Forty - Two

Mike stood at the cash machine waiting for his money to be dispensed, all the time thinking about another visit to Maggie’s wine bar, to see if he could persuade her to meet him again. He regretted having had to postpone their last assignation and only hoped she wouldn’t change her mind about becoming his lover once again.

He stuffed the dispensed hundred pounds into his wallet, waited for his receipt, then grabbed it and walked along the High Street towards the wine bar. He glanced down at the receipt, and what he saw made him stop in his tracks. The account should have been in credit, at least to the tune of fifteen hundred pounds. Instead, it was overdrawn by over two hundred. Well within their agreed overdraft limit, but still overdrawn when it should have been in credit. What was going on?

He hesitated, dying to pay Maggie another visit, but now he needed to know why he and Claire’s account was overdrawn. Had she taken a great deal of money out of the account, and for what purpose? Reluctantly, he turned away from Maggie’s wine bar, and began walking in the direction of home, intent on finding out what had happened to the money in the account. Their joint account. As he strode purposefully up Mount Pleasant, breathing heavily from the exertion, he cursed the day he had agreed they should have a joint bank account.

***

The photograph of Mary had been printed on ordinary copying paper, obviously printed off from a computer. She stood over the kitchen sink, held the match under the picture, and watched as it caught fire, curling slowly at the edges, until the flame

swept upwards and destroyed her image. She let it fall into the sink, then ran the tap to wash away the ashes, so that there was nothing left of the remains. It was gone.

When she first saw the photograph, she felt dirty, even though she hadn’t posed for it. It was the creeping feeling of being watched she couldn’t take. It made her flesh creep. Ronnie watching her. But from where? She’d checked the bedroom thoroughly and could find no hidden cameras. And that was when it occurred to her that he’d been in the house again, just like the time he’d left the cassette tape behind. Deliberately letting her know that he could come and go as he liked; and she knew that if she had the locks changed it wouldn’t do any good. Ronnie would find another way to get at her. He was that sort of man. Manipulative. Evil. He liked to play games. Nasty, evil games.

She stared down into the sink, feeling slightly better now that the photograph had vanished. Cleansed by fire. If only she could find out where Ronnie lived. Get a can of petrol while he was asleep. Set fire to his house or flat, then watch while the flames wiped him out of her life for good. Then she would feel truly cleansed.

She looked at the kitchen clock. It was ten-fifteen. She wanted to phone Dave, and tell him what was going on, but she knew that if she stood in the hall using the landline, and began raising her voice, she would probably wake Simon and Thomas. That’s if they were asleep. She certainly didn’t want to worry them. Her handbag was on the kitchen table, so she took out her mobile and dialled Dave’s number.

‘Hello, sweetheart,’ he said when she made the connection. ‘I’m in a noisy pub. I’ll just walk outside.’

She could hear music and laughter in the background, then a whoosh of sound like air escaping, and some cars hooting and traffic noises.

‘That’s better,’ Dave shouted. ‘Marginally. I miss you, Mary.’

‘Dave,’ she said, ‘he’s been in here again.’

‘Who?’

‘Who d’you think? Ronnie of course.’ She told him about the photograph, and how she couldn’t find a camera in the bedroom.

After a brief pause, he said, ‘First thing tomorrow, get along to Tonbridge Police Station. You’ve got the evidence to nail the bastard.’

‘What evidence?’

‘The photo.’

Tears swam into her eyes as she said, ‘I burnt it.’

‘What!’

‘I couldn’t stand the thought of him watching me like that. I had to destroy it.’

‘You idiot! That’s the first thing the police are going to ask for.’

Dave!’ she cried. ‘Please come home.’

A brief pause before he answered. ‘You know that’s out of the question.’

‘I need you, Dave.’

A tired, overly patient voice. ‘You know I can’t. I can’t break my contract. We’ve been through all this.’

She sobbed openly, letting him know how distraught she was. It was intended to make him feel sorry for her, enough perhaps to make him leave Blackpool and rush back to her side. Instead, it had the opposite effect. A remote, coldness crept into his tone.

‘Mary, I have to go. And I don’t know how much help I could be even if I was back in Tunbridge Wells. It’s the police that need to deal with this.’

‘I know,’ she cried, ‘but I need your support. I can’t handle this on my own.’

‘Sweetheart, listen, my battery’s almost run out. Any minute now. That’s why I said I had to go. Get along to the cop shop first thing tomorrow, and I’ll give you a call once my battery’s been recharged. Then we’ll see about...’

He deliberately clicked the cancel on his mobile, then switched it off. He hated doing it, and lying about his battery, but what could he do? His hands were tied. Why couldn’t she realise: a contract is a contract. And besides, domestic issues shouldn’t interfere with work.

He went back into the pub and joined his colleagues.

***

Claire gave Mike a warm smile as he came into the kitchen, went over and kissed him on the lips, then stood back and examined the fierce expression on his face.

‘What’s wrong? I thought it was quiz night at the White Hart tonight. I wasn’t expecting you to stagger back until almost midnight.’

‘I needed some cash, so I went to the hole in the wall and drew some out. When I got my receipt, it said we were two hundred pounds overdrawn.’

Claire frowned and nodded. ‘I was going to tell you, but...’

‘But it slipped your mind? How can seventeen hundred disappear from our account?’

Claire did her best to look contrite as she slid into a chair by the kitchen table, but she seemed infuriatingly calm. Content almost.

‘I think you’d better sit down, Mike, while I explain.’

He sat opposite her, staring hard, trying to catch her eye, but she avoided prolonged eye contact, almost as if she couldn’t stand his piercing, probing look.

‘As you can see, I’ve been making progress over the last couple of weeks. And I’m over the depression.’

‘Are you trying to tell me you’ve been paying some psychiatrist privately for a cure.’

‘Not a shrink - no way. Psychiatric practices are detrimental to an individual’s health.’

‘Since when?’

‘Since I saw the light.’

Mike frowned deeply. ‘Saw the light! What sort of mumbo-jumbo are you into?’

Claire smiled beatifically. ‘You know that American friend of mine. Lucy. Well, she’s helped me out enormously. No more depression. I feel great, Mike. And I’ve recognised my potential and turned all my negatives into positives.’

‘Just what has she done that’s cost us a five figure sum?’

‘Don’t think of it in terms of money. She’s brought me onto the path of enlightenment.’

Mike’s voice rose angrily. ‘Don’t give me that shit? What’s happened?’

There was a pause while she calmly examined a cuticle. Then she said: ‘I’ve joined the Church of Scientology.’