To Catch a Creeper (22 page)

‘Oh, but I’ve not said what I came to say.’ She pushes it ajar. ‘I’m off soon for a two-week break. Eleanor arranged some respite care for me.’

‘Lucky thing.’

‘Lucky?’ she snarls. ‘You think it’s lucky? You must be off your flamin’ rocker. Respite care? Respite-don’t-care, more like. It’s a dump. I’m not going. Can you do anything?’

‘Me?’

‘As my Nominated Neighbour?’

‘No. No. It’s not part of our brief. Look, if your daughter thinks you should go, it’s probably for the best. Why does she want you to go again?’

‘Probably to plant more listening devices, knowing her. Nosey Parker. Well she can go sling her ruddy hook, can’t she?’

‘I expect you’ll have a very nice time.’

‘I won’t. I’ll hate it. I know I will,’ she says in a desperate kind of voice. ‘I hate old people. They’re so grouchy.’

‘Look,’ I pat her hand in a soothing way, ‘I’ll do what I can. Maybe speak to Eleanor.’

‘Promise?’

‘Pretty promise.’ I cross my fingers behind my back.

In the kitchen, Declan’s hunched over a bowl of muesli.

‘What did Mad Ma Baker want?’ he asks, moving over so I can sit beside him.

I sigh. ‘She’s being sent to respite care for a fortnight and is kicking up about it.’

‘Why?’

‘God knows. Her daughter’s right. She’s really lost it.’

‘Poor old dear. Do you think I should drop round?’

‘No! No!’ I cry out before lowering my voice to a more even tone. ‘It’s only, well she’s a bit…wary of men. Got attacked once. I’ll give her a ring – later in the day. Check she’s OK, or better still, maybe call her daughter, Eleanor.’

‘OK, if you’re sure.’ He studies his watch and stands up. ‘Actually, I’m in a bit of a rush. I’m going out today after I drop Josh and Sophie off.’

‘Oh where?’

‘London. Central London.’

‘That’s nice.’ Part of me thinks great. He’s actually getting about, aiding his healing and letting the sun and serotonin permeate his sallow skin, but then again there’s another part of me that says, what about all the housework that needs doing? All right for him spending every spare second shopping for things we in no way can afford, but domestically speaking he’s beginning to slack. Just as my broker warned me. All the initial flurry of activity when he first quit work turning into an almost standstill – apart from the show-off cooking on his new range cooker. We’ve been served roasted pumpkin curry, red onion and asparagus quiches, salmon and dill terrines, sultana spiced griddle cakes…

I bite my tongue and avert my eyes from the dust on the dado rail. ‘When will you be home?’

‘In time for pick-up, don’t worry. It’ll save Henrietta the trouble. I’ll fetch her guys too. How is she?’

‘Still under the weather. Sounds like flu.’

Neil’s secret is still Neil’s secret.

‘So where precisely in Central London?’ I say in a hurried voice as I apply blusher to my cheeks and stuff a pile of pretend important papers from the drawer into my briefcase so as not to arouse suspicion.

‘Natural History Museum.’

‘Again?’ I say in dismay.

‘There’s a few things about this evolution theory. It doesn’t quite add up.’

Chapter 21

I’m back in Joe’s Cath again, rummaging through my mental filing cabinet, trying to think of something, anything, that might help me capture the Creeper and free Neil and Henrietta from their burden of worry, but it’s no use – nothing’s leaping out at me. I look outside at the drizzly rain, windswept streets. What a murky miserable day. The dark clouds match my mood. Not even the idea of a good old rummage into Joan of Arc’s life at the library or a mystery bus trip to who knows where can cheer me up. Besides I might end up on the same one as Declan, which would blow my cover right out of the water.

After a while, a thought strikes and I stand up.

I’m going home.

***

Seems odd being in the house with no-one about. No kids, no husband. Ages since I’ve had the place to myself. And yet I had months and months of it when Josh started full-time school and before I began working for Younger and Wilding. I wander from room to room, the kitchen, downstairs toilet, lounge, stroking each item of furniture as if they were old friends, apart from the toilet and new range oven of course. It’s like I’m rediscovering my roots all over again.

A key turns in the lock. Quickly I flatten myself against the coat rack.

A bucket and mop emerges around the corner.

‘Pimple?’ I venture out.

‘Cathy! You’re home.’

‘Yes,’ I give a long deep sigh, ‘I’m home.’

All of a sudden I feel weary. Weary and useless. All this sneaking around, the pressure of trying not to lie, yet being unable to tell the truth, it hits me in one fell swoop as I see Pimple’s beaming friendly face.

‘It’s
so
nice to catch up with you, lovey.’ She looks like she means it. ‘But you seem a bit down in the dumps.’

‘Well, it’s just…’ Tears prickle behind my eyes.

‘Stop right there.’ She puts a hand up, like a traffic cop at a road accident, then turns on her heel and marches out.

Short while later she’s back, clutching a white paper bag with the name Claire’s Éclairs written all over it. ‘Chocolate muffins,’ she announces. ‘I’ll stick the kettle on, you go fetch some plates.’

Another two minutes and we’re both sitting down supping mugs of sugary hot tea and picking chocolate chips from between our teeth.

‘Always makes things better a good cuppa and cake.’

‘Yes,’ I say, then Churchill’s black dog seems to perch on my head once more as I think again of all my problems.

‘What is it, dear?’ She leans across the table and pats my hand. ‘Declan again?’

‘Not
just
Declan.’

‘Is it Rosa?’

‘Not
just
Rosa.’

‘Is it Henrietta?’

I’ve got to unburden myself. Either that or be here all day while Pimple continues guessing.

I sigh heavily. ‘I’m a failure. I’ve failed at everything.’ I begin counting it out on my fingers. ‘1. Best friendship, 2. Marriage, 3. Second best friendship, 4. Catching Creepers, 5. Work, 6–’

‘But your work was going so well, dearie?’ Pimple cuts in.

‘I know, but now I’ve been sacked. Suspended. Whatever.’

‘When?’

‘Month ago. It all started…’ It feels good confessing all to Pimple. Cathartic. I tell her about losing my job and about Vicious Vivien and Dishonourable ‘Honours Degree’ Honour, the bitch thing on my slim-backed PC and then Gurlet and Lewis and their April Fool’s joke when it wasn’t even April. I tell her how I was tempted with the going solo thing, which I never admitted to Rosa. I even tell her about hiding every day – the café, the buses, launderette, library, a little bit about Ghandi who’s my latest discovery, before she stops me and says she knows all about him (watched some Ben Kingsley film apparently), how I can’t confide in Rosa because of stressing her out her while she’s pregnant, and how I haven’t been able to speak to Declan either because of him quivering on the edge according to Isobel’s husband, and how I thought he was improving slightly, but that he went back to the museum this morning and so it’ll probably start up all over again – which was why I was looking down in the dumps.

She nods wisely and when I’ve finished she begins counting out on
her
fingers.

‘First thing is your work. They can’t do that.’

‘They can’t?’

‘Not without giving you verbal warnings in front of witnesses and then written warnings and all sorts. It’s extremely hard to get rid of people nowadays.’

‘But he gave Rosa a suspension last year and she just accepted it.’

‘Yes, but we all know what Rosa was up to last year.’ She passes me a knowing look.

‘The lying you mean?’ I pass her one back.

‘More the being in love. You know how people get a touch “lightheaded”, shall we say. No, it’s not right what this Turkey has done.’

‘Turks. Not Turkey.’ But then I suppose he is a bit of a turkey now. ‘But how do you know about all this?’

‘I worked in a solicitors for a while. They were hot on employment law.’

‘Not Denham and Willis?’

‘No Cracker and Nobbit. Why?’

‘One of the Creeper’s victims works at Denhams. And that’s another thing, poor Neil…’ I stop, realising I’m about to break their confidence.

‘The lambswool coat.’She nods sagely.

‘You know?’

‘Not much you can keep secret from your cleaner, dearie.I’ve seen his wardrobe. Got some classy frocks.’

‘Yes, well, Neil’s under suspicion, the police picked him up, and Henrietta’s worried sick about his…uh, tendencies…being exposed and I’ve made a promise to catch the Creeper and I really don’t see how I’ll be able to keep it.’

‘I see.’

‘Oh God, Pimple. You’ve no idea how good it is to finally confide in someone. The only person I’ve been able to say anything to is my insurance broker, and she’s probably just being friendly in order to earn a hefty commission.’ I tried ringing her back yesterday to find out a bit more about that Government learning scheme, but after dialling the number she gave me and pressing buttons 1, then 3, then 5, then 6, then 1 again, before being put on hold for twenty minutes as there was a queue apparently a mile long, I finally got through to her department and got somebody completely different who said they’d never heard of her.

‘Salespeople are very sly.’ She helps herself to a second chocolate muffin. ‘And if you’d mentioned the burglar, your premiums would have shot through the roof. They monitor all calls you know.’

‘They do, don’t they?’ Never thought of that. Pimple is so wasted as a cleaner. Such a big-hearted, generous person. Like a mum. She was the one who found out about Henrietta being pregnant and now she knows about Neil being a transvestite and she helped me before when I had problems with Declan and La La. I’m so lucky to have her as my cleaner and yet… One ear and half a lip comes out of the sand as I realise what I should have done weeks before.

‘And my fifth worry is money. The bank’s sending me letters which I’m hiding from Declan. Two of my direct debits bounced and I was charged £40 each for them, Declan’s going off his rocker, buying expensive ovens willy-nilly as if we’d won the lottery.’ I point to the object of my sleepless nights.

‘Goodness gracious.’ She stands up and walks over to it. ‘What a big brute it is… But what’s this?’ She peers down. ‘It looks like someone’s actually spat on it?’

‘Probably Tic-Tac dribbling,’ I mumble, picking up a cloth and wiping it before she takes a closer look. ‘And that’s another worry as he’s still being sick and I can’t afford to keep visiting the vet as she charges about a hundred quid a micro-second, and…and…’ I stumble over the words. ‘And I can’t pay for you anymore.’ I turn away and study the clock, unable to meet her eyes. ‘I need to fire you.’

‘But…’

‘If I’m legally allowed,’ I add in a timid voice, still focusing my eyes on the minute hand. It goes past three notches before I speak again. ‘I mean, I know I haven’t verbally warned you in front of witnesses. I’m so sorry, Pimple, but until I find another job, I just can’t afford it. I’ve stopped the papers. Cancelled Cartoon Network. Put off the downstairs extension. I told Declan it was the builders putting us off. I’m so very sorry.’

‘Goodness, lovey,’ she flaps her hands, ‘don’t trouble yourself with paying my wages. I’ve plenty of money. More than I know what to do with.’

‘You have?’ I briefly think I must be in the wrong profession, until I realise I haven’t got a profession, which sends me diving into the doldrums again.

She smiles. ‘Besides, if I quit cleaning for you then Declan might wonder why. It might make him more anxious than he is already.’

‘Oh.’ Never thought of that either. Two heads really are better than one.

‘So if it’s fine with you, I’ll continue coming each Wednesday – free of charge. Oh, and something
I
was going to tell
you
. I was hoping to take some time off next month.’

‘You were?’

She stirs the teapot with a spoon then refills our cups. ‘I decided to treat myself to a cruise. I’ve always wanted to go on one, but the years pass and before you know it…’ She shrugs. ‘That is all right, isn’t it, lovey? I mean, I haven’t given you formal notice or anything?’ She winks.

‘Oh, I think I can overlook it this time.’ I wink back.

‘Good, well that’s settled. Now as for the burglar…that does interest me. What do we know about him?’

So then I go through everything I’ve discovered. I tell her about the Neighbourhood Watch, the vet, the victims, details, dates. I even rush upstairs to fetch the photocopies of everything.

‘Can I keep these?’ she says hopefully. ‘I might be able to help.’

‘Of course. And Pimple?’

‘Yes?’

I lean down and vigorously shake her hand. ‘Welcome on board.’

***

‘Hi, I’m home.’

The kids rush to greet me. ‘Mummy! Mummy! Look what Dad did!’

‘What did Dad do?’

‘Whadidado?’ Declan appears from the living room, dressed in even scruffier clothes than normal. Elbows showing through a circa late eighties cardigan, washed out khaki cords, eyes shining brighter than ever. ‘Whadidado?’

Sophie joins in and both she and Josh go round the house kicking up their heels, singing, ‘Whadidado, whadidado, tra la la la la.’

‘So what did Dad do?’ I’m losing patience here.

‘Dad did this.’ He leads me down the hallway, through the kitchen, where I quickly glance about to see if anything else is missing/added but whatever it is, it’s not in the house. He takes me out the back door, down the garden, past the rose-bush section and clematis-riddled wall. It’s sounding like a big garden but it’s small like most in Crouch End. Still ours was landscaped before we bought it and instead of the usual straight down, eighteen inch flower beds either side, there’s a winding path to supposedly create interest. We reach the bottom where the fence is, but there’s no fence or rather the fence is hidden by a chicken wire structure about ten feet high by about eight feet wide and inside there’s what looks like a couple of little rabbit hutches and inside that, or rather going in and out of that as if they owned the place, are three chickens. Real chickens. Golden brown with red combs.