head bowed; her mind numb. She needs to get home. To close the door and fall onto her bed. There are too many people here – picnickers, clusters of kids hanging around chatting, skimming stones. It’s a sunny summer’s day, so what did she expect? She should have walked home via the quiet back streets. But the thought of that is almost as frightening.
‘Hey!’
Before she can stop herself, she looks up.
Her best friends are on the grassy bank by the old willow tree, waving and calling her over. She can’t ignore them. But how can she put into words what’s just happened? How can she explain it to them? She decides the best thing to do is to point to her watch, shrug apologetically and keep walking like she has to be somewhere else in a hurry.
She feels like she’s acting a part. Like those girls are not really her best friends. This town isn’t really the place where she lives. Today is just a scene out of a really horrible play.
