Sitting Pretty Page 3

  There was a key cutting place at one of the entrances to Wintertown shopping centre. During my lunch break, when I would normally be popping home for a couple of slices of cheese on toast or eating a sandwich in the nearest coffee shop to wherever my last client had been, I drove there. The closer I got to getting a copy of Henry Halliday’s key cut, the more I felt how I imagined shoplifters or fraudsters might feel. At any moment, I was expecting the long arm of the law to tap me on my shoulder and to be asked to prove my legal and rightful ownership of this key; then be carted off to prison because I couldn’t. My mouth was getting drier and I could feel my heart racing as I dithered about. The young man behind the counter had to have realised I was acting suspiciously – I could all but see my face on Crimewatch. It was just as he opened his mouth to speak to me that my nerve left me completely and I turned and fled. My feet took me to Dominic’s Café where the prices are reasonable and they do a great all day breakfast, not that I could have faced one right then. I had a large decaf latte to calm my nerves and ordered a bowl of fusilli with pesto sauce, their pasta dish of the day, to settle my churning stomach. I’d have to have my main meal at lunchtimes for now. If I was still going to do this.

  As I sat there, moving my food around its bowl and forcing down a few mouthfuls, I gave the key situation a rethink. Getting one cut was definitely illegal. And premeditated. If I could just keep Henry Halliday’s with me at the end of the day, it felt a bit less like something that would see me spending Christmas in HMP Parkhurst. But how would I manage it?

  The afternoon flew by. Firstly just feeding and playing with the cats. Then, later on when it was getting towards tea time, the return visits to the dogs for their dinners and second walks of the day. I’d given Bubbles a stern talking to, when I went for his morning visit, but by the evening he’d completely forgotten our agreement that he was going to behave himself. The neighbourhood cats were all thoroughly terrorised by the time we got back to the Parkers’ house.

  After going back to Sitting Pretty to give back the keys, with my key for my mum’s place swapped for Henry Halliday’s, I was at a bit of a loose end. I didn’t want to go straight to the cottage for a long, silent evening of reading or playing on my laptop. I’d recharged the laptop in the office so it wouldn’t need plugging in. There had been too many people about, otherwise I might have taken a deep breath and forced myself to have a look at Alex’s Facebook page. So the supermarket seemed the sensible place to go, to pick up a few bits and pieces, maybe a salad and some fruit for my dinner. I could torture myself later.

  It wasn’t until I was walking out of Asda with my half price chicken Caesar salad, a Greek yoghurt, a couple of bananas, some instant hot chocolate sachets, and a bag of crisps, that the nerves kicked in again. Yesterday I’d gone to feed Talisker legitimately. It was only after I’d got there that the decision to stay had come about. This afternoon I’d been to feed him just like yesterday, only making sure to take the key back to Eleanor, apologising for forgetting to return it the day before. But today I would be going there out of my usual work time. And with the express intention of spending the night there, uninvited.

  Wandering round the shops had killed a bit of time, but it felt a bit pointless, not wanting to buy anything because firstly, I couldn’t afford it, and secondly, there was currently nowhere to put it. I went back to Dominic’s for another latte, wondering how long I could make it last. There was a man at another table who looked, from sideways on, a lot like Alex. He had the same, brown-so-dark-it-was-almost-black, thick, wavy hair resting on his collar, and the same aquiline nose. He was even wearing a cornflower blue shirt – Alex’s preferred colour of work shirt, although to him it was just a light blue chambray. I nearly choked on my coffee. I had to stop myself marching over and asking him what the hell he thought he was playing at, while tipping whatever was in his mug over his head. Thoughts of my husband, which I’d managed to keep out of my head all day – well, since this morning anyway – came crashing in. What was he doing right now? Not that I cared. Of course he hadn’t phoned me – but had he even thought about what he’d done to me? Was he alone? Had he left me behind because there was someone else and she was going to be there in my place? Had Tula, that Greek goddess his parents adored, somehow finally got her claws into him? Well she was welcome to him.

  There was no one about on Netley Parva’s perfectly manicured village green when I got there, even though it was quite a fine evening. It looked like a film set of a village ready for the extras in a Miss Marple mystery to come walking along and as I parked further down the street, I wondered if anyone had noticed that my car had been parked not far from Henry Halliday’s cottage for the whole of the previous night. Could there be a sweet, little, old lady or two knitting away behind any of those lace curtains with one eye on what was going on outside? Taking a deep breath, I grabbed my bag and walked as nonchalantly and as quietly as I could, slipping up the side of the cottage and letting myself in through the back door, locking it behind me again. Yes, I thought. I’ve done it!

  I hadn’t realised how much my heart was racing until I got through that door. I was gripping my bag so tightly my nails were digging in to my palm. My mouth was dry again too. With a flashback to the key cutting place, I put my bag down and went to the kitchen sink to run a glass of water. I was drinking it down gratefully when the near silence was snatched away by the shrill ring of the telephone in the hallway. And the sound of my choking as the water went down the wrong way. Who on earth could that be? Had my imagination conjured up a real little old lady who’d seen me coming in and had put down her knitting to phone and check up on me? Would it look suspicious if I didn’t answer it? But it would give the whole game away if I did.

  Great! Day one of my plan and I was already falling at the first hurdle.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  I didn’t breathe again until I’d checked the lock on Henry Halliday’s door for what felt like the twentieth time, and was leaning against it, eyes closed, heart going nineteen to the dozen. The window cleaner who’d just left a message on the answer phone would never know what a fright he’d given me. I’d been so sure he was someone from the local Neighbourhood Watch, suspecting someone was in here and waiting to see if they’d answer the phone. First night in and I’d already been caught red handed. Except, thank God, I hadn’t.

  Talisker trotted down the stairs and meowed in greeting, completely unaware of my state of near panic. He head-butted my shin and I slid down the door, nudging my Asda carrier bag across the floor so I could stroke his head. He then decided to take an interest in my shopping and I had to stop him staking a claim on my chicken salad.

  ‘I don’t think so, mister,’ I whispered to him, getting up and taking my dinner and tomorrow’s breakfast through to the kitchen. I put the salad and Greek yoghurt straight in the fridge. ‘You’ve got your own food. This is mine.’ I took the carrier bag holder and laid it against the bottom of the door again like last night and went into the utility room to give him a snack. It had been my intention to get him something as a treat while I was in Asda but, in deference to my new budget restrictions, I’d been seduced by the lure of following a member of staff with a reduced-price sticker gun while of course, pretending to be doing no such thing, and I’d forgotten. I’d have to get him something from Lidl, or Aldi, or The 99p Shop. There’d be no more food shopping in Waitrose for now.

  I tipped some fresh biscuits into his bowl and left him crunching away while I took my shoulder bag upstairs. Not wanting to look like I was taking a lot of stuff in with me, I’d managed to cram a clean T-shirt and undies for tomorrow, a pair of pyjama bottoms, basic toiletries, and a book into the thankfully roomy bag. I’d padded the clothes around my little laptop. It’s a good thing that in my job, neatly ironed clothes aren’t a necessity.

  The sofa had been great for one night, but I’d decided if I was going to be using the spare room’s bathroom, I might as well sleep in the spare bed. The thought of
using Henry Halliday’s bedding made me feel a little uncomfortable, but it was warm for October and if I took the fancy bedspread and extra pillows and cushions off, I’d be more than comfortable with just a sheet over me. I could wash it with the bottom sheet, pillowcase, and towel the day before he was due back.

  I drew the heavy curtains across the window and turned on the bedside lamp. The little travel alarm clock on the bedside table read half past seven. It couldn’t still be that early. I’d really taken my time at the shopping centre and sat for ages over my coffee. But one glance at my watch confirmed it. I wondered what I was missing on EastEnders. And wasn’t Waking the Dead on tonight? All the times I’d cursed the programme schedulers for showing repeats all the time and right now I’d happily give my past-its-freshest chicken salad for a couple of hours as a couch potato in front of the telly. Not that I’d take any of it in, but there was something comforting about the familiar, wasn’t there?

  Emptying the contents of my bag onto the chair by the dressing table, I picked up the book I was halfway through. Talisker wandered in through the door and rubbed his head against my ankle. He looked very pleased with himself, as he prepared to jump onto the bed. Of course, the door to this room was usually kept shut, I remembered. This was usually forbidden territory.

  ‘Come on, Tal.’ I picked him up and carried him out of the room with me and down the stairs. ‘Don’t you think cat hairs are going to be a bit of a giveaway?’ His purring indicated his complete lack of concern in the matter.

  Downstairs, I took my salad out of the fridge. It looked a lot less appetising than it had in the shop.

  Half past seven. Much as I loved reading and playing computer Solitaire and Minesweeper, I was going to have to find a better way than this to spend the evenings. If I didn’t, the alternating cine-film flickering through my head – one reel flashing up memories of Alex and I together, the other making up trailers of him in Dubai having a fantastic time without me – possibly with someone else – would drive me insane.

  CHAPTER SIX

  In my dreams that night, I was chasing a beautiful, faceless Greek woman carrying a huge watermelon. Don’t ask me how I knew she was beautiful if she didn’t have a face, or why she was running away from me with a large piece of fruit – you just know things in dreams, the ridiculous makes perfect sense – a bit like my life right now.

  We were in a market – it must have been in Greece as there were lots of little, wrinkled old ladies dressed in black, bashing people in the shins with those shopping bag things on wheels and shrieking that all-encompassing phrase, Ella paithi mou! to anyone who got in their way. It was a bit like stumbling across the village ladies in Mamma Mia! while they were in a collective bad mood.

  The beautiful but faceless woman kept darting ahead of me through the crowds. I’d nearly catch her and then she’d be gone and my eyes would have to start scanning the crowds for her again.

  There were stalls and stalls around me of shiny, ripe watermelons but, for some reason, I knew that the one she had was mine and I had to have it back. Market traders kept thrusting olives, trays of baklava, and bunches of dried herbs at me but all I wanted was that damned watermelon. My damned watermelon.

  Up and down, round and round those stalls I ran, until I saw her slide through a slender gap between two of them. Following her through, I saw her enter a little white church in the distance and ran faster to try and catch her. That was when I noticed her dress. It was a wedding dress. And the watermelon was a bouquet of flowers.

  Still I didn’t stop running – all the way to the church door. And then I saw him. It was only the back of his head, his dark, wavy hair just resting on his collar, but I knew it was him.

  ‘Alex!’ I cried. But he carried on, walking down the aisle with her. ‘Alex!’ I cried again, and that was what woke me up.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  I propped the last cushion on its corner so it matched the one next to it and stood back. The bed looked pretty perfect to me, but what if I hadn’t remembered how it looked exactly and Henry Halliday noticed something was different? Why hadn’t I thought of taking a photo on my phone? Oh well, too late now. Taking one last look around the room to make sure I hadn’t left anything of mine there, I closed the door and went downstairs.

  Last night had been my final night here until Talisker’s owner went away again after a few more weeks. I’d rearranged my appointments and come back to feed the cat earlier than usual this morning. Staying longer than normal while the bedding went through the quickest wash, spin, and tumble dry cycles I could work on Henry Halliday’s washer/dryer, I’d cleaned up and made sure no trace remained of my overnight stays. I’d also checked my emails – nothing from Alex of course. I’d then checked Alex’s Facebook page – Relationship Status – Married to Beth Dixon was still there. In fact, he hadn’t added, shared, or changed anything on it since he left. Was that because he was so busy settling into his new job that there wasn’t time for social media? Or was it because he was even busier having a good time and living his life rather than writing it up on his laptop? He’d always scoffed at people on Twitter, saying they were so sad that they thought the rest of the world would be interested in what they had for breakfast, but he had always logged into his Facebook page every now and then.

  I’d ironed both sheets and the one pillow case I’d used far more carefully than I’d ever ironed anything in my life, and made up the bed again. I had my story ready just in case any nosy neighbours came by wanting to know why I was doing laundry. I would say that Talisker had been sick on Mr Halliday’s bed and I hadn’t wanted him to come home to a mess. But it wasn’t likely that anybody would ask. Not here. Netley Parva was one of the quietest villages I’d ever been to. It was more of a street with a little village green in front of it. There was the post office and general store on one corner of the green and the little Norman church on the other, and that was about it. Not even a pub or a phone box. Of course, a stranger would stand out at once, but my face was known round here. It was a peaceful community, where people in the surrounding lanes could put six boxes of their hens’ freshly laid eggs outside their gates in the morning and later, collect six unmolested pound coins left in their place. I would be recognised as Henry Halliday’s cat sitter, and very likely waved at, but beyond that nobody would pay much attention to my comings and goings. Even though it looked as if there should be, I was pretty sure there were no Miss Marple characters here, and at the moment I was very glad of it.

  Talisker lifted his paw and padded at my ankle, so I picked him up for a cuddle while having a last look around downstairs. The place was as clean as possible – to my eyes at least – and nothing looked out of the ordinary that I could see.

  I’d been and bought a bag of cat litter and small refill versions of the hypo-allergenic, ecologically-sound, wouldn’t-hurt-an-ant laundry liquid and fabric softener that Henry Halliday always used and tipped them into the existing bottles. I was hoping he wouldn’t notice that Talisker’s newly topped up biscuit container didn’t look any emptier than when he left, or that the number of tins and sachets of cat food on the tray in the utility room hadn’t gone down much either. Surely nobody counts tins of cat food.

  Planting a couple of kisses on top of Talisker’s velvety head, I put him down on the sofa and rubbed his ear.

  ‘OK, Tal. I’ll see you in a few weeks, fella.’ He winked at me as if to say ‘Don’t worry, I’ll keep your secret,’ then leaned on his side, stuck his back foot in his ear, and started to have a good scratch.

  The rest of the day went by quickly, catching up with my other clients, and I was quite breathless as I dashed into the office at half past six. It was Katya’s birthday and we were all meeting up for cake and a glass of fizz as Davina had another engagement and couldn’t join us for the evening. Katya was flushed already and I guessed there’d been some fizz at lunchtime too. Davina, in coral pink today, was elegant as ever.

  ‘There you are, Be
th darling!’ She thrust the last champagne flute in my hand. ‘Thank God! We’re all absolutely gasping with thirst!’

  I smiled self-consciously. It seemed to me I was always the one rushing in late and looking like I’d just been dragged through a hedge backwards.

  We sang Happy Birthday To You as Natalia, the longest standing member of the team, carried a Croquembouche out from the kitchen, a tall sparkler doing its thing in the top. Trust Davina – no ordinary birthday cake if she was in charge.

  Once the sparkler went out, Natalia dismantled the glistening profiteroles and dished them up. They were so good I could have eaten the whole thing. This was the second weekday birthday in the office since I’d joined Sitting Pretty. The first had been Natalia’s, and Davina had arranged for a chocolate fountain to be brought in, complete with marshmallows, strawberries, chunks of banana, and little cubes of cake on sticks. She hadn’t been able to come out with us in the evening for that one either.

  We were going to some fancy cocktail bar in Southampton. It was Katya’s favourite place to party at the moment, probably because Katya’s current favourite barman worked there. I’d only ever been once, as Alex – who probably spent more on hair products in a month than I did in a year – had decided it was full of posers. I remembered heartily but silently agreeing with him at the time, a bit miffed though, that it sounded like he was including my friends in that judgement.

  Katya had reserved a seating area for us last time she was there so we didn’t have to worry about not being able to get in. The arrangement was for us all to meet there. I was going back to Katya’s place with her to get ready and then I was going to stay the night. It was pretty certain the birthday girl wouldn’t be in any fit state to find her own way home at the end of the night, so I’d offered to be the one to make sure she got home all right. It was the sort of thing I’d do anyway. I’d got her a nice bag, in the sale in Debenhams that I knew she’d love, to stop myself feeling guilty about inviting myself for a sleepover. I was so looking forward to spending a night in a bed without worrying that I wasn’t supposed to be there. And having a proper shower, rather than the quickest I could manage. Or even a bath. I never thought I’d find myself getting so excited at the thought of having a bath. Well, not one on my own, anyway.