The call came about six in the evening. Jane had been wondering. They’d promised to exchange texts and keep in touch, but there had been nothing all weekend and Jane was secretly relieved. Now she braced herself. No question of this caller’s ID.
‘Hi Pri,’ she said in a measured tone.
‘Hi. Hey, can we talk?’
‘Aren’t we?’
‘I can't right now, I’m on the train. I have ... something to tell you. Can we meet somewhere when I get back?’
Jane’s first thought was to invite her round, then realised that might not be such a good idea. Besides, something in Pri’s tone suggested she might prefer neutral ground. They settled on a coffee shop across from the Southwark Needle in forty minutes. It would take Jane only twenty minutes to walk there so she considered having a bracing glass of wine first. No, best not. God knows where that might lead. This needed to be done with a clear head.
Pri was there ahead of her, looking radiant but pensive, and they embraced briefly, almost formally. ‘I ordered you a flat white, is that OK?’ Pri asked as Jane put down her shoulder bag and unbuttoned her overcoat.
‘Sure, no problem.’
They settled at a small circular metal table more suited to a single person, but it was either that or a quiet, intimate table near the back. Jane noted the choice almost subconsciously, feeling nervous, expectant, and ever so slightly relieved because of it.
‘Good weekend?’
‘Yeah, pretty good. Caught up with some friends for lunch today. How was your family get-together?’
‘That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.’ Pri looked down at the tabletop and traced a finger round the edge of a doily. ‘I didn’t tell you ...’
Their coffees arrived with a clatter. ‘Two flat whites. Anything else?’
‘No, thank you.’
Jane leaned across to draw her cup and saucer closer. The table rocked and the coffee levels rocked wildly against their rims. ‘Whoops! Sorry, you were saying?’
Pri waited her as she folded a napkin and wedged it under the errant table leg. ‘It was ... a bit more than just a family thing.’
‘Oh yes?’ Jane was feeling more buoyant by the minute. Some sixth-sense told her she wouldn’t need the words she’d been carefully preparing.
‘Remember I told about Christmas cake? Women past their twenty-fifth?’ Jane nodded. ‘My family take these things seriously. My whole community do. It’s not like the old days where you could be married off at twelve without any say in the matter. It’s much more civilised than that. A bunch of older people who know a bunch of available younger people sit around a table and compare notes. ‘How would Aarav get along with Bina?’ ‘Oh no, she’s much too fiery. She needs someone stronger. Besides, they have no common interests.’ It’s quite ... I was going to say democratic, but that’s not the word, is it? Balanced, I suppose. Unemotional. They take the people themselves into consideration without all that Bollywood, stars-in-their-eyes, love-at-first-sight nonsense.’
‘Do the young people involved have any say in the matter?’
‘Absolutely! That’s the whole point. They bring together people they think might make good couples, but there are no guarantees. Both parties get a veto. Both can simply say no thanks. Sometimes, in spite of everything, the chemistry does not work.’ She looked down and turned her cup so the handle faced her before adding quietly. ‘And sometimes it does.’
Jane said nothing.
‘That’s ... also what this weekend was about. My family, mainly, but also meeting someone they thought I should meet. They’ve done it before. It’s always been wrong. There was no reason to expect this would be any different ...’ Her voice trailed off.
‘But it was.’ Jane finished for her. Pri bit her lip. ‘That’s fantastic news, Pri. Good for you!’ She reached across and gripped her hand.
‘Really?’
‘Really.’
‘It’s not like an engagement or anything,’ Pri explained. ‘We’re just going to see each other. See how things go, you know?’
‘I’m sure they’ll go well,’ Jane said. ‘What’s he like? It is a he, I take it?’
Pri narrowed her eyes. ‘Yes. Yes, it is.’
Jane raised her cup in a mock toast and took a sip.
‘It’s ... been ... a very confusing weekend for me,’ Pri added, her eyes still on Jane’s.
‘For me too.’ Jane put down her cup. ‘Look, I have to tell you this news is a bit of relief, to be honest. I’ve thought about things long and hard. Friday night was nice. It was a new experience for me – well, sober me, at least – but I really don’t think I’m a girl-girl sort of girl. So I was coming here tonight with all those awful break-up lines running through my head: Ships that pass in the night. It isn’t you, it’s me. We’re moving too fast. I need to focus on my career. All that shit. And you ... well, you beat me to it. You’ve gone and made it easy for me.’
‘Damn you, Jane Child!’ Pri replied quietly. ‘I’ve been eating myself up all day about this! How to tell you. What to say.’
‘Me too.’
‘Oh god, what a pair of idiots!’ She leaned forward and bumped her forehead against Jane’s. ‘Thank you for being honest with me. And thank you for Friday. It was better than nice, it was lovely.’
‘There was one break-up line I didn’t want to use because it’s corny and trite and sounds terrible, but I really, really mean it. Can we still be friends, Pri? Please?’
‘Absolutely!’
‘Just ... without the benefits?’
Pri laughed. ‘You’re still friends with that other girl, aren’t you?’
‘Sally, yes. We had lunch today.’
‘There you are then!’
‘Oh thanks, Pri. That really means a lot.’ They hugged and kissed – as friends – then discreetly dabbed damp eyes.
‘At the risk of sounding like my mother.’ Pri wagged a finger at her. ‘We’re going to have to find you someone, young lady!’
‘Actually ... I met someone at the station after you left. A man. He was seeing his mum off. It started me thinking about the whole us thing, you know?’
‘And?’
‘We talked. He ... seemed nice.’
‘Cute?’
‘Cute too.’
‘And then ...?’
‘Then nothing.’
‘You didn’t let him get away?’
‘Well, sort of.’
‘Jane!’
‘But he did give me his business card.’
‘You must, you absolutely must call him. Not right away though. Let him stew for a few days then surprise him, yes?’
Jane laughed. ‘I’ll think about it. Now, tell me all about your match-made man. I want to know everything.’
‘Well, his name is Abhimanyu Chakrabarti and he—’
‘Wait, wait. Abhimanyu Chakrabarti and Priyadarshini Ratna? My god, girl, you can't marry him. The wedding invitations will have to be ten feet long!’
‘You’re worse than my mother and my aunties! We meet once for coffee, go on one date, and already I am almost married off. But even they did not get to the wedding invitations!’
Jane laughed. ‘Go on, tell me more. I promise not to interrupt again.’
‘Well, he has a PhD in something incredibly geeky but really, really interesting; carbon nanotubes.’
‘What the hell—?’
‘You promised not to interrupt!’
Jane pressed her fingers to her lips and motioned Pri to continue.
Outside, in the lee of the Southwark Needle, it was getting colder. The wind was picking up and the man in the Homburg fastened the top button of his overcoat before taking out another cigarette. The cold didn’t bother him. He was well wrapped up. And he was a patient man.
*
Jane left Pri at the entrance to London Bridge Underground station and headed home through the twilight. The wind was picking up and she pulled distractedly at the collar of her coat, her thoughts something of a muddle. They’d parted cheerfully, the best of friends, and Jane was relieved by the way things had gone. Mostly. She hated break-ups, they were always difficult regardless of which side you were on, but this had been effortless and amicable. They really would stay friends, she felt sure of that, so what was it that was bothering her?
Something niggled. Something needled a darker region of her thoughts. What should have been a happy release was tinged with ... what was it? ... yes, sadness ... that was it, and ... she bit back the thought at first, only slowly coming to acknowledge it ... a touch of envy too. Here she was, heading home alone in the dark – again – while Pri had her family and her prospects and now her Abhimanyu to fill up the empty spaces in her life.
A cat trotted along the front wall of a house, keeping pace with her until she reached the end of its garden. She paused and rubbed its ears then continued on.
She was still lost in her thoughts when, at the top of her road, an over-coated figure hurried past on the opposite side of the street – more hats! – and disappeared behind the high back of a vehicle parked opposite her house.
*
In the deep shadow behind the SUV, Mr Tattersall snatched off his hat and slipped out of his heavy overcoat, dropping both carelessly to the road as he zipped up the front of the black hoody he was wearing underneath. He slipped on a pair of cheap sunglasses, pulled the hood over his head, tightened the drawstrings so only the narrow oval of his face was visible, then waited.
The target reached her front gate reaching for her keys. He crossed the road silently on rubber-soled shoes, catching the gate before it had time to latch and slipped past it. The target had her keys in the door and was turning the bolt as he barrelled in behind her, carrying the pair of them across the threshold. She kept her feet – good girl – and he grabbed her by the hair, keeping her head pulled back so she couldn’t look around. He charged her straight up the hallway, through into the kitchen, and slammed her hard against the back door. She staggered and half fell, winded by the impact. He looked around. The laptop sat on the breakfast bar a few steps away. Perfect.
Kicking her feet out from under her, he snatched it up and fled back the way he’d come, leaving Jane’s keys still swinging in the lock. The whole operation had taken less than ten seconds.
Across the road, back in the shadows, he untied the hoody, slipped off the shades, put on his hat and overcoat, tucked the laptop inside where it could be held inconspicuously, and walked back to his car parked at the far end of the street.
*
She told them the ambulance was unnecessary. She had a cut hand, a bruised cheek and was a little shaken from the attack, but the police insisted. They looked over the scene as the ambulance crew checked her out, made some notes, took her statement, then said it looked like a crime of opportunity. A quiet street, a solitary householder opening her door; charge in, grab what you can find – phones, laptops, purses – then scarper. Was there a friend or neighbour she could call? It was bound to be an unsettling experience. She might consider a brighter outside light, and here, she’d need this form for the insurance company.
It was a relief to close the door on the lot of them. Jane checked the lock, secured the chain and double-checked back door and windows before pouring herself a glass of brandy and heading for the lounge. She settled on the sofa and held the glass up before her, surprised at how steady she was, how calm and cogent she had been with the police and ambulance crew. No doubt the shock would catch up with her later.
A crime of opportunity seemed the logical explanation. Or was it? If he really had been intent on snatching whatever he could get, why had he ignored her shoulder bag and the phone and purse it contained? Wouldn’t that have been the first thing to grab?
She’d hardly seen anything of her attacker, but two things stood out; the sound and feeling of the hand that grabbed her hair, and the sight of his shoes as he raced back past her. She wasn’t certain, but she sensed he was wearing driving gloves. There had been something like the creak of leather when he twisted her hair and pulled her head back, and the side of his hand in the back of her neck had felt unnaturally cold. Plus, he’d been wearing black leather shoes. Not runners or trainers; proper leather shoes. Slip-ons. No laces. They’d been polished too.
Jane sipped her brandy and considered the consequences. What if it wasn’t a crime of opportunity? What if it was related to what she’d learned about the contents of Ron Jonson’s computer?
If it was, she was in trouble.
She picked up the cushion that half-obscured the laptop she’d left on the sofa the night before. Ron Jonson’s laptop. Mr Snatch’n’Grab had grabbed the wrong machine.