“I knew it, I bloody well knew it,” Jennifer said, leaning up against the sideboard in the kitchen of her flat. “Every bloody time,” she sighed. “Just when I think I’ve met a decent bloke, he turns out to be an arsehole.” I stood in front of her, not sure what to do with my hands. We’d argued before, but nothing like this. The way it was going it could well be the last argument we ever had.
“Jennifer, please?” I said, trying not to sound too desperate. “It’s not how you think.”
“Oh, really?” She laughed, but there was no humour in it. “I nip round my dad’s house to see how you and your mate were getting on, and I find you giving my dad a lesson on breaking and entering.”
That’s exactly what she had just found. After she’d seen my little demonstration of how insecure Andy’s house was, Jennifer had left without saying another word. Tommy and I had gone to the hardware shop to get some window putty so we could fix the pane of glass I’d taken out. On the way to the shop, I’d made the mistake of asking Tommy for his advice. I should have known by then that Tommy’s advice was, while well-meaning, almost always rubbish.
“All she saw, mate,” Tommy said, “was you taking out a pane of glass so you could open the door. It’s not like she caught you red-handed leaving his house wearing a striped top and carrying a large bag marked ‘swag’, is it?”
“Thanks, Tommy,” I’d said. “That’s really helpful. What the hell am I going to say to her? You saw the look on her face.”
“Fair one,” Tommy had replied. “She didn’t look thrilled, did she?” That was the understatement of the century.
“Shit, Tommy. What the hell am I going to do?”
“Not much you can do, mate,” he replied, unhelpfully. “You’re nicked, I reckon. Just a case of waiting to see what the sentence will be. You might get off lightly, no sex for a couple of weeks or something like that. Or you could be out on your ear.”
“Thanks a bundle,” I said. “You’re wasted as a crook mate, you should train to be a bloody marriage counsellor.” Tommy laughed in response. It wasn’t supposed to be a joke.
“Well, you’re not married,” he paused for a second before continuing. “But I don’t think I’d need training, anyway.” I looked across at him, his smug face irritating me, before I returned my eyes to the road in front of us, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel.
I dropped Tommy back at Andy’s house, warning him to play nicely and just fix the window, before carrying on to face the music back at Jennifer’s flat. When I knocked on the door, not wanting to use my key, she opened it and just walked back into the flat. I followed her through to the kitchen.
“Jennifer,” I pleaded. “Listen just for a minute.” I watched as she folded her arms across her chest and pushed her lips together until they could barely be seen. This would be a tough sell.
“Go on, I’m all ears,” she said, arching her eyebrows as if no matter what I said she wasn’t going to believe it. Which was probably true.
“I admit that, when I was younger, I did some stuff I’m not proud of now,” I said. “But that’s not me now.”
She glared at me, her eyes piercing. “It explains a hell of a lot,” she said. “How you suddenly have spare cash floating about every once in a while, for example.”
“I’ve told you, Jennifer,” I said. “I’ll have a flutter on the horses, and sometimes they come in.” As Jennifer looked at me, I realised that she knew I was lying through my teeth.
“So your horse is on at five to two against, and you put ten pounds down each way. It comes in second. How much do you win?” She looked at me, her eyebrows arched again. I hadn’t got a clue what the answer was. What I knew about horses could fit on the back of a postage stamp and still leave room for what I knew about betting.
“Er, well,” I replied, trying to buy some time so I could come up with a convincing answer. “So, it’s five to two against?”
“Don’t even bother, Gareth,” Jennifer barked at me. “It’s a stupid bet. You wouldn’t win anything. I’ve never seen you go anywhere near a bookie, or study the form in the newspaper, or any of the things that people who like horses do. That money is coming from your little sideline, mugging old ladies or whatever you do to get it.”
“Jennifer, I promise you, I have never mugged anyone in my life,” I said, in a desperate attempt to defend myself.
“You’ve lied to me, Gareth Dawson. You let me believe that you’re a decent bloke, but you conveniently forgot to mention that you’re not.” She shouted the last two words of the sentence, and her words cut through me. I looked at her, and saw a tear appear in the corner of her eye. Jennifer brushed away before it could fall down her cheek, but for some reason the sight of that tear ripped me apart. “So what are these things you did when you were younger?” she asked. “Please, enlighten me.” There was no way around it. This would be difficult.
“Come on, let’s sit down and I’ll tell you everything,” I said. Perhaps if I could get her to sit down things would calm down a little. Jennifer wasn’t having any of it, though.
“I don’t want to sit down, Gareth. I just want you to tell me the truth,” she replied, her voice half an octave higher. I took a deep breath.
“When I was younger, I admit that I used to very occasionally break into places and steal stuff.” There, it was out in the open. Well, some of it was out in the open. I looked at Jennifer, knowing full well that she had me on the ropes. The look on her face was not one I ever wanted to see again. “But,” I said. She laughed — a sharp laugh with no humour at all — so I carried on talking. “But I never, ever hurt anybody. I never broke into anyone’s house. I never took anyone’s personal possessions. It was only ever businesses, and it was only when I was desperate and didn’t know what else to do.” That last part was a lie, but the rest of it was true. Jennifer’s stare bored into me, as the two red spots on her cheeks reappeared and grew.
“When was the last time you broke into one of these businesses?” she asked, using her index fingers to put air quotes around the word ‘businesses’: “Exactly how much younger were you?”
I looked at her, not wanting to reply. If I lied, she’d almost certainly know I was lying, but if I told the truth, I didn’t know what would happen. I could say nothing, but that would be about as bad as telling the truth.
“Gareth,” she said in a quiet voice. “I asked you a question.” I took another deep breath as I decided to front this one out and tell the truth.
“About three months ago.” It wouldn’t take her long to do the maths and realise that this was after we’d got together. A second after I’d said three months, her mouth opened and then shut again. I was right, it hadn’t taken her long at all to do the sums. “But I’ve quit, Jennifer. That’s not me, not now. I’ve quit all that.”
“After we’d met,” she said. This wasn’t a question. I looked at the floor. I wasn’t just on the ropes here. I was in the corner getting the crap beaten out of me, and it was all my fault. My mind was racing as I tried to figure out the best way to tell her that was the past, that I’d gone straight, but I never got the chance. Jennifer spoke in a very small voice, and as I looked up, I could see that she had her hand outstretched with the palm up.
“Give it to me,’ she said. “My door key. Give it to me and get the hell out of my flat.”