Twelve

Jenny could hardly contain her excitement. She’d been all set for a boring Sunday evening sitting in front of a documentary on the meerkats of the Kalahari with her father tutting over the state of the world from behind his Sunday papers on one side while her mother clicked over her knitting needles at the other, when her mobile had flashed up with a message.

Zak pickin U up @ 8. Goin to F’s to suss out wots happnin. C U there. M xx

She’d lost no time in texting Donovan.

Fancy babysitn 2nite? B ready @ 8.05.

As eight o’clock approached, Jenny gave little thought to the original message from Mercedes but was focusing all her anticipation on the one she’d sent Donovan. This would be the second time in two days that she’d seen him and she was hopping up and down by the window like a hedgehog on hot tarmac.

‘When are we going to meet this young man, Jennifer?’ her mother said from behind a pattern for an Arran cardigan.

‘Erm,’ Jenny hesitated, as the word ‘never ’ struggled to be voiced. ‘Oh, he’s very shy,’ she said, crossing her fingers behind her back.

There was the honk of a car horn and Jenny ran out of the house and down the path before her mother could finish her stitch. But, any plans she’d been making for a cosy evening as a foursome were dashed when she saw En Min sitting in the passenger seat.

‘Oh - hi, En,’ she said through a forced smile. ‘What’re you doing here?’

En Min shrugged. ‘Your guess is as good as mine. I just got a weird call from Mercedes telling me she needed my help.’

Jenny was put out. Mercedes hadn’t said anything about needing her help.

‘So did I,’ she said. ‘Exciting, isn’t it?’ Then before En Min could reply, she turned to Zak. ‘I said we’d pick Donovan up on the way. Is that OK?’

Zak hesitated. ‘Fine by me - does Mercedes know?’

‘She’s cool,’ Jenny hedged, crossing her fingers once again.

However, when they arrived at the house in St Drogo’s Avenue, it was apparent to everyone that Mercedes was anything but cool about Donovan’s presence.

The second they stepped over the threshold, Jenny found herself being dragged the length of the galleried hall and into Cheryl’s kitchen.

Mercedes folded her arms and addressed her in a harsh whisper. ‘Why the hell have you brought him, Jen?’

Jenny was put out. ‘Well, Zak’s here, isn’t he?’ she offered by way of explanation.

Mercedes frowned as though she was trying to follow the logic behind Jenny’s statement. ‘So? This isn’t a date, you know? We’re here to do a job tonight, Jen. You’re my lookout in case the kids wake up or Frankie comes home early. I need you to be focused.’

‘I will be focused,’ Jenny said, gazing over Mercedes’ shoulder and giving a little wave to Donovan who was in the hall with the others.

‘I can’t afford for you two to go off for a snogging session on the settee while we’re in the study. You have to stay alert.’

Jenny gave a sigh of irritation. She didn’t know what had got into Mercedes recently. She’d never really been one for the dramatic but she was beefing this up like some West End production. ‘Er, hello! This is your brother, you know, not the Wanstead Mafia.’

Mercedes rubbed her forehead in frustration. ‘This is serious, Jen. Frankie might not be in the Mafia but this is hardly Little League, either.’ Jenny raised her eyes skyward as though doubting the statement. ‘You know we heard those guys in the caff talking about Nick the Bubble?’

Jenny nodded.

‘Well he’s an arms dealer!’

Jenny peered into the hall and smiled at Donovan. ‘What sort of arms dealer?’ she asked, distractedly.

Mercedes slapped the heel of her hand against her forehead, exasperated. ‘What do you mean, what sort of arms dealer? How many sorts are there? We’re not talking prosthetic limbs, you know!’

Jenny drew her attention back to her friend and stared at her blankly. Then, as the full realisation of what had been said registered, her eyes widened in horror. ‘Oh my god! You don’t mean guns?’

Mercedes sighed. ‘No, Jen; they’re going to rush into the bank with false fingers blazing. Of course I mean guns!’

Jenny felt the colour drain from her face. ‘I don’t believe this! This is awful! This is terrible!’ She looked at her friend mutinously. ‘How could you get me involved in this?’

Mercedes tried to reassure her. ‘It’ll be OK as long as we keep our heads.’

‘Yeah, well - with guns flying around, that’s going to be easier said than done,’ Jenny replied, sarcastically. ‘Do the others know?’

‘Only Zak.’

The knowledge that she had been chosen to be privy to the information above En Min went a small way towards mollifying her - but only a small way. Jenny was annoyed and scared and there was only one sensible thing to do - they had to get out. They should go home and forget the conversations they’d overheard. They should just pretend that none of it had ever happened and that everything was back to normal.

Mercedes tried to placate her. ‘It’s not as bad as it sounds - they’ve got guns but no bullets apparently.’

‘Oh, well that makes all the difference!’ This was not what Jenny had had in mind when she’d invited Donovan to babysit with her tonight. She cast another glance out into the hall - he was so gorgeous and it might be a whole week before she had the chance to see him again. Perhaps it wasn’t too late to talk sense into Mercedes and salvage something of the evening, after all.

‘Look,’ she suggested, ‘I’ve had a brilliant idea, why don’t we just call the whole thing off and spend a nice evening together? The five of us - and maybe Zak can get someone round here for En Min?’ she said lightly, as though raising her voice half an octave would make the idea more appealing. ‘Then we’ll just go home and they can get on with their robbery. Or,’ she beamed as a thought struck her, ‘maybe that wasn’t even what they were talking about... maybe we’ve just imagined...’

Mercedes sighed. ‘If you want to go home, Jen, you can do, but it’s too late for me. There’s no going back.’

Their conversation was interrupted by Zak. ‘Everything OK here?’

‘No,’ Jenny said, in a voice that sounded more like her parents’ budgie than her own.

‘Yes, I’m just coming,’ Mercedes replied.

Zak walked over to the sink and picked up the opened bottle of red wine that was on the worktop. Jenny couldn’t believe he was so calm when he knew about the guns. And now, it seemed, he was about to start helping himself to a master criminal’s alcohol supply! Had he and Mercedes suddenly developed a death wish? Maybe they’d agreed on one of those suicide pacts and they’d decided to drag Jenny along for the ride.

‘Zak!’ she warned. ‘Put it down.’

‘Interesting,’ he said, holding out the bottle towards the girls as though he were a wine waiter. ‘Would Mademoiselle care to sample Château No-label. A very good vintage I’m told.’ He chuckled and spoke to Mercedes. ‘So your brother doesn’t limit his robberies to banks then?’

Mercedes shook her head and frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

Zak put down the bottle and took another from the wine rack. ‘Look,’ he said.

‘I’m looking.’ Mercedes was obviously perplexed.

Zak took down another and held it out to her. ‘Doesn’t it strike you as a bit odd?’

Jenny was as puzzled as her friend. So, Mercedes’ brother and his wife liked to drink wine; didn’t most people these days? She knew her own parents referred to it as ‘the devil’s liquor ’ but then, her parents were so old fashioned they thought Windows 2000 was a double glazing catalogue.

‘What are you on about?’ Mercedes said.

Zak replaced the bottles in the rack and then planted a kiss on Mercedes’ head. ‘It means they’re dodgy: nicked, half inched, illicit, contraband - whatever you want to call it,’ he explained gently. ‘Why else would they have had their labels soaked off?’

Jenny was astounded. Mercedes looked none too pleased either. Her face set.

She turned to Jenny. ‘You see, Jen; this is why it has to stop. For as long as I can remember my family have been drinking wines and spirits without labels and I’d never even questioned it before.’

Jenny suddenly felt overwhelming sympathy for her friend. What else in Mercedes’ life was of dubious origin, she wondered? The clothes she herself had so often been lent? The beautiful home that she coveted; their cars; even Mercedes’ school fees - were they all the results of her family’s sticky-fingered lifestyle? Was there anything about her, (other than her friends, of course) that wasn’t tainted?

‘Hey, you don’t suppose that Tiffany necklace that your brother gave y-’ she began.

‘Don’t even go there, Jen,’ Mercedes sighed. ‘I’ve already decided the odds of it being stolen are at least eleven to four. So, are you in or are you out?’

Jenny went across and put her arms round her friend and hugged her. ‘I’m in.’

‘Right!’ Mercedes said. ‘We’ve wasted enough time. Come on.’

She positioned Jenny and Donovan at the foot of the stairs from where they could see both the front door and the study on the ground floor yet were also within sight of the children’s rooms on the landing. The slightest sign of movement and Mercedes wanted them primed to alert the others.

Donovan put his arm round Jenny’s shoulder and shrugged. ‘I’d always thought of myself as a bit of an Action Man but I suppose lookout is cool.’

‘Oh, lookout is very cool,’ Jenny agreed, snuggling up to him.

‘Jen? Focus!’ Mercedes sighed. ‘The back door’s unlocked - just in case Frankie or Cheryl come home early and any of us need to make a hasty exit. Now, let’s get on.’

Mercedes took a deep breath and approached the door to Frankie’s study. She tapped in the security code then, carefully, she turned the knob and pushed. Nothing. Perhaps she’d pressed a wrong number? She steadied herself and tried again. It was no good; the door would not open. She hung her head in anger and frustration - this could not be happening!

‘You know what’s happened?’ she said to Zak.

‘He’s only gone and taken a leaf out of Boreham’s book and changed the blooming code! I can’t believe it!’

Zak put a comforting arm around her. ‘Let’s think about this logically. Anyone who uses his date of birth is hardly the brightest crayon in the pack, so he’s probably just chosen someone else’s. How about his kids’?’ he suggested.

‘Brilliant!’

She tapped in Alfie’s date of birth, first forwards and then backwards. Nothing. Then she tried Paige’s but the door remained firmly shut.

‘What about your other brother’s?’ Jenny piped up.

Mercedes looked at Jenny and took a deep breath. She couldn’t help feeling that it might have been better for everyone if she’d let Jenny go when she’d first started to bottle it. ‘They’re twins, Jenny - think about it.’

Jenny grimaced apologetically. ‘Oops.’

When Mercedes had exhausted every member of the extended Bent family, alive and dead, she sank to the floor and dropped her head into her hands. She had to get into that room and find the file. She couldn’t believe that after all this effort she was going to have to abandon her plans and just sit back and watch her brothers pursue their life of crime.

‘What about the woman he was with at the club,’ Zak suggested, ‘- Honey Coombes?’

Mercedes sprang to her feet and kissed him. ‘You are a genius.’

He grinned. ‘So it’s been rumoured.’

Zak was dispatched to his home, two doors away, to look up the supermodel’s date of birth on the Internet and, five minutes later, Mercedes, Zak and En Min were inside Frankie’s office while Jenny and Donovan kept watch outside.

The folder had been tossed back on to his desk but the contents were just as she remembered.

‘Here,’ Mercedes said, handing all the handwritten notes to En Min. ‘I want you to copy all these as precisely as you can. Do you think you can do that?’

‘No problems. This is like Reception Class stuff compared to getting Fern’s homework past the old Doberman.’

‘Now,’ she said, leading Zak to Frankie’s computer. ‘Before I can close down my brother’s illegal activities, I need to know exactly what’s going on in his life legally, so let’s see what joys this will reveal.’ Mercedes reasoned, correctly as it turned out, that with Frankie’s limited creative streak, working out his password would be a doddle. As far as she could see, there were only three things in life that Frankie cared about; his children, his mistress and his car - not necessarily in that order.

‘A piece of cake,’ she grinned as Zak typed Carrera 911 and the computer sprang into life.

She directed him to Frankie’s Internet banking account but Zak was pessimistic.

‘It’s not going to work,’ he warned. ‘Even if we guess all the passwords and personal information, there’s no way we’ll work out his PIN number.’

Mercedes smiled. ‘Oh ye of little faith. Four, eight, two, seven.’ She tucked her thumbs into her belt and stretched her chin forward in a chicken-like way, a habit Frankie had developed believing it made him appear more assertive. She dropped her voice and spoke in a heavy East End accent. ‘You see, Chubbs, what you gotta do is pick a number what you can remember. Me, for instance, I use house numbers - this one and your one in Honey Drive. Forty eight, twenty seven - lemon squeezy, mate.’ She dropped the impression and kissed Zak lightly. ‘You forget I come from a long line of criminal master-idiots.’

When they were all done, Mercedes picked up the plans of the bank. ‘The only thing that’s a bit tricky now is how to get these architects’ drawings copied. En, this is your field - any ideas?’

En Min shrugged. ‘We’ve got a print machine at work for copying drawings that size, but if I took them now, wouldn’t your brother realise they were missing?’

‘Probably.’ Then she smiled as a solution to her problem presented itself. ‘But Mum’s got a spare set of keys for here at home and on Monday afternoons Cheryl takes Paige to a toddler club and Frankie’ll be at the car yard.’ She grinned at Zak. ‘I’ll just have to pull a sickie at work.’

The first part of Operation Stitch-up was completed in less than an hour and the house returned to normal. Mercedes stood on Frankie’s doorstep with her arms round Zak.

‘I’ll probably see you in the morning,’ she said quietly. ‘I’ll say I’ve got a dental appointment and need to leave at lunchtime.’

‘Why don’t you take the whole day, it would make more sense.’

She shook her head. ‘I’ve got a few things I need to sort out with my old friend Harley ‘Tosis Spinks on the train in the morning.’

He kissed her softly. ‘You know that I’m with you a hundred percent on this but just be careful, won’t you?’

Mercedes rested her head on his chest, relieved and grateful. No one had been with her a hundred percent since her dad died.

‘Swede ’art, swede ’art, get back in the car, darlin’.’ Harry Spinks, although not averse to the physical discomfort of anyone else, was beside himself at seeing his daughter’s agony.

Harley Spinks eased herself, painfully, from one foot to the other. ‘Bog off, Dad!’

‘Don’t do this, precious. Let me drive you up there, darlin’.’

Harley was standing - or rocking, to be more accurate, on the pavement at the bottom of the steps to Snaresbrook Tube station. She could not have looked more tormented if an army of ants had invaded her shoes and begun nibbling their way through the flesh of her feet.

‘If you hadn’t made that cow Rita buy these shoes, I wouldn’t be like this, would I?’ she railed. ‘It’s all your fault.’

‘Angel, you said you wanted to wear sophisticated commuter clothes. Be reasonable, darlin’.’

Harley considered she was being very reasonable - in the circumstances. She didn’t know why she couldn’t wear trainers to work. Even the DMs that Miss Pincher grudgingly allowed her to wear for school would’ve been better than the ridiculous instruments of torture that Rita had forced her feet into. And as for the suits that she’d made her buy! She wriggled the waistband trying to find a bit of give but to no avail.

‘These stupid clothes are unnatural, that’s what they are!’ she shouted. ‘When I’m running the firm, I’m gonna make it compulsory to wear tracksuits to work.’

Harry leaned across the leather seats of the metallic blue Rolls Royce towards the open window and mopped his brow. ‘Darlin’, it don’t work like that in our business. The punters won’t respect you if you wear a tracksuit. Trust me - Rita knows what she’s doing.’

‘They’ll respect me! Now clear off! You’re making me look like some nerdy little wimp what needs ’er old man to drive ’er everywhere.’

Harry sighed, heavily. ‘All right, my angel but remember what I told you, if you see the Bent gel, be nice to ’er. Let bygones be bygones, eh?’ Harry looked as though an idea had just occurred to him. ‘Tell you what, swede ’art, why don’t you invite her round for a game of tennis one evening? How’s that sound?’

‘Oh, ha ha! Very flamin’ funny!’ Harley snarled. ‘I’m walking like a ruddy crab with corns and you want me to invite that cow round so she can thrash me on my own ground? Nice one, Dad!’

‘Darlin’, darlin’, darlin’,’ Harry cajoled. ‘I just want you to be nice to her, all right? Talk to her. Find out what’s happening with her and her brothers. Look on it as part of your work experience, eh?’

‘I’m sick of this poxy work experience,’ Harley sulked. ‘It’s boring. I want to go back to the tennis club.’ A stab of pain shot across her foot between blisters, causing her to go over on her ankle and yelp with pain. She kicked off her shoes and threw one against the side of her father’s car in anger and embarrassment.

‘Darlin’, darlin’ - mind the motor, my angel.’

Mercedes rounded the corner and recognised the electric blue car instantly. It had disgraced the school car park on many a parents’ evening and sports day. She hesitated; although sucking up to Harley Spinks had been phase two of Operation Stitch-up, doing so in front of her father was an entirely different game of tennis. She’d planned to seek out Harley, win her confidence over the next couple of mornings and then set up a meeting later in the week, so that she could infiltrate the firm’s office. But, with Old Man Spinks on the scene, Mercedes wasn’t so sure. Harley she could manage, but her father? She knew when she was playing out of her league.

Too late. Just as she had decided to hover out of sight until the coast was clear, Harley looked up and saw her. ‘What’re you staring at?’

Mercedes forced a smile which broadened into a genuine one as she mentally awarded Fern full marks for her assessment of her arch-rival’s dress sense. Harley was dressed from head to foot in black and, just as Fern had reported, her two-piece looked more suited to issuing parking tickets than gracing any office. And, despite the fact that it was July, her muscly tennis-player’s legs were shrouded in industrial strength tights. The only remotely elegant part of her attire was the footwear that she was currently waving in her father’s face and even that wouldn’t have looked out of place on Jenny’s Mum. Seeing Harley in everyday clothes, Mercedes suddenly found herself experiencing an unprecedented wave of sympathy for the girl.

‘Just concerned that you seem to have hurt yourself.’

‘Yeah, right!’ Harley sneered. ‘Gloating, more like.’ Perhaps, Mercedes thought, she should reassess the whole sympathy thing. Ignoring the remark, she learned in front of her schoolmate and spoke through the open car window.

‘Good morning, Mr Spinks. How are you today?’ No point in pussyfooting around.

Harry was taken aback at her forward approach.

‘Erm, I’m all right, darlin’, and yourself?’

‘Very well, thank you.’ She turned to Harley, ‘Fern said that you were working in the West End now, do you fancy travelling up together?’

Before Harley could reply, her father jumped at the suggestion. ‘That would be nice, wouldn’t it, my angel?’ Harley glowered at him. ‘Tell you what,’ he continued, ‘I was just going to give Harley a lift, weren’t I, swede ’art? We could drop you off too if you wanted.’

Mercedes hovered for a second: there was something fishy about this. She weighed up the odds - the chances of Harry Spinks performing an act of kindness to anyone, let alone a member of the Bent family, were about the same as Chubby becoming president of MENSA. So, could it be a ploy to kidnap her and get back at her brothers? No chance! There was no way Harry would do his own dirty work and certainly not from such a public place. No, kidnapping was a rank outsider. But there was definitely something suspicious about the offer and the clever money had to be on Spinks having found out that she was working in the bank. So, she thought, he was hoping to pump her for information, was he? Well, two could play at that game.

‘Excellent!’ she opened the door and slid along the back seat while Harley took her place in the front. ‘So, Harley, how’s your work experience going? Mine’s really boring, I just sit and watch this old biddy all day. How about you? What sort of things are you doing?’

As Harley grunted her response, Mercedes noticed a scrap of paper on the floor of the car by her foot. Whilst pretending to listen, she made a show of putting down her bag then, surreptitiously picked up the note and slipped it inside; it could be absolutely nothing but you never know what might come in useful.

By the time the Rolls Royce turned off Pall Mall into St James’s Square, Mercedes had managed to keep up an almost relentless stream of chatter without volunteering a single piece of information that Harry couldn’t have found out by interviewing the bank’s cleaner.

‘Well, thank you very much, Mr Spinks,’ she said, stepping out of the car. She was frustrated not to have made more headway with Harley. Had she been travelling on the Tube, as she’d planned, she would have suggested meeting up with her later in the week but she didn’t want old man Spinks getting a whiff of what she was up to.

‘Pleasure, darlin’. A pleasure. Tell you what, swede ’art,’ he offered as she turned to walk away, ‘why don’t you come over to our place one night after work - ’ave a swim or a game of tennis or something? You an’ my Harley ought to get to know each other a bit. You can... do whatever you gels do.’

‘Dad!’ Harley snarled. ‘I told you to leave it out.’

Mercedes smiled. Did he think she was stupid? No way was she going to go waltzing into maison Spinks under the watchful gaze of Harry and his minders. No, far better for her to execute her plan via Harley alone.

‘Thank you. Maybe next week, once we’re back at school.’ By that time, if everything went as she hoped, Harry would be safely behind bars and, as his piranha of a daughter seemed even less keen on the idea than Mercedes, the occasion would never arise. ‘I’ll tell you what though,’ she said to Harley, ‘why don’t we meet up and go shopping or something after work?’

Harley glared at her. ‘Yeah - ’cos trailing round shops is my favourite pastime.’

‘I was thinking maybe we could find you some trendier business clothes. I know our work experience is nearly over but I expect you’ll be helping your dad out quite a bit over the summer.’

‘Diamond idea!’ Harry beamed. ‘Ain’t it, swede ’art?’

Harley made a porcine sound that Mercedes took as being affirmative.

‘Excellent!’ she said. ‘Thursday’s late-night shopping, so let’s go then. I might as well come to your office and pick you up. How’s that sound?’

As the Roller purred away round St James’s Square, a nervous quiver ran through her. The words baby, candy and taking from had never seemed more appropriate and yet, it had seemed too easy. Mercedes knew that the success or failure of her plan hinged on Thursday evening’s shopping spree, or at least the few minutes she would have in Spinks’s office before that; she just hoped Harry Spinks wasn’t thinking along the same lines.

She waited on the steps of the bank watching the car glide out of sight before taking the piece of paper from her bag. It was a ‘to do’ list and, at first glance, appeared to be of little consequence:

take books to Manny

check tyres & oil

phone Jonnie

buy dog food

phone tennis Club re: Sergio

speak to Rita about H.

On closer inspection, though, Mercedes smiled with satisfaction. She must remember to take it with her when she went to see En Min this afternoon. In En Min’s hands that little scrap of paper could prove to be very useful - very useful indeed.