He did find suspicious piles of jewelry dotted around. There was a clump of gold chains on the bathroom windowsill, a stack of laptops on the kitchen table. The bedroom yielded an array of designer handbags neatly laid out on the duvet as if ready to be photographed. Then he spotted a small black box in the bedside cabinet. Inside sat a gold Rolex. He took it out and looked on the back. The engraving was as Mike had described: Gerald. He slipped it into his pocket. In the front room he picked up his rucksack, zipped it up and slung it on his back.
It was then that he heard a noise. A rattle. The sound of keys sliding into a keyhole and then trying to open the lock. Oh, God. His body froze. Only his eyes moved, sliding from one side to the other as he thought what to do.
“Damn door is stuck.” He heard a man’s voice and another rattle of the lock.
He looked around him. The chair was still wedged under the door.
“I can’t get the bleedin’ door open,” he heard.
There was no response so he figured that the man must be speaking to himself. He heard footsteps moving away and the muffled sound of a doorbell as the man tried a neighbor.
Arthur swept the chair away and then scanned the apartment. He had to get out of here. But how? He moved swiftly to the window. He saw that the drop must be at least ten feet. He would surely snap his ankles. But there was no other way out. All he could do was jump, hide or leave the way he came. The man’s wardrobe was a tiny Victorian thing. He couldn’t cram himself inside that, and how would he cope if he broke both of his legs from the jump?
There was only one way left...
Slowly opening the door, he half expected to come eye to eye with Mike’s neighbor. If he was capable of stealing a watch and all the loot in his apartment, then what else might he do? He opened the door by a few inches and peered out. At the end of the corridor the man stood. He wore a dirty string vest over too-big trousers. His hair was matted and dyed black. If Arthur left now, then the man would surely see him. He cursed himself for even having this madcap idea. He should have left Mike to sort out his own battles. But even so he was glad to have the Rolex stashed in his pocket. He stepped quickly into the corridor and pulled the door shut behind him. The click wasn’t loud enough for the man to hear. Arthur’s heart thumped. Badum, badum. It seemed so loud he was surprised that no one else could hear it.
He walked speedily away in the opposite direction.
“Hey!” a man’s voice shouted after him. “Wait.”
Arthur speeded up. He could see the exit door now, just a few more strides and he would be out of here. “Hey!” The shout came again and he could hear footsteps quickening behind him. Then a hand grabbed his shoulder. “Hey, mate.”
Arthur turned around. The man handed him the plastic lid of his ice cream box. “I think you dropped this.”
“Thanks.” He was still carrying his box of tricks. The lock picks lay on the top. “I didn’t realize I dropped it.”
“No probs.” The man was about to move away. “Are those lock picks?” he said.
Arthur looked down and nodded. “Yes.” He waited for the punch in the nose, or for his arm to be grabbed as the man marched him to his apartment.
“Great. I’m locked out of my flat. Can you let me in?”
Arthur swallowed. “I can try.”
He made the job look more difficult than it was. He wriggled a pick in the lock. He huffed and puffed. Finally he opened the door. “Fantastic. I’ll make you a brew,” the man said. “To say thanks.”
Arthur recalled Mike saying the man seemed like a charmer until you knew he was a thief. “That’s fine,” he said. “I really must be off.”
As he left the flat he was sure he heard the man muttering to himself, asking why the chair wasn’t where he left it.
He considered writing a note or posting through some money, but he knew how proud Mike was. Instead, he lifted Mike’s letterbox and pushed the watch through. The small thud it made when it landed on the doormat gave him a feeling of satisfaction like no other.
Journey’s End?
“FACTOR FORTY?” LUCY SAID, reading off her checklist.
“Yes,” Arthur replied.
“Lip balm?”
“Check.”
“Does it have an SPF?”
Arthur picked up the navy blue stick and peered at the small white writing. “Yes. Factor fifteen.”
“Hmm,” Lucy said. “You could do with a higher one.”
“It’ll be fine.”
“I’ll see what I’ve got in my makeup bag.”
“It’s fine. I have been on holiday before, you know.”
“Not anywhere as far, or as hot,” Lucy said firmly. “I do not want a phone call telling me that you have sunstroke.”
Arthur changed the subject. “Did you go to the cinema with Terry?”
Lucy smiled. “We had a lovely time. We’re going for a meal on Friday, to that new restaurant in town. He absolutely loves kids, too,” she added.
Arthur had asked Terry to keep an eye on the house. “Frederica likes watering first thing in the morning so she has moisture for the full day.”
“You’ve told me five times,” Terry said. “And I will switch your lights on every night and close your curtains so that people will think you’re still at home.”
“Good. And if ever you want me to look out for the tortoise, that’s fine.” Really, he had no idea what he would do with the little fella, but he felt good for offering.
“Have you packed your sunglasses?” Lucy started again.
“Yes.”
“Hold on. Are those the ones you wore when I was little?”
“I’ve only ever had one pair. They’re quality ones. Tortoiseshell.” He put them on.
“I suppose they’re quite fashionable again now.”
Arthur flipped the lid on his suitcase shut. “I have everything. If I’ve forgotten anything I can pick it up at the airport.”
“You’ve never actually been to an airport before, except to see Dan off.”
“I’m not a child.”
They both laughed. It was something Lucy used to say when she was a teenager.
“Seriously, though, Dad. A month abroad is a long time. You need to be prepared. It’s not going to be like your holidays to Bridlington with Mum.”
“I hope not.” He laughed. “I want to try new food and culture.”
“You certainly have changed. I wonder what Mum would say if she could see you now.”
Arthur picked up his sunglasses. “I think she’d be pleased.” He glanced at his watch. “The taxi is ten minutes late,” he said.
“You have plenty of time.”
As another ten minutes ticked past, Arthur began to worry. “I’ll phone them,” Lucy said. She carried the phone into the kitchen. “Right. They said they didn’t have a note of your booking. They’re going to get someone here as soon as possible but they’re short-staffed. It’s rush hour and so it might be an hour.”
“An hour?”
“I know. It’s not good enough. We need to get you on the road now. If you get stuck in traffic... Is there anyone you can ask for a lift?”
“No,” Arthur said, but then he did know someone, a friend he could rely on for life.
Bernadette and Nathan arrived at the house ten minutes later. “You do know the way, don’t you?’’ He could hear her voice before the doorbell sounded. Briiiiing.
“How does she make it sound so loud?” Lucy asked.
Arthur shrugged and opened the door.
“Don’t worry, Arthur.” Bernadette bustled in. She pressed a carrier bag into his hand. “Some fresh sausage rolls for the journey. Nathan will get you there on time.”
Nathan nodded. He obediently picked up Arthur’s case and travel bag and put them in the trunk. Then he got into the car and waited. Lucy and Bernadette stood in the hallway. Arthur felt like a schoolboy with two aunts waving him goodbye.
“I always take some cereal bars,” Bernadette added. “In case I’m not keen on the food when I get there.”
Arthur gave Lucy a huge hug and a kiss. “I’ll send you a postcard.”
“You’d better do.” She nodded and then left the house. “Love you, Dad.”
“Love you, too.”
Bernadette seemed quite choked up. “I’ll kind of miss you, Arthur Pepper,” she said.
“You have plenty of other lost causes to attend to.”
“You were never a lost cause, Arthur. Just one who had lost direction a bit.”
“Who will I hide from now?”