Page 54 of Secrets at the Little Music Shop

‘No, I’m going to thank God for historic cities building regulations not allowing shop owners to replace old latch windows. Bunk me up.’

‘Jem?’ He was staring at me now. ‘You serious?’

‘Bunk me up,’ I repeated.

‘Hang on. This is more than I signed up for. You said you were just going to have a look in the yard—’

‘—where there’s nothing to see. So now I’m going in.’ I looked him in the eye. ‘Are you with me?’

‘Sheesh. All right, Don Corleone. Don’t get your salami in a twist.’ Ben bent and formed his hands into a cup. ‘But I’m not sure I can bunk you right up there. I mean, Christ, woman, how much do you weigh?’

‘You’d better hope I get arrested,’ I said, putting one toe into his palm. ‘Because if I don’t, you are going to pay for that remark.’

I didn’t need him to put any effort in. The action came back to me as easily as if I’d done it yesterday. Toe in, spring off the back foot, balance against the wall and — up. Ben straightened, looking surprised.

‘Jem?’

I was already taking off my T shirt, wrapping it over the barbed wire. ‘Have you got a credit card on you?’

Ben was staring at my chest. At least I was wearing a half-decent bra, although the balconette style made my boobs look fuller and more barely restrained than should have been the case. ‘What? You want me to pay to cop an eyeful?’

‘Just hand it over.’

He raked about in pockets, eventually finding a card. ‘American Express?’

‘That’ll do nicely.’ I grinned down at him as he stretched up with the card. This was feeling more and more like the old days. I straddled the barbed wire, carefully holding the padding. ‘Okay. In and out.’

‘What if someone comes?’

‘It’s three o’clock in the bloody morning. Who do you think is going to come?’

‘We’re here.’

‘Well, if any burglars arrive, tell them this place is spoken for. All right?’

I dropped down into the yard, my hands sweaty, my heart thumping and my chest attempting to escape. All the old feelings, all the old thrills. ‘Jem?’ I couldn’t see him, the wall was a good nine-feet high, so I didn’t bother responding. ‘Be careful,’ I heard him breathe.

I crossed the yard, pulled one of the plastic chairs up to the window and used the credit card to slip the latch. One hop and a wriggle and I was inside, although I left some of my skin on the frame. I nearly called back to Ben but realised it was futile.

I’d become an expert on sussing out a place without going any further than point of entry, I had better eyes than most for the tell-tale signs of advanced alarm systems. Saskia had nothing. The cheapskate. Although, I thought as I circled the shop floor, there was nothing here that even the most desperate of burglars could want. The till was empty with the tray pulled out to show there was no cash and as for the items on sale — well, I guess if you wanted to beat someone to death they might come in handy.

Ben was right. There was nothing here. To corroborate Jason’s story all the boxes of Rosie’s cards that I’d seen on the night of the party were gone. I went back into the office and noticed an appointments diary on the desk beside the telephone. Using the tip of one finger I flipped it open.

All right, so I’d hardly expected Saskia to have written ‘TODAY MY PLANS COME TO FRUITION’ across the pages in lipstick, but I was unprepared for the sheer dullness of the entries. For example under today’s date was ‘4pm, Oscar, Orthodontist’. The poor kid was only five and she was already having him fixed. He hadn’t even got all his teeth yet.

I flipped back further. Three days ago. The night of Ben’s aborted dinner party with Rosie and me. Nothing but a lightly pencilled ‘A’. And then a question mark. Further back, and all that seemed to concern Saskia was the coming and going of Alex and Oscar’s various appointments. All I managed to learn was that Alex was out a lot and poor little Oscar was undergoing major restructuring work. God, she was a boring woman. I was flicking through dates now, anything that sprung to mind. On my birthday apparently Oscar had a music exam, on Rosie’s a book test. On 20 February, the day Harry was born, she’d written ‘A out’. As in he was somewhere else, or he’d decided to confess to being gay?

I replaced the diary and went back out through the office window, removing any spare skin from my ribs on the way. I carefully levered it shut with Ben’s card; although I couldn’t relatch it from this side I could leave the arm lying along the frame so hopefully Saskia would think that it hadn’t been properly closed.

I moved the chair up to the wall and used it to get enough of a boost to climb back to the top. As I jumped I gave the chair an almighty kick which sent it right to the far side of the yard, where it tumbled onto its back as though a gust of wind had caught it. I paused by the wire to untangle my shirt then dropped lightly back into the alleyway where I landed beside Ben, who was leaning against the wall trying to look nonchalant.

He jumped. It was disconcerting to have him flinch every time I arrived unexpectedly.

‘Hey. Anything?’

‘Apart from Saskia conducting a father-and-son time-and-motion study, nope.’ I flicked out my T shirt. There were only a couple of snags in it from the wire. God, I was good. I went to slip it on but Ben put a hand on my arm.

‘Wait.’

---