I frowned. ‘Didn’t you send it to them yesterday?’
‘No, they’ve asked for a briefing in person and we scheduled it for this afternoon. But it’s not on the server. I’ve had IT down to look and they can’t find it anywhere.’
Calling me was her last resort, plainly. I saw exactly what was going on here. In my absence, she’d sensed an opportunity to present the work as her own. (Yes, irritating, but if you’re good at your job, you have no need to feel threatened.)
‘Don’t worry, it’s on my hard drive at home. I’ll see if I can get it sent over to you.’
‘We really need it this morning, Fi. Early afternoon at the latest. The meeting’s at three.’
‘Three?’ A crazy slot to have agreed for a briefing, last thing on a Friday. I did not point out that she was a little slow in noticing the file’s absence – not to mention in rehearsing her presentation. I hadn’t worked on it since Tuesday evening.
‘Let me call you back. Meanwhile, have another hunt. I might have used a different file name.’
‘What is it?’ Toby asked, glancing up from his own phone.
‘Just a presentation I must have forgotten to put on the work server before I left. It’s on my laptop at home. Clara’s only just noticed.’
‘Can’t she wait till Monday?’
‘No, she’s presenting it today. Not to worry, my neighbour Kirsty’s got keys to the house so I’ll ask her to find it. I’m just trying to think where I left it. Maybe in my bedroom . . .’
‘Why not ask Bram?’ Toby suggested. ‘Didn’t you say he was working from home today so he can pick the boys up from school?’
‘That’s true.’ I dismissed uneasy thoughts of the last time Bram had been granted access to my bedroom and dialled his number. ‘How weird, it’s saying his phone’s out of service.’
‘Really? That’s not very helpful, is it?’
‘Let me try Kirsty. Otherwise I might have to head back a bit early.’
Toby watched with dismay as I scrolled for Kirsty’s number. It was flattering that he wanted me to stay, to eke out our time together. You know, there were many things I was enjoying about the sapling relationship, but the one that sprang to mind there and then was control. Balance. I was the one cutting short the break, I was the one deciding what came first – in this case my duty to my colleagues. And, yes, it did cross my mind that I was also the one who had strayed, but it wasn’t as if we had sworn exclusivity, was it? The point is it was all in glorious contrast to the uncertainty I’d felt during those last couple of years with Bram. It made me optimistic for our future, hopeful that we would be exclusive.
‘Kirsty? Hi, darling, are you at home by any chance? Could you do me a favour and use the spare key to pop into my place? What I need is – oh, really? Okay. No problem. I’ll see you later.’ I turned to Toby, frowning. ‘She says Bram asked her for the keys earlier in the week. He’d lost his, apparently. He didn’t tell me that, surprise, surprise.’
‘Fool,’ Toby said, with feeling.
‘I know. This is the kind of thing that drives me nuts. I know it was him who lost those car keys.’ Remembering the antidepressants, I curtailed further criticism; perhaps the medication had impaired Bram’s memory? (Well, if he was at home that afternoon when I returned, it would be the perfect opportunity to broach the subject.) ‘I’m sorry, but it looks like I’ll have to shoot off early and save the day.’
‘Are you sure your laptop’s not at the flat?’ Toby said.
‘What difference does it make?’ I’d noticed that since the assault he often asked about the bird’s nest logistics, presumably wary of bumping into the Neanderthal ex again. ‘There’s no need for you to come with me. If you don’t fancy the college tour, we’ve got that table booked for lunch, you could still go? Then head back in time for your drinks thing.’
He surprised me then by crossing the room to kiss me. ‘At least stay a bit longer,’ he murmured, his fingers in my hair.
‘It’s already ten o’clock, I really can’t.’
‘Come on, what’s twenty minutes?’
When I finally made my exit, the taxi waiting to take me to the station, he kissed me again with such feeling the cabbie averted his eyes.
‘How long does the train take?’ he asked, finally releasing me.
‘I’ll change at Clapham Junction for Alder Rise, so I should be able to get the file to Clara by one-ish, which will be in good time for the briefing. I suppose I should be grateful she’s only spotted it now and not earlier. It’s been a great few days, Toby. Really. Let’s do it again.’
‘Definitely,’ he agreed. ‘Text me that you’re home safely.’
Really, it was sweet how dejected he looked.
*
The gods were on my side and my train connections were smooth, getting me into Alder Rise Station before 12.30 p.m. I texted Bram to say I was coming, but the message was undelivered, thanks to the out-of-service line. Not ideal if the school needed to get hold of him, but it didn’t matter, I was back in Alder Rise, back in charge.
I turned into Trinity Avenue with a smile on my face. The sunlight was unusually rich and golden for January. Lovely, truly lovely. Focusing on the van about halfway down, I thought, I must be mistaken, but it looks exactly as if someone is moving into my house . . .
#VictimFi
@Leah_Walker Here we go . . .
47
Friday, 13 January 2017
London, 7 p.m.
They are no longer in her house (correction: the Vaughans’ house), but in Merle’s. They’ve finally spoken to Graham Jenson and informed him of the situation, though Fi became too distressed to reason effectively and when Merle put the call on speakerphone, her accusations about identity theft and fraud sounded wild even to Fi.
‘I’ve been through this with the buyers’ solicitor and with Mrs Lawson herself,’ Jenson said, ‘and I’ve explained there has been no error on our part. Beyond that, I cannot discuss this. I have to respect client confidentiality.’ He has, however, agreed to a meeting on Monday morning.
They’ve spent the last hour ringing the hospitals of South London and beyond and drawn blank after blank, which is, they repeat to each other, good news, good news.
And now they’ve come into the living room at the front with large drinks. It’s a bit of a mess, as Merle’s place usually is. There are pine needles by the skirting board, the loose ends of Christmas that never got vacuumed away, and Fi stoops to collect one, pressing its point into the flesh of her index finger. It feels crucial that she see a bubble of her own blood, just one drop, to prove that she is still alive and this is really happening, but the needle bends before it can puncture the skin.
She has not been in this room since the meeting with the community officer back in September, when those forensic pens were handed out (she should have used hers to mark the house itself). They thought they were being so clever, the ladies of Trinity Avenue, to inform themselves about cybercrime, to pledge to protect one another from invaders and scammers. It hadn’t occurred to them that the enemy might be within. ‘You don’t seem very interested in this,’ she’d complained to Bram when he’d dismissed poor Carys’s suffering. Irony wasn’t strong enough a word.
‘Should I get Alison to come over? Rog can stay with the kids,’ Merle suggests, but Fi thinks not. She doesn’t have the energy to explain her catastrophe an additional time, or to hear poor Alison’s apologies – for she has confessed to Merle she saw Bram moving their things out yesterday, that he spun her the same redecorating line he did Tina. He’s taken them all in, every last one of them.
It is hard enough talking to Tina again, which she does next. ‘So you agreed with Bram you’d keep Leo and Harry tonight as well?’ This is helpful. She’s in no condition to see the boys, must sustain herself on the hope that their sleep tonight is innocent. ‘Things are a bit behind schedule here.’
‘But you’re pleased?’ Tina says, eagerly. ‘Is Bram there with you?’