boot of the car – I’ll run down.’
Listening to the descending footsteps, Jessica pondered the evasion of the question. Frieda Shieklehorn had secrets.
Didn’t they all? Well, decided Jessica, she could keep them. There was enough intrigue in her life without worrying about a rich woman’s addiction to shoplifting.
A while later, Frieda had imparted all the wisdom she could before having to leave for a nail appointment, and Jessica was left alone with the implements of theft. Fingering the grey wig, she decided that she needed more time to think, and called her mother for the latest horrible escapades of her father.
It seemed anything was better that dealing with her own problems, including hearing how her dad had attempted to hijack a bus and force the driver to take him to the cinema to see a cartoon about a monster.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE JOB – THAT’S WHAT Frieda called it, ‘the job’ – was scheduled for the next Monday morning, around 11:00 a.m. ‘No one expects a theft first thing on a Monday,’ she told Jessica over the phone. ‘Your average thief is usually still in bed recovering from the weekend.’
Jessica hoped she was right.
‘What is wrong with you this morning?’ Ronald exclaimed, when Jessica accidentally tipped tea in his lap rather than his cup.
‘Nothing, why?’
‘Why? I have tea in my bloody lap.’
‘Then pour your own stupid drinks.’ Knowing the response was overly curt, and not wanting to get into a discussion of why, Jessica tried to appease matters by suggesting his favourite pasta for dinner.
‘I’ve got a conference with a new client, so maybe something that can be left on the warmer,’ Ronald said, holding a piece of paper towel to this lap to mop up the tea.
‘The warmer is broken, remember?’ Where had the magic gone from their marriage? Now he didn’t even look at her when they spoke.
Rachel chose that moment to make matters worse. ‘Mummy, can I have a new scooter like Sienna. An electronic one?’
‘You mean an electric one?’
‘Yes.’
‘Perhaps for your birthday?’
They all looked over at Ronald, who wasn’t listening.
‘Daddy?’
‘Yes, baby?’ He didn’t look up from the paper.
‘Can I have a scooter for my birthday?’
‘We’ll see. They’re expensive.’ Still no eye contact with any of them.
Squeezing her daughter’s hand, Jessica shooed the kids off to get ready for school and prayed that her new ‘job’ went well. Because her husband was becoming less and less a person on whom she could rely.
Turning to stack the dishes in the sink, Jessica didn’t notice Ronald dialling until he spoke – and not to her.
‘Yes, yes. Is that Lloyds? What, my password? What password? Look, just wondering if you could resend my statement, that’s all. I don’t understand why you can’t just . . . no, I don’t have time for additional security questions . . . what? Oh, never mind.’
Staring straight ahead, at the splash back that needed a good clean, Jessica forced herself not to turn around. Not to show interest.
‘Bloody bank. It’s probably a ploy to get you online – and save them money.’
Now Jessica turned around. ‘Sorry, what?’
‘That Visa bill. Still hasn’t arrived. Third month in a row. And what the hell do they mean by some ‘secret password?’
‘I have no idea.’
Ronald got up and called the kids. He had deigned to drop them at the school that morning. ‘If it doesn’t turn up next month I am going down to that bank and demand they print one out for me. Honestly, where have old-fashioned manners gone?’ He left his plate and cup on the table, along with the wet kitchen towel and a tissue. Turning back to busy herself at the sink, Jessica didn’t answer.
That was a good question. Shame Ronald didn’t assume the manners applied to him.
When they’d met – at a uni surf social – Ronald had been a cute third year Law student with a quirky smile and a cheeky, devil-get-stuffed attitude that
Listening to the descending footsteps, Jessica pondered the evasion of the question. Frieda Shieklehorn had secrets.
Didn’t they all? Well, decided Jessica, she could keep them. There was enough intrigue in her life without worrying about a rich woman’s addiction to shoplifting.
A while later, Frieda had imparted all the wisdom she could before having to leave for a nail appointment, and Jessica was left alone with the implements of theft. Fingering the grey wig, she decided that she needed more time to think, and called her mother for the latest horrible escapades of her father.
It seemed anything was better that dealing with her own problems, including hearing how her dad had attempted to hijack a bus and force the driver to take him to the cinema to see a cartoon about a monster.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE JOB – THAT’S WHAT Frieda called it, ‘the job’ – was scheduled for the next Monday morning, around 11:00 a.m. ‘No one expects a theft first thing on a Monday,’ she told Jessica over the phone. ‘Your average thief is usually still in bed recovering from the weekend.’
Jessica hoped she was right.
‘What is wrong with you this morning?’ Ronald exclaimed, when Jessica accidentally tipped tea in his lap rather than his cup.
‘Nothing, why?’
‘Why? I have tea in my bloody lap.’
‘Then pour your own stupid drinks.’ Knowing the response was overly curt, and not wanting to get into a discussion of why, Jessica tried to appease matters by suggesting his favourite pasta for dinner.
‘I’ve got a conference with a new client, so maybe something that can be left on the warmer,’ Ronald said, holding a piece of paper towel to this lap to mop up the tea.
‘The warmer is broken, remember?’ Where had the magic gone from their marriage? Now he didn’t even look at her when they spoke.
Rachel chose that moment to make matters worse. ‘Mummy, can I have a new scooter like Sienna. An electronic one?’
‘You mean an electric one?’
‘Yes.’
‘Perhaps for your birthday?’
They all looked over at Ronald, who wasn’t listening.
‘Daddy?’
‘Yes, baby?’ He didn’t look up from the paper.
‘Can I have a scooter for my birthday?’
‘We’ll see. They’re expensive.’ Still no eye contact with any of them.
Squeezing her daughter’s hand, Jessica shooed the kids off to get ready for school and prayed that her new ‘job’ went well. Because her husband was becoming less and less a person on whom she could rely.
Turning to stack the dishes in the sink, Jessica didn’t notice Ronald dialling until he spoke – and not to her.
‘Yes, yes. Is that Lloyds? What, my password? What password? Look, just wondering if you could resend my statement, that’s all. I don’t understand why you can’t just . . . no, I don’t have time for additional security questions . . . what? Oh, never mind.’
Staring straight ahead, at the splash back that needed a good clean, Jessica forced herself not to turn around. Not to show interest.
‘Bloody bank. It’s probably a ploy to get you online – and save them money.’
Now Jessica turned around. ‘Sorry, what?’
‘That Visa bill. Still hasn’t arrived. Third month in a row. And what the hell do they mean by some ‘secret password?’
‘I have no idea.’
Ronald got up and called the kids. He had deigned to drop them at the school that morning. ‘If it doesn’t turn up next month I am going down to that bank and demand they print one out for me. Honestly, where have old-fashioned manners gone?’ He left his plate and cup on the table, along with the wet kitchen towel and a tissue. Turning back to busy herself at the sink, Jessica didn’t answer.
That was a good question. Shame Ronald didn’t assume the manners applied to him.
When they’d met – at a uni surf social – Ronald had been a cute third year Law student with a quirky smile and a cheeky, devil-get-stuffed attitude that
Similar Books
