EPISODE ONE-HUNDRED AND SEVEN
Mike stood at the
cash machine waiting for his money to be dispensed, all the time thinking about
another visit to Maggie’s wine bar, to see if he could persuade her to meet him
again. He regretted having had to
postpone their last assignation and only hoped she wouldn’t change her mind
about becoming his lover once again.
He stuffed the dispensed hundred pounds into his wallet, waited for his
receipt, then grabbed it and walked along the High Street towards the wine
bar. He glanced down at the receipt, and
what he saw made him stop in his tracks.
The account should have been in credit, at least to the tune of fifteen
hundred pounds. Instead, it was
overdrawn by over two hundred. Well
within their agreed overdraft limit, but still overdrawn when it should have
been in credit. What was going on?
He hesitated, dying to pay Maggie another visit. But now he needed to know why he and Claire’s
account was overdrawn. Had she taken a
great deal of money out of the account, and for what purpose? Reluctantly, he turned away from Maggie’s
wine bar, and began walking in the direction of home, intent on finding out
what had happened to the money in the account.
Their joint account. As he strode
purposefully up Mount
Pleasant,
breathing heavily from the exertion, he cursed the day he had agreed they
should have a joint bank account.
*
The photograph of Mary had been printed on ordinary copying paper, obviously
printed off from a computer. She stood
over the kitchen sink, held the match under the picture, and watched as it
caught fire, curling slowly at the edges, until the flame
swept upwards and destroyed her image.
She let it fall into the sink, then ran the tap to wash away the ashes,
so that there was nothing left of the remains.
It was gone.
When she first saw the photograph, she felt dirty, even though she hadn’t posed
for it. It was the creeping feeling of
being watched she couldn’t take. It made
her flesh creep. Ronnie watching
her. But from where? She’d checked the bedroom thoroughly and
could find no hidden cameras. And that
was when it occurred to her that he’d been in the house again, just like the
time he’d left the cassette tape behind.
Deliberately letting her know that he could come and go as he
liked. And she knew that if she had the
locks changed it wouldn’t do any good.
Ronnie would find another way to get at her. He was that sort of man. Manipulative.
Evil. He liked to play games.
Nasty, evil games.
She stared down into the sink, feeling slightly better now that the photograph
had vanished. Cleansed by fire. If only she could find out where Ronnie
lived. Get a can of petrol while he was
asleep. Set fire to his house or flat,
then watch while the flames wiped him out of her life for good. Then she would feel truly cleansed.
She looked at the kitchen clock. It was
ten-fifteen. She wanted to phone Dave,
and tell him what was going on, but she knew that if she stood in the hall using
the landline, and began raising her voice, she would probably wake Simon and
Thomas. That’s if they were asleep. She certainly didn’t want to worry them. Her handbag was on the kitchen table, so she
took out her mobile and dialled Dave’s number.
‘Hello, sweetheart,’ he said when she made the connection. ‘I’m in a noisy pub. I’ll just walk outside.’
She could hear music and laughter in the background, then a whoosh of sound
like air escaping, and some cars hooting and traffic noises.
‘That’s better,’ Dave shouted.
‘Marginally. I miss you, Mary.’
‘Dave,’ she said, ‘he’s been in here again.’
‘Who?’
‘Who d’you think? Ronnie of course.’ She told him about the photograph, and how
she couldn’t find a camera in the bedroom.
After a brief pause, he said, ‘First thing tomorrow, get along to Tonbridge
Police Station. You’ve got the evidence
to nail the bastard.’
‘What evidence?’
‘The photo.’
Tears swam into her eyes as she said, ‘I burnt it.’
‘What!’
‘I couldn’t stand the thought of him watching me like that. I had to destroy it.’
‘You idiot! That’s the first thing the
police are going to ask.’
Dave!’ she cried. ‘Please come home.’
A brief pause before he answered. ‘You
know that’s out of the question.’
‘I need you, Dave.’
A tired, overly patient voice. ‘You know
I can’t. I can’t break my contract. We’ve been through all this.’
She sobbed openly, letting him know how distraught she was. It was intended to make him feel sorry for
her, enough perhaps to make him leave Blackpool and rush back to her side. Instead, it had the opposite effect. A remote, coldness crept into his tone.
‘Mary, I have to go. And I don’t know
how much help I could be even if I was back in Tunbridge Wells. It’s the police that need to deal with this.’
‘I know,’ she cried. ‘But I need your
support. I can’t handle this on my own.’
‘Sweetheart, listen, my battery’s almost run out. Any minute now. That’s why I said I had to go. Get along to the cop shop first thing
tomorrow, and I’ll give you a call once my battery’s been recharged. Then we’ll see about...’
He deliberately clicked the cancel on his mobile, then switched it off. He hated doing it, and lying about his
battery. But what could he do? His hands were tied. Why couldn’t she realise: a contract is a
contract. And besides, domestic issues
shouldn’t interfere with work.
He went back into the pub and joined his colleagues.
*
Claire gave Mike a warm smile as he came into the kitchen, went over and kissed
him on the lips, then stood back and examined the fierce expression on his
face.
‘What’s wrong? I thought it was quiz
night at the White Hart tonight. I
wasn’t expecting you to stagger back until almost midnight.’
‘I needed some cash, so I went to the hole in the wall and drew some out. When I got my receipt, it said we were two
hundred pounds overdrawn.’
Claire frowned and nodded. ‘I was going
to tell you, but...’
‘But it slipped your mind? How can
seventeen hundred disappear from our account?’
Claire did her best to look contrite as she slid into a chair by the kitchen
table, but she seemed infuriatingly calm.
Content almost.
‘I think you’d better sit down, Mike, while I explain.’
He sat opposite her, staring hard, trying to catch her eye. But she avoided prolonged eye contact, almost
as if she couldn’t stand his piercing, probing look.
‘As you can see, I’ve been making progress over the last couple of weeks. And I’m over the depression.’
‘Are you trying to tell me you’ve been paying some psychiatrist privately for a
cure.’
‘Not a shrink – no way. Psychiatric
practices are detrimental to an individual’s health.’
‘Since when?’
‘Since I saw the light.’
Mike frowned deeply. ‘Saw the
light! What sort of mumbo-jumbo are you
into?’
Claire smiled beatifically. ‘You know
that American friend of mine. Lucy. Well, she’s helped me out enormously. No more depression. I feel great, Mike. And I’ve recognised my potential and turned
all my negatives into positives.’
‘Just what has she done that’s cost us a five figure sum?’
‘Don’t think of it in terms of money.
She’s brought me onto the path of enlightenment.’
Mike’s voice rose angrily. ‘Don’t give me that shit? What’s happened?’
There was a pause while she calmly examined a cuticle. Then she said: ‘I’ve joined the
Church of Scientology.’
IN EPISODE 108
Mary can’t resist the lure of money.