Just My Luck(60)

‘And you two?’

‘We’re just here to get her and the cash home safely.’ I realise that these men are as much of a threat to her as they are to me.

‘I don’t have that sort of money in the house. I can’t give you it, even if I wanted to.’

He does it slowly, deliberately, so that I understand it was a conscious decision and not an unthinking reflex. The younger of the two heavy men slaps the woman in the face. His substantial paw leaves an angry print on her cheek. She keeps her eyes on me pleading.

‘I could write a cheque.’ I move to the drawer above the one where we keep the tea towels and pull it open. My cheque book is in there because usually the only cheques I ever write are ones for my kids’ school stuff: class photos or a random piece of sports kit and normally those cheques are demanded at breakfast time as one of the children is heading out the door.

The man laughs and holds his hand up as though to strike her again. Of course they are not going to take a cheque – it was crazy of me to suggest it. They know a cheque can be traced; they know I would cancel it as soon as they left. My guess is they want to be quickly in and out. I’m nothing to them, just a means to an end. I don’t know what to do. I don’t want them to hurt her, but can I really stop them? I consider walking to the cashpoint with them, but they might do much worse out there in the storm. To either or both of us. I have my phone in my hand and wonder if I can call 999. This woman may not be in a position to call out a loan shark but I certainly am. ‘Please, please,’ she begs, keeping her eyes on me.

Then suddenly there are car headlights on the street. The two men and I look nervously at the door. I don’t want my children walking in on this. They don’t know who might be arriving. My husband may be returning with a gang of friends for all they know.

In a flash the older man picks up my laptop and says, ‘This will cover it.’ The next moment he is out the back door. The second man and the woman follow him. ‘Don’t go with them. Stay here,’ I yell after her. But she keeps running. As they scarper down the back path, the front door opens wide and Jake, Emily and Logan come into the house. They are chatting and laughing. They are wet but on them the rain looks luminous, pearlescent. Emboldened by Jake’s arrival, I dash along the back path and scream again, ‘You don’t have to go with them.’ I think my words have been picked up and tossed far away by the wind until the woman turns around. I feel a sense of joy that I can intervene, I can after all rescue her. Then she flicks me the V-sign. ‘Fuck off, rich bitch,’ she yells. I can hear them all laughing. For a moment, I stand on the path, rain drilling down on me, confused but then I understand, it was a scam. She was in on it with them. I go back into the kitchen, slam the door behind me, lock it and then pull the bolt across.

Jake looks concerned when he sees me dripping on the kitchen floor. ‘What’s going on?’ he asks.

‘We’re moving,’ I reply.





27


Lexi


Tuesday, 21st May

I want to move into a hotel right away and stay there until we find somewhere new to live, but Jake says I’m overreacting.

‘Easy for you to say. You weren’t the one face-to-face with them in the kitchen.’ I haven’t slept, not surprisingly, so his normal everything-will-be-all-right manner isn’t reassuring me, it’s annoying me.

‘We’ll hire security guards. I have a contact. The people who are doing the security at the party might be able to help.’

‘People who routinely search teenagers’ bags for vodka and know how to put a puking adolescent into the recovery position might not cut it,’ I mutter crossly.

‘They are big guys, ex-army. We’ll all be fine.’

I want to talk to someone who will sympathise and reassure me, but I don’t know who to call. That thought is sobering. Cold. I don’t want to ring my parents because I know I’ll make them anxious if I tell them about the intrusion. As people who grew up poor and brought a family up on not much at all, they are dwelling in a happy, uncomplicated bubble, staunch in the belief that our lottery win is the answer to all problems. I consider calling Ellie but we haven’t spoken since she asked me to leave the office. We’ve exchanged two or three emails, the tone of which have been remote, strictly professional. Whilst Ellie said it was just a temporary leave of absence, I’m not sure there is a place for me at the bureau anymore. Not for the first time I grieve for what I had with Carla and Jennifer. For so many years they were my go-to friends. The people I shared every thought, feeling, crisis and triumph with. Then I feel such a huge wave of ferocity, it nearly swipes me off my feet. As though truly underwater and out of my depth, I kick and flounder and try to find firm ground. I never really knew either woman, despite the fact we have been friends for fifteen years. In the end I call Gillian from the lottery company. I liked her from the moment I met her. Right now, she feels like the only person in the world who won’t want something from me and therefore might just be in a position to give me something.

Gillian doesn’t let me down. Sensible and serious, she acknowledges that the incident must have been incredibly frightening.

‘Can we meet to talk about it?’ I ask, feeling weak and silly but knowing I really need her.

‘Of course.’

‘Today? Can I take you for lunch?’ And then, so I don’t sound hopelessly cloying, I add, ‘I’d like to thank you for everything you’ve done.’