Late afternoon we’d watch Homes Under the Hammer together. Then, as it got to the time when the residents of Baker Crescent began to arrive home from work, I’d go back upstairs to begin my evening monitoring session.
At one time, Mother would have known all about the BMW driver who nearly got clamped yesterday. I don’t bother telling her all that sort of stuff now, because Brian can always be relied upon to appear in the kitchen, spouting his unwanted opinions at us.
‘Parking violation?’ he spluttered last week when I was in the middle of telling Mother about a devious customer who’d parked up, looked around the store and then nipped out of the front entrance and across the road.
The woman had enjoyed the next two and a half hours perusing the Victoria Centre shopping mall, courtesy of Kellington’s free parking. Later, she had blatantly admitted, when standing in front of her clamped car close to tears, that she’d thought – to quote – you wouldn’t notice.
‘Incredible!’ Mother exclaimed.
‘You can’t blame folks for using their head and maximising the local facilities,’ Brian offered, even though it had precisely nothing to do with him. ‘It does no harm. She’d been in the shop, hadn’t she?’
‘Yes, she had, but it states clearly on the authorisation ticket I issue that customers can only park there for an hour, maximum. Buying furniture never takes longer than that.’
‘Says who? You’ve never bought a piece of furniture in your life, Dave. Everything’s always been provided for you, hasn’t it?’
As usual when Brian embarks on one of his rants, Mother found something pressing that needed doing in the other room.
‘They are the rules,’ I said calmly, staring blindly at the muted television. ‘And rules are there to be adhered to.’
Brian let out a hacking laugh.
‘Ha! You’re a fine one to talk. What about the rule that says fully grown men are supposed to move out of their mother’s house and stand on their own two feet well before they turn forty years of age? How do you justify flouting that rule?’
‘It’s not the same thing at all,’ I said tightly, trying to focus on keeping my breathing regular.
‘No, I didn’t think it would be.’ Brian jutted his chin forward aggressively. ‘Here, I’ve got another useful rule for you… Don’t mooch around in your bedroom half your life and sponge off your mother. Is that a rule worth observing?’
I’ve always known there’s absolutely no reasoning to be had with Brian. Since he’s officially moved in here, he seems to have become even more belligerent in making his bigoted opinions known.
‘Excuse me.’ I threw my shoulders back and walked past him to the hallway. ‘I’ve got things to do.’
‘Like what?’ His mocking tone followed me upstairs like a lingering bad odour. ‘Spying on people from your bedroom window, you mean? Lusting after that new girl next door while she gets undressed at her bedroom window?’
It’s precisely that kind of unpleasant altercation that has made me decide to change my routine and head directly up to my room when I get home from work each day.
Mother hasn’t commented on this new behaviour, but she now calls me when lunch is ready and I go down and bring the food back up to my room.
I haven’t got a television up here, have never needed one, but it doesn’t matter. I can watch most things online anyway. It’s far preferable to having to put up with Brian’s company.
I unclench my fists and see that my fingernails have left livid half-moons all over the fleshy mound of my palm.
People have always tended to underestimate me. They think I’m meek and harmless because I don’t make much noise, because I walk away rather than challenge.
But there’s a part of me they don’t know.
Sometimes, like now, I have a sense of a powerful uncurling sensation inside. Like a hungry snake awaking from a long slumber.
I open my laptop and check the CCTV camera footage. Part of my morning routine before leaving for work is to set both window cameras up at my bedroom window.
Providing I angle them correctly, they cover a satisfyingly large span of the rear gardens of this house and the surrounding properties.
One faces the left of the crescent, one the right. They’re motion-activated so it doesn’t take me too long to whip through the footage. I generally like to make it my first job of the afternoon.
There are three scenes lasting longer than the usual two-second blips of a bird or a cat that activate the cameras regularly.
At 11.51, Mrs Barrett took the rubbish out to her bins. At 12.11, Mother put some crumbs out on the bird table.
I press play on the final clip and watch as Brian walks down to the bottom of the garden. He peers into the thick tangle of bushes there and then turns around, staring back up at the house. He lights a cigarette and stays there for a few minutes before walking back up the garden until he is out of sight of the camera lens.
There is nothing there that needs further investigation, so I select all the footage and click delete, resetting the cameras for the next stint.
Using this method, and in conjunction with the hours I’m here at the window in person, I can ensure that our house and the surrounding properties are monitored constantly.
The people living in the vicinity don’t realise it, but they have their very own guardian angel watching over them every hour of every single day.
Chapter Forty
Holly
All four of the showroom staff had enjoyed a steady stream of customers throughout the morning. Holly herself had made two reasonable sales of a stylish floor lamp and a set of cut-glass tea-light holders.
Her commission today had only amounted to fifteen pounds, but who cared? Thanks to the big sale she’d pulled off yesterday, she was set for the month now, even if she didn’t earn another penny of bonus leading up to payday.
She’d enjoyed being busy. The time had gone quickly, but despite the distractions, Emily’s words still kept drifting back to her:
You knew I’d dealt with those customers first. You knew the sale belonged to me.
Holly sighed. What use did it serve to keep replaying it over in her mind?
It was obvious to everyone here that Emily had been deluded about this particular transaction. She was clearly just sour because she’d got it wrong. She had underestimated the customers and lost out on a sale. It was as simple as that.
But there was something else she had said that kept repeating on a loop in Holly’s head:
I got rid of the last silly cow who came here thinking she could snap at my heels, and I’ll have no problem getting rid of you too.
She had all but admitted that she’d ousted the last sales assistant who’d tried to make a go of it. Holly didn’t like Emily one bit, but she knew she’d be a fool to underestimate her.
Although she was doing well here, she was under no illusion that it was early days. She was still the new kid on the block, while Emily had the benefit of more experience, and Mr Kellington and Josh knew just how consistently successful she was.
She’d really need to keep her wits about her from now on, because Emily could strike at any given time. She decided it was best all round if she just stayed as far away as possible from Miss Emily Beech and her spiteful intentions from here on in. That woman was trouble she didn’t need.
As Holly rearranged a little cluster of silverware on one of the occasional tables in the middle of the shop, she thought how that day she’d left for Manchester had been one of the few times she’d had the sense that her life was taking a turn for the better.
She had the same sensation right now, despite her concerns about Emily.
She enjoyed working here at Kellington’s, and although Cora sometimes acted a little oddly, she liked living in her comfortable home.
Perhaps, she pondered, a quiet word with Josh about Emily’s threat this morning might not go amiss. Speaking to Mr Kellington himself was a frightening prospect, but if she had to do it, she would.
She already knew that he thought well of her, and after the events of yesterday, maybe he had begun to get the measure of Emily.
She continued to tinker with the accessories, and before she knew it, her mind had drifted away from the task in hand.