Page 28 of A Face in the Crowd
It’s almost a relief when there’s a chatter from the corridor to signal that Karen and the boys are home. I shoot off the sofa, startling poor Billy, and then catch Karen just as she was about to close her door. We do the faux ‘fancy seeing you here’ thing and then she invites me in.
‘I was thinking about trying that new takeaway pizza place,’ I say. ‘Do you think the boys would like a treat? On me.’
Karen wavers in the doorway. ‘I’d already taken their tea out of the freezer,’ she says. ‘I can’t ask you to do that.’
‘I want to,’ I insist. A pause and then: ‘I think the pizza place does ice cream, too.’
Tyler is close enough to hear. He spins on his heels and looks up to his mum – and that’s enough to sway it. Bully for me: I’ve guilt-tripped a mother into feeding her kids junk because I’m desperate for company.
The four of us and Billy head out of Hamilton House and along the street. The boys speed ahead, setting themselves short races from lamp post to lamp post that Tyler always seems to win. Karen and I talk about the same kind of nothing we often do: weather, the state of parking at the front of our building, how the nights are drawing in, and so on. It’s meaningless, but the comfort of having somebody by my side outweighs all of that.
You Wanna Pizza Me? is one of those shops that are constantly opening and closing in different guises. It was a coffee shop a year ago and then sat empty as the graffiti mounted on the shutters outside. It’s on a small rank of shops, along with a betting place, a newsagent and a launderette.
The kids are still ahead but wait outside, checking to see that this is definitely where they’re allowed to eat tonight. When Karen nods, they whoop with joy and jump up the step to get inside. I tie Billy outside and head after them.
When they ask what they can order, I tell them whatever they want, and they start to plan a pair of created feasts.
We watch as they relay their order and Karen leans closer to me: ‘Thank you,’ she whispers.
It’s a struggle but I manage, ‘Don’t worry about it.’
‘You deserve this,’ she adds.
It takes me a second to remember the lie about a scratch card.
‘This bit of money could turn things around for you,’ she adds. ‘I know it’s been hard after everything with Ben, but this is going to change it all.’
She nudges her shoulder into mine and there’s such care in her tone that it’s hard to bite away the tears. I’m using money that isn’t mine to pay for everything. I’ve lied about where it came from – and all this on the day I was sacked for theft. If only she knew the truth.
I pay for the order but can barely eat more than a few bites of my own food and end up carrying the box home. It turns out the pizza place doesn’t do ice cream – but a bribe is a bribe, so we take the kids into the newsagent, where they raid the freezer at the back. I pay for the Magnums, too – no ten-pence Mini Milks here – and Karen is so overwhelmed that she’s almost in tears. It will have been a fair while since Tyler and Quinn have been able to have such an indulgent treat. They’ll remember today because small gestures mean a lot when a person has so little.
We amble back to Hamilton House and each step along the pavement gives me a growing dread that I’m going to be alone. I’m not usually like this; the opposite is true. It’s Billy and me versus the world and I’m fine with that. But now, after today, I need people around me.
I trail after Karen until we get to her door, as if there’s no question of me returning to my own flat. She doesn’t seem to mind, unlocking it and waiting for Billy, Tyler and Quinn to head inside before we follow. She kicks off her shoes and mentions the kettle, so I say I’ll do it. The layout of our apartments is identical – except that Karen has two bedrooms tagged onto the main area. I have a bed hidden in a wall, but she has the equivalent of the penthouse suite.
Karen relaxes on the sofa as Tyler and Quinn head off to their room. After flicking the kettle on, I hunt through the cupboard above for the box of teabags, but the results are catastrophic.
I hold up the single teabag for Karen to see. ‘Tragedy has struck,’ I say.
She looks up from her phone and laughs. ‘There’s more somewhere around there.’ She presses down on her arms but doesn’t actually move. It’s the half-hearted motion people do when they’re already sitting and don’t want to get up. I don’t blame her.
‘I’ll find them,’ I say.
A new box is not in the cupboard with the others, so I open a few doors and start looking. My kitchen is largely barren – a testament of only buying the things I need – but Karen’s is full of food for the boys. There are cereals and packets of biscuits; plus a cupboard seemingly devoted to sandwich fillings. No sign of teabags.
I start opening and closing drawers and am moving so quickly that I almost miss it. I’ve already moved on and have to backtrack to make sure my eyes weren’t lying. Sitting in the drawer next to the fridge is a taupe envelope. I glance to Karen, who is busy tapping away on her phone, so I turn my back, blocking her view as I remove the envelope from the drawer. I flip it over, but there is no writing on the front or back. It’s padded but squishy, with the tab loosely held in place by a thin strip of tape.
It’s all horribly familiar…
I risk a glance over my shoulder to Karen, but she is still not paying attention. The tape comes away under my nail and then I raise the flap to peer inside.
I’d been expecting it from the moment I saw the envelope – but it’s still a shock. Still inexplicable. There’s money inside – scruffy ten-pound notes bundled in haphazardly and shoved to the bottom. I hold the notes for a moment, running my fingers over the smooth plastic.
There are hundreds of pounds packed into the envelope, perhaps more than a thousand. I have an almost unescapable urge to tip it onto the side and count it all.
Then there’s a knock at the door.
I’m not sure if I’ve ever moved so quickly, but, within a flicker of a second, I’ve crammed the money back into the envelope and dropped it into the drawer. By the time Karen has made a token gesture of getting up, I’ve called ‘I’ll get it’ across to her.
