Page 36 of The Temp

Linda chews the inside of her lip, throwing me a worried glance. ‘Stolen? Don’t be silly.’ Linda snorts, eyes sliding back to Daisy. ‘Bella suggested dumping it, but we can’t. Fly-tipping carries a hefty fine and…’

‘Oh, my God.’ Our heads swivel towards Zelda, who is rifling through her handbag. ‘My debit card is missing. Frank must’ve taken it.’ Is this true, or is she playing Daisy? I study my sister’s face, but it’s unreadable. ‘Come on, we’ve got to find him,’ she urges, shouldering her bag as we gape at her. ‘He knows my PIN. We can worry about your bicycle later, Linda.’

‘Jesus, what a shit,’ Daisy says, annoyed. ‘Come on. My car’s outside.’ Daisy gathers herself to leave with motions of urgency, and then she freezes, ‘Oh, wait.’ She touches Zelda’s arm. ‘You’ll need to report the card missing. Ask your bank to suspend it, just in case.’

‘That’s a point.’ Zelda’s hand shoots to her forehead, eyes on me. Her card isn’t missing. She’s lying. But Daisy is sharp as a whip. We’re going to have to be very careful around her. ‘I should, shouldn’t I?’

‘Good thinking, Daisy,’ I interject. ‘Ring your bank now, Zelda.’

‘But aren’t we –’

‘You two stay here,’ I say to Linda and Zelda, ‘in case Frank comes back. Lock yourselves in and call me if anything happens. I’ll go and look for him with Daisy.’

‘Maybe I should go with Daisy,’ Linda offers, ‘someone will have to confront him and you two look like you’re on the game in those negligees. The last thing you want to do is get arrested for soliciting kerb crawlers.’ Daisy and I exchange glances, a small smirk on her full, pink lips. Is she wearing lip-gloss? Surely not.

‘Just stay here, please, Linda,’ I say firmly, tying the belt of Tom’s dressing gown around me tightly. ‘I’ve got this.’ I sniff the air. ‘Is that bleach?’ I ask, hoping they’ll take the hint and clean the place up, get rid of any traces of blood. ‘Or gas?’

Daisy takes a lungful of air, curling a loose strand of hair behind her ear as if it’ll intensify her smelling senses. ‘I can’t smell anything.’

Linda, taking the bait, says, ‘I can smell it too. A slight whiff.’

‘Relax,’ Zelda breathes. ‘I bleached the kitchen floor earlier.’ My sister’s getting good at this. ‘Phone me if there’s any news, Bella.’

I tell her that I will as I usher a very whiny Daisy through the front door – she can smell something now – a hint of gas – they must call out an emergency plumber, google one now – the house might blow up. Over my shoulder, I tell the girls to make sure it’s not a gas leak, just to keep Daisy happy.

Closing the door behind me, I make my way along the path, Daisy in my wake, and just then I swear I see a flash of Mrs Anderson in her green Mini Cooper, crawling outside Zelda’s flat before accelerating into the darkness.

Chapter 33

I buckle in as Daisy turns on the ignition, Mrs Anderson buzzing in my mind. What on earth was she doing here at this time of the morning? Unless… ‘Daisy,’ I say, as she pulls away with a hurried jerk. ‘Did you call your auntie at all tonight?’

‘Aunt Tina?’ Daisy yawns as she flips on the indicator at the end of the road, head swivelling from left to right. ‘No. Why?’

Perhaps I was mistaken. It is late, I am traumatised, not to mention absolutely shattered. Mrs Anderson isn’t the only sixty-something woman driving a green Mini Cooper. It’s almost four in the morning. Still dark. People will be heading off to work, or the gym, or coming home from a late shift. It could’ve been anyone. ‘It’s nothing,’ I reply in a yawny voice as we turn onto the High Road.’ It’s true what they say, yawning is contagious. ‘Listen, Daisy, I’d appreciate your discretion on this. It’s just that Tom can get a bit…’

‘My lips are sealed,’ Daisy says before I can finish.

‘Thank you.’

Daisy nods, eyes on the road, clasping the steering wheel with locked arms, and then suddenly her eyes widen. ‘There,’ she exclaims. My head almost does a ninety-degree turn. ‘By the cash machine. Behind us.’ She darts a look at her rear view. ‘It’s him. Quick.’ She’s right. I’d recognise that beanie hat and V-shaped body anywhere.

We pull up hurriedly outside a pound saver shop as I fidget in my seat with urgency, as if I’m sitting on nettles, eager to leap out of the car and race after him before he gets away. I unbuckle my seatbelt just as Daisy pulls on the handbrake. ‘Wait here,’ I instruct. ‘I won’t be a moment.’

‘Shall I ring the police?’ Daisy asks, panting. ‘He’s obviously trying to steal money from Zelda’s account.’

‘No,’ I yell. ‘I mean, not yet. Just stay put. I’ll be as quick as I can.’

I rip along the pavement, flip-flops flapping against my feet, pulling Tom’s dressing gown around me. The knot I tied has loosened and I’m only wearing a flimsy nightdress underneath. Frank is standing in front of the hole in the wall, beanie hat pulled over his white hair. ‘Frank,’ I cry, ‘Please, I just want to –’

And as Frank turns to face me, the words die on my lips. He takes in the length of my body, blue eyes wide and wild. My face burns as I self-consciously fold the dressing gown around me. It isn’t him.

‘I’m…I’m…sorry.’ I begin. The man shifts forward, throwing me a lustful look. His ginger hair, which is sprouting from his black grubby beanie, is pasted to his leathered forehead. I inhale a fug of liquor, tobacco, and stale sweat. ‘Wrong person,’ I wheeze. I need my blue inhaler. Ginger man scratches his bristly cheek, eyes flitting to my breasts. No, no, it’s not my breasts. He’s eyeing my pockets; he can see the bulge of the letter-opener. He must think it’s a purse. I’ve got to get away from him. Fast. Backing away, I turn on my heel and start running, the T-bar of my flip-flops digging between my toes, slowing me down. Behind me, I hear the sound of footsteps. I flick a glance over my shoulder. He’s getting nearer.

‘Oi, you,’ he calls out, voice gruff.

I up my speed, eyes skimming around the dimly lit empty road lined with shops, desperately searching for Daisy’s blue Peugeot. A car horn blasts in the distance and I jump. I can hear ginger-man’s urgent footfall. How many women are murdered on their way home after a night out? Am I about to become another statistic? Panic steers my limbs around a parked car. Damn it, Daisy, where the hell are you? And just then a car horn hoots again, followed by a blinding beam of headlights flashing. It’s Daisy. She’s parked further along than I thought. Daisy is now out of the car, arms flaying in the air, beckoning me to hurry up.

‘Daisy,’ I scream. My dressing gown has now completely opened and is ballooning around my scantily clad body. I flick a glance over my shoulder and see a blur of the ginger-haired man, bent over, catching his breath.

---