I See You (13 page)

‘Mum! Are you feeling better?’ She moves to make room on the sofa between her and Simon, and I sit down, exhausted by the effort of coming downstairs.

‘Not really. I’m totally wiped out.’ I haven’t felt this ill for years. My bones ache and my skin hurts to touch. There’s a stinging sensation at the back of my eyes that only goes away when I close my lids, and my throat is so sore it’s a struggle to talk. ‘I think I’ve got flu. Proper flu.’

‘Poor
baby.’ Simon puts his arm round me and for once Katie doesn’t say anything about what she calls ‘public displays of affection’. Even Justin looks concerned.

‘Do you want a drink of something?’ he says. I must look really ill, I think.

‘Just some water. Thank you.’

‘No worries.’ He stands up, then reaches into his pocket and hands me an envelope.

‘What’s this?’ I open it and find a thick bundle of twenty-pound notes.

‘Rent.’

‘What? We’ve been through this. I don’t want rent from you, love.’

‘Well, food, bills – whatever. It’s yours.’

I turn to Simon, remembering how insistent he’s been lately that Justin shouldn’t have a free ride. He shakes his head, as if to say it’s got nothing to do with him.

‘That’s really good of you though, Justin. Well done, mate.’ The colloquialism sounds forced on Simon’s lips and Justin looks at him scornfully.

‘I thought you were skint?’ Katie says, peering at the notes to see how much is there. I put it in my cardigan pocket, trying to ignore the voice inside my head that wants me to ask where it’s from.

‘Melissa’s put me in charge of the café so she can set up the new one,’ Justin says, as though he’s read my mind. ‘It’s only temporary, but it comes with a pay rise.’

‘That’s wonderful!’ Relief that my son is neither stealing nor dealing makes my response disproportionately enthusiastic. Justin shrugs as though the news is of no importance, and goes into the kitchen for my water. ‘I always knew he just needed a break,’ I whisper to Simon. ‘Someone who could see what a hard-working lad he is.’

I suddenly remember Justin isn’t the only one with job news.
I turn to Katie. ‘I’m so sorry I wasn’t more supportive before your audition, love. I feel dreadful about it.’

‘Oh God, don’t worry about that now, Mum. You’re not well.’

‘Simon said it went brilliantly.’

Katie beams. ‘It was amazing. So, the agent didn’t take me on, because she already had a few on her books with my
look
and
range
– whatever that means, but I got chatting to a guy who was waiting in reception. He’s the director of a theatre company putting on a production of
Twelfth Night
, and their Viola has just had a skiing accident. I mean,
how
perfect?’

I stare at her, not following. Justin returns with a glass of water. He hasn’t let the tap run, and it’s cloudy and tepid, but I sip it gratefully. Anything to ease my sore throat.

‘Mum,
Twelfth Night
was the text we did for GCSE English. I know it inside out. And he said I was
made
for Viola. I literally auditioned then and there – it was the maddest thing – and I got the part! The rest of the cast have been rehearsing for weeks, but I’ve got to nail it in a fortnight.’

My head is spinning. ‘But who is this guy? Do you know anything about him?’

‘He’s called Isaac. Turns out his sister went to school with Sophia, so he’s not a complete stranger. He’s done stuff at Edinburgh, and – here’s the exciting bit – they’re going to take
Twelfth Night
on tour! He’s incredibly ambitious, and so talented.’

I spot something else in Katie’s face. Something other than her excitement over an acting job. ‘Good looking?’

She blushes. ‘Very.’

‘Oh, Katie!’

‘What? Mum, it’s all kosher, I promise. I think you’d like him.’

‘Good. You can invite him over.’

Katie snorts. ‘I only met him yesterday, Mum, I’m not asking him to meet the ’rents.’

‘Well,
you’re not going on tour till you do, so …’ We glare at each other, until Simon intervenes.

‘Shall we talk about this when you’re feeling better?’

‘I’m feeling better now,’ I say, but my stubbornness is undermined by a wave of dizziness that makes me close my eyes.

‘Sure you are. Come on, you: bed.’

I remember his promise. ‘Did you call the police?’

‘Yes. I spoke to someone senior on the investigation team.’

‘Rampello?’

‘I think so. I said how worried you were about the advert – the one that looked a bit like you—’

‘It
was
me.’

‘—and the guy I spoke to said he could totally see why you were anxious, but at the moment they don’t think Tania Beckett’s murder is linked to any other crimes.’

‘There has to be a link,’ I persist. ‘It can’t be coincidence.’

‘You don’t even know her,’ Justin says. ‘Why are you getting so wound up?’

‘Because she’s been murdered, Justin!’ He doesn’t react, and I look at Katie in despair. ‘And because my photo—’

‘—it wasn’t your photo, sweetheart,’ Simon interrupts.

‘—because my photo was in exactly the same advert as hers. So I think I’ve got every right to get wound up, don’t you?’

‘Those sorts of ads don’t normally come with premium-rate numbers unless they’re dodgy,’ Simon says.

‘What’s that got to do with anything?’

‘Was she an escort?’ Katie asks.

‘Occupational hazard,’ Justin says. He shrugs and assumes his previous position on the sofa, phone in hand.

‘They said on the news she was a teaching assistant, not an escort.’ I think of the photo they used in the paper, of Tania with her boyfriend. I imagine the headline above a report into my own murder, and wonder what photo they’d put alongside it; whether they’d ask Graham Hallow for a quote.

‘The
advert didn’t say anything about escort services, did it, Mum?’ Katie says.

‘It had a web address.’ I press my palm against my forehead, trying to remember. ‘Find the one dot com.’

‘Sounds more like a dating site. Maybe she was killed by someone she met online.’

‘I don’t want you going out on your own any more,’ I tell Katie. She stares at me, aghast.

‘Because of one murder on the other side of London? Mum, don’t be ridiculous. People are murdered all the time.’

‘Men, yes. Boys in gangs. Druggies and stupid risk-takers. But not young women on their way home from work. You go out with a group of friends, or you don’t go out at all.’

Katie looks at Simon, but for once he backs me up.

‘We want you to be safe, that’s all.’

‘It’s not practical. What about work? I don’t finish at the restaurant on a Saturday night till ten thirty p.m. and now I’m in
Twelfth Night
I’ll be rehearsing most evenings. There’s no alternative but to come home on my own.’ I go to speak but Katie interrupts me, gently but insistently. ‘I’m a big girl, Mum. I’m careful. You don’t need to worry about me.’

But I am worried. I’m worried for Katie, as she travels blindly home from work each night, her head in the clouds thinking about red carpet stardom. I’m worried for all the Cathy Tannings and Tania Becketts, who had no idea what life had in store for them. And I’m worried for me. I don’t know what those adverts mean, or why my photograph appears in one, but the danger is very real. I can’t see it, but I can feel it. And it’s getting closer.

You
never know where you might meet The One. Perhaps they always have the window seat on the train on your way in. It’s possible you see them in front of you in the queue to buy coffee. Maybe you simply cross the road behind them every day. If you’re sure of yourself, you might strike up a conversation. The weather, to begin with, and the state of the trains; but then, as time goes by, you’ll exchange more personal snippets. Your hellish weekend; their slave driver boss; the boyfriend who doesn’t understand them. You’ll get to know each other, and then one of you will take it to the next level. Coffee? Dinner? The deal is done.

But what if The One sits in the next carriage to you? What if they bring their coffee in from home; if they cycle to work; if they take the stairs instead of the escalator? Imagine what you’re missing, by not bumping into them.

A first date; a second date; more.

Maybe it’s not about The One; maybe you want something shorter. Sweeter. Something that’ll get your blood pumping and your pulse racing.

A fling.

A one-night stand.

A pursuit.

That’s where it started. findtheone.com. A way of making introductions between London’s commuters. A helping hand to
bring people together. You could call me a broker; a go-between; a match-maker.

And the beautiful thing is that none of you even know you’re on my books.

I
stay in bed for twenty-four hours, sleeping more often than I’m awake. On Wednesday afternoon I struggle to the doctor, only to be told what I already know: I have the flu and there’s nothing to do but drink water and take over-the-counter meds and wait for it to pass. Simon is amazing. He cooks for the children and brings me food I don’t eat, going out for ice cream when I decide it’s the only thing I could possibly swallow. He would have been a good expectant father, I think, remembering my pregnancy with Justin, when I sent a grumbling Matthew out in the snow to find nachos and wine gums.

I manage to call work and tell Graham I’m ill. He’s surprisingly sympathetic, until I tell him I’ll be off for the rest of the week.

‘Can’t you at least come in tomorrow? Jo’s off and there’ll be no one to man the phone.’

‘I will if I can,’ I say. When morning comes I send him a text message, ‘Sorry, still ill’, then turn off my phone. It’s lunchtime before I can face any food; Melissa brings me chicken soup from the café, and once I start eating I discover I’m ravenous.

‘This is delicious.’ We’re sitting in my kitchen, at the tiny table only big enough for two. ‘Sorry about the mess.’ The dishwasher needs unloading, which means everyone has ignored it and piled their breakfast dishes in the sink instead. A ring of empty packaging around the bin suggests that it, too, is full. The fridge is covered with family photos, held in place by the kitsch magnets it has become traditional to buy on holiday, as part of an ongoing challenge to find the cheesiest souvenir.
Currently in first place is Katie’s nodding donkey magnet from Benidorm, its sombrero swaying every time someone opens the fridge door.

‘It’s homely,’ Melissa says, laughing when she sees my sceptical look. ‘I mean it. It’s warm and full of love and memories – just the way a family house should be.’ I search her face for regret, but find nothing.

Melissa was forty when we met – still young enough to have a family – and I asked her once if she and Neil were planning to have children.

‘He can’t.’ She corrected herself instantly. ‘That’s not fair. I meant
we
can’t.’

‘That must be hard.’ I’d been a mother for so long I couldn’t imagine a life without children.

‘Not really. I’ve always known, you see – Neil had leukaemia as a child and the chemo left him infertile – so it was never part of our life together. We’ve done other things; had other opportunities.’ Work, I supposed. The business, holidays, a beautiful house.

‘Neil found it harder than I did,’ she said. ‘He used to get very angry –
Why me
? That sort of thing – but nowadays we barely even think about it.’

‘Whereas I’d love a house like yours,’ I say now, ‘all clear surfaces and not a dirty sock in sight!’

She smiles. ‘The grass is always greener, isn’t that what they say? Before too long, Katie and Justin will have moved out and you’ll be rattling around in an empty house, wishing they were here.’

‘Maybe. Oh, that reminds me; what on earth have you done to my son?’

Melissa looks instantly worried, and I feel bad for trying to make a joke. I explain: ‘He presented me with money for rent on Tuesday. Without being asked for it. I gather you’ve promoted him.’

‘Oh,
I see! He deserves it – he’s doing a great job, and I need a manager. It’s worked out perfectly.’

There’s still something troubling her. I hold her gaze till she breaks away, looking out of the window to our scrubby garden. Finally, she speaks.

‘The pay rise.’ She glances at me. ‘It’s cash-in-hand.’ I raise an eyebrow. I’m her friend, but I’m also her bookkeeper. I suspect she wouldn’t have told me, had I not mentioned Justin’s pay rise.

‘When customers pay in cash, it doesn’t always go through the books. I keep a rainy day fund. It covers the odd household bill without my needing to take a dividend from the business.’

‘I see.’ I should probably be wrestling with my conscience, round about now, but the way I see it, she’s not hurting anyone. She’s not some global retailer, avoiding corporation tax with offshore accounts. She’s just a local businesswoman, trying to make a living like the rest of us.

‘It’s not purely selfish, you know.’ I can see from Melissa’s expression that she’s regretting telling me; that she’s worried I’m judging her. ‘It means Justin doesn’t lose out to the taxman either; he can start to put something aside.’

I’m touched that she’s even considered it. ‘So do I also have you to thank for him passing some of his pay rise on in rent?’

‘We might have had a word or two …’ She assumes an innocent face that makes me laugh.

‘Well, thank you. It’s good to see him finally growing up a bit. You’re not worried about someone grassing you up to HMRC?’ I add, my bookkeeper hat temporarily in place. It isn’t just Melissa who should be worried. If she were to be caught, I’d be hauled in too.

‘You’re the only one who knows.’

‘Knows what?’ I grin. ‘I’d better get dressed – I must reek.’ I’m still wearing the jogging bottoms and T-shirt I slept in last night, and I’m suddenly conscious of the stale smell of sickness. ‘I’m
meeting Katie’s new boyfriend-slash-director later – he’s picking her up for rehearsal.’

‘Boyfriend?’

‘Well, she hasn’t called him that, but I know my daughter. She only met him on Monday, but I swear I haven’t had a conversation with her since then without her mentioning his name. Isaac this, Isaac that. She’s got it bad.’ I hear the creak of the stairs and I stop talking abruptly, just before Katie appears in the kitchen.