When I get back home after seeing Mrs Peat, I make a tuna salad sandwich and sit down with the letters I smuggled from the sorting counter earlier. Both are addressed to a ‘Miss A Danson’.
I tear open the envelope to find it is a request from the police for her to contact them regarding the accident. This cheers me up no end because it means they are closing in on her. She won’t be able to run away from the consequences of her actions as easily this time.
I decide to destroy the letter rather than taking it back into work to be delivered. Ignoring a police letter will make her look even guiltier.
The other letter is from the Busy Bees Head Office regarding details of a job she has expressed interest in. A senior position.
I’m about to tear it up when the Human Resources department address, top left, catches my eye.
I clear my plate and cup away and sit at the table with the laptop.
Next to me is a notepad with all the details I’ve found out so far about her and now the letter giving details of her employer.
Yesterday, I got things moving. Now I must keep the momentum going.
Late afternoon, I carry out my regular audit of the oven, microwave and kettle. I pull the fridge-freezer away from the wall. Then I put back the smiley-face stickers.
In the lounge, the cushions are correctly aligned. The television is off; the lamps are off. Stickers are on.
Satisfied it is safe to leave, I head out to the car.
When I arrive at Liam’s house, I head straight round to the back door. I am surprised to find it locked.
I knock and rattle the handle to attract Ivy’s attention then wait a few seconds. Nothing. So I knock again, louder this time.
‘They’ve gone out,’ a voice says, behind me.
I turn to see a stocky woman who I assume is their neighbour, Beryl, leaning over the small gate that separates the two properties.
Her face is bloated and pale, and I can smell stale smoke on her clothes, even here in the fresh air.
‘Ivy said to tell you they won’t be back until later, so not to bother waiting around.’
‘Do you know where they’ve gone?’
She shakes her head and her chin wobbles.
‘Went off in a taxi about ten minutes ago is all I know.’ She holds up a canvas shopping bag. ‘I’m off into town now myself. I don’t suppose you’ll be going back that way?’
I shake my head, startled at her boldness. I do actually drive past town on my way home but I have got no intention whatsoever of offering her a lift. Why on earth would I want to inflict ten minutes of senseless babble on myself?
I walk back to my car, heat flooding through my body.
What is Ivy thinking, taking Liam out in a taxi? He’ll never find the time to recuperate from his ordeal if she is dragging him out of the house every two minutes.
I sit in the car, staring straight-ahead. I’m grinding my teeth but I don’t care, it helps me think. The tap on the window gives me a start.
I lower it a couple of inches.
‘Ivy said there was no point in you waiting around,’ Beryl tells me again.
‘I heard you the first time,’ I snap and close the window again before she can answer. She glares at me and mutters something before waddling off down the street with her oversized shopping bags.
It occurs to me that Liam should keep his mobile phone turned on now he is out of hospital. If he needs help or needs to contact me for any reason it will come in very handy. I could have called him right now, for instance, to find out where he is.
It is so silly of Ivy, incurring the expense of cabs when I’m able to take them anywhere they need to go. Ivy seems to be making some very bad decisions for Liam’s health in the process of trying to give him more freedom.
I’d decided it was fruitless to waste any more breath trying to convince her she needed my help but I can’t help thinking I should really sit down and have a proper chat with her in an effort to make her see sense.
I become aware of a soreness on my scalp and realise I’m pulling at my hair again. My good hand clutches a wispy ball of it. I lower the window and release the hair, watching the breeze whip it off in the direction of Ivy’s neighbour, Beryl. I imagine the ball of hair blowing down the street and straight into her big gaping mouth, choking her.
Chuckling to myself, I pick up the keys to start the ignition and then, like an epiphany, I remember the spare key. The one I had cut before giving back the original bunch from the hospital to Ivy.
I glance at the front door and imagine how it might feel walking through it and having the house to myself again.
There is a business card in there somewhere from the police. There was no sign of it last time but it’s there. She will have tossed it carelessly somewhere amongst the clutter.
Ivy has been secretive with information the hospital has given her about Liam’s progress, so who knows if she has had further communication from the police but not let myself or Liam know?
I glance down the street, wondering what time they will be returning in the taxi.
The old hag next door said they hadn’t been gone long, and she was away now herself, off into town. I wonder, could I risk ten minutes in there?
A cursory look round the house could move things on a step if I manage to find the business card or any other important police communication that Ivy has kept to herself. That way, I could go straight to the investigating officer and get things moving.
I start up the car and drive a hundred yards back up the street, parking on the other side of the road out of the way and behind a large white van.
I lock my handbag in the boot so I’ve nothing I might leave behind if Ivy and Liam return. Should I need to I can slip out of the back door, unnoticed.
I take confident strides across the road and over to the small front gate. It’s vital not to dither in these situations. People notice nervous, unusual behaviour; it breeds suspicion and interest. But someone who looks like they belong, like they are just visiting a friend? No one ever pays any attention to them.
By the time I get to the front door, my hand is shaking but I insert the key anyway and the door swings open. I close it behind me and stand still for a minute.
‘Liam?’ I call out to the still, silent rooms. ‘Hello?’
I haven’t a clue what excuse I’ll come up with if it transpires that someone is home after all, but I have no need to worry.
The house is empty.