The Dead Ex(47)

‘The paperwork has got you down as a co-owner every time.’

Tanya’s face goes rigid. ‘That proves nothing. It’s just business.’

‘With all these houses? I’ve got evidence to show there are eleven of them, each worth several million. What would the company want those for?’

Her eyes glare. ‘An investment.’

‘Then why not put the money in the business account? He told me that he was short of cash towards the end of our marriage.’

‘That was five years ago. Things have changed.’

It’s possible. But I don’t believe her. Lying is an art. And I’ve learned from the masters.

‘I know a bit about money laundering, Tanya.’

‘Hah! How?’

I think of a woman I’d come across who’d been done for fraud. She used to boast that she still had a ‘hidden stash’ for when she came out.

‘You’d be surprised. But I do know that people often buy houses with cash to get rid of large quantities of dirty money. Where did it come from? What’s David been doing?’

For a minute, I think Tanya’s going to say something, but then her mouth tightens. Her face is getting redder and she seems slightly unstable. Clearly, I’ve hit a nerve.

‘Perhaps,’ I say, ‘the sensible thing is to hand this to the police.’

‘Why haven’t you done so already?’ Then she notes my expression. ‘You can’t bring yourself to shop him, can you?’

I ignore the question because the true answer would make me look like one of those pathetic divorcees who can’t get over their exes. Which I suppose I am.

‘Maybe he’s hiding to avoid being caught. Come on, Tanya, I know there’s something going on here.’

Tanya steps towards me, her face registering pure hate.

‘Don’t do anything stupid,’ I say softly, ‘or you’ll be in even more trouble.’

‘Prove it,’ she hisses, right in my face. A shudder of fear runs right through me. It’s so strong that for a minute I think I’m going to have another seizure. Then she grabs the papers out of my hand and rips them up. Pieces flutter to the ground.

‘I’ve got more copies,’ I gasp.

She gives me a shove. I fall against the piano but right myself.

Her hands seize my wrists just as I’d grabbed her arms earlier. They twist them like some spiteful schoolgirl. Two can play at that game. My nails cut into her skin.

‘Ouch,’ she screams. ‘You cow!’

She lunges at me. I step sideways, pushing her away. She falls, hitting her head against a table with a sickening crunch.

For a minute, I panic. Then my old enemy gets onto all fours and staggers to her feet. ‘Get out,’ she screams, face puce with fury. ‘Do you hear me? You haven’t heard the last of this, Vicki. Just you wait.’





22



Scarlet

January 2013


‘What do you think?’ asked Scarlet, nervously.

Robert held the print up to the light. ‘Good shade contrast. Nice angle too. Quirky. You have to look at it twice to realize what it is.’

Phew. Robert’s approval was worth a lot. He was the expert.

‘What’s it meant to be?’ asked Dee, peering over their shoulders.

‘A leaf,’ they both said in unison.

‘Really? Gosh. I see what you mean. Wow, Scarlet. That’s neat.’

A warm feeling flooded through her. Over the years, Robert had taught her so much! How to find the right subject. What speed to use. Arranging a composition. Shooting in black and white. Entering competitions. Last year’s award certificate for runner-up in Teenage Photographer of the Year was displayed in the hall, right by the front door.

Dee had insisted. ‘It’s an amazing honour,’ she’d said, flushing as if she had won it herself. ‘I’m so proud of you.’

Scarlet had hugged her back warmly but she’d felt sad, just as she always did. It was Mum whom she should be hugging. Mum who should be hanging her certificates on the wall. Mum who ought to be helping her braid her hair with the little red beads. Mum she should be living with. Mum who should be here to help celebrate Christmases and birthdays. (She’d be fifteen in the summer!)

‘Do you think it’s good enough to enter?’ asked Scarlet.

‘For this year’s award?’ Robert patted her on the shoulder. Scarlet flinched.

‘That man,’ Mum would sometimes demand when she visited. ‘He doesn’t try anything on with you, does he?’

‘Of course he doesn’t,’ Scarlet would say, glancing nervously at the social worker who always had to be with them. Her initial fears when she’d first come here, that Robert might come into her room like Mr Walters, had proved unfounded. Even so, it had taken her a long time to trust him, and she still couldn’t help shuddering if there was any physical contact, however slight.

Dee was different, though. Scarlet liked it when she hugged her. It felt warm. Good. And if she closed her eyes, she could imagine it was really her mother …

At times, Scarlet thought her heart was literally going to break – especially when Mum rang. (She had to have special permission to do this. Only ‘approved’ numbers were on her phone card.) ‘Is that my little girl?’ she’d ask, and Scarlet could feel the tears in her voice yet be unable to help because Mum was behind bars, and she had to live with Dee and Robert. Kind as they were, it wasn’t the same. No one else at school was in a foster home. It was all so different from the horrible time she’d had at the Walters’. But at least since she’d started to gain recognition through her photographs, her classmates had been much nicer and actually admiring. She still didn’t have a special friend, but Scarlet didn’t need one. All she wanted was Mum.