The Guilty Couple(57)

I’ve reached the reception desk nearest the gates but the receptionist is so enthralled by the free entertainment that I have to cough to get her attention.

‘C&C Cleaning.’ I flash my pass at her, keeping my fingers over Jakub’s photo and name.

She barely glances at me. Instead she pushes a clipboard in my direction, her gaze fixed on the scuffle behind me. I put Smithy’s coffee cup down, scribble something unreadable on the sign-in sheet then pick the coffee back up and head for the gates. Out of the corner of my eye I see the bespectacled security guard returning to the X-ray machine a couple of metres to my left. A tall thin man in a suit hands him a tray containing a laptop case and a coat and he pushes it into the machine. The barrel-shaped guard hovers near the reception desk as I tap my pass against the gate sensor.

Nothing happens, the barriers don’t move.

I tap it again. Still nothing. I can’t get through.

The thin man passes through the gates without a problem and Barrel heads my way as the sensor flashes up red again.

‘Is there a problem?’ Barrel looks me up and down, his gaze resting on the logo on my shirt.

‘My pass.’ I tighten my grip on it so he can’t see it’s not mine. ‘It’s not working.’

‘Show me.’

I tap it against the gate, keeping my hand curved over Jakub’s face and name. Barrel snorts in amusement.

‘You need to put it in the slot.’ He slaps a meaty hand against the turnstile and I realise what I’ve done wrong. In my panic to get in I’d tapped it against the light on the top, like I was trying to get into the tube.

‘Here, let me show you.’ Barrel moves around me so he’s on my right side, nearest the card.

‘I can do it.’ If he sees the pass there will be questions and a phone call to C&C Cleaning. Noreen would take great pleasure in telling him that she’s got no idea why I’ve turned up to clean during the day.

‘It’s fine, honestly,’ I add, but Barrel’s not listening and his thumb and forefinger reach for the inch of plastic that’s poking out of my clenched hand.

‘Get your bloody hands off me!’ Nancy’s scream makes me jump and, as Barrel whips round to see what’s going on, I thrust the pass into the slot and step through the gates. A bead of sweat rolls down my back as I head for the escalator. It’s taking every ounce of willpower not to break into a run.

You’re just a cleaner, I tell myself as the escalator carries me upwards. You’re just doing your job.

I risk a glance at the foyer as I turn right, towards the lifts. Lee and Nancy are being ushered towards the revolving door, still ranting and raging. Everything that happens now is down to me.

I get a sideways look from a woman in her early twenties as I step into the lift and a quick glance at my reflection in a mirrored wall tells me why: my baseball cap and wig have slipped backwards and there’s a band of blonde hair at my hairline where it should be auburn. I tug the cap forward and the wig slides into the correct position. The lift passes floor one, floor two and floor three. At floor four it stops and the young woman gets out. I steady my breathing as the doors close then glance at my watch as the lift continues to climb.

10.54 a.m.

The issue I had with my pass means I’ve only got six minutes to get into Dom’s office, find an empty desk, surreptitiously spill the fake vomit, then send him a text as I pretend to clean up.

The doors open and I speed around the corner to the cleaning cupboard. My hand is shaking so much it takes two taps of my pass to get the door open and I scrabble around to find what I need. The coffee cup goes into the bottom of a bucket and I plunge a mop into the space next to it to keep it upright. I add an antibacterial spray and two cloths and then glance at my watch.

10.56 a.m.

Shit, shit, shit.

I kick the door shut, hurry towards the glass doors of the surveyors’ office and tap my pass against the sensor. A wall of noise hits me as I step inside. The last time I was here it was empty apart from another cleaner. Now there are people everywhere – bent over desks, tapping at keyboards and talking into their phones. There’s a desk directly opposite me and a man in his early thirties in a shirt and tie lifts his head from his work and looks at me quizzically. Before he can speak I nod sharply and take off down the office. As I pass Dom’s office my stomach lurches. He’s inside, leaning back in his chair with his hands interlocked behind his head. An image of him smirking at me from across the courtroom almost stops me in my tracks but I keep going, head down, bucket in hand. I’ve spotted an empty desk at the far end of the room.

Eyes dart in my direction as I walk down a never ending catwalk. I am a cleaner, I tell myself as I draw closer to the empty desk, I’m just doing my job. I’m breathing so shallowly that my head is swimming and when I reach the desk I press my hand to its smooth surface, just long enough to steady myself. Seconds later I’m under the desk, spilling watery vegetable soup onto the cheap brown carpet. I place the empty cup in the bin and reach for my antibac spray and cloth.

‘Excuse me.’ The shirt and tie man from the desk at the entrance looms over me. His gaze flicks from the tiny cubes of vegetables to my quivering hand, reaching into the bucket. He’s got a hard, angular face and there’s suspicion glinting in his dark brown eyes. ‘What’s all this?’

My lips are so dry they’re stuck to my teeth and I have to run my tongue over them before I can reply. ‘I got asked to sort this out.’