Читать книгу Home Truths - Susan Lewis - Страница 13

Angie was sitting in the driver’s seat of her van, hands clutching the steering wheel, eyes fixed on the frosty green across the street where, back when they were a normal family, the children had played cricket against the adults in summer and roasted chestnuts and marshmallows over bonfires in winter.

She should start the engine, head off into the day, but she was having trouble making herself go through even the most familiar of motions this morning.

Grace and Zac had already left for school; Emma had taken them, and she, Angie, needed to get to work. She had to clean a restaurant in town for one of her neighbours first – she must text to say that she needed the cash asap – and then she had a meeting with one of Bridging the Gap’s main sponsors. Later she was planning to carry out a job search for a couple of the residents – any success she achieved on their behalf always gave her a lift, so she was actually looking forward to that. Then she’d go to the office to answer emails and make phone calls. All this would happen as it should if she could make herself go any further from the house than this.

It was the email she’d opened only minutes ago that was holding her in a paralysis of dread. It had been sent yesterday, but she hadn’t read it until after the children had left this morning, with Zac’s chirpy voice telling her he wanted a unicorn cake for his birthday.

Came by the house earlier today. Your van was there, but reckon you slipped out while I was looking for you round the back.

Mr Shalik wants to help you, Angie, so call me tomorrow.

It was from Agi, the thug, goon, muscle, whatever anyone wanted to call him, that Roland Shalik used as his right-hand man.

A tap on the van window made her jump, breaking her so abruptly from the turmoil in her head that she almost gasped. She looked up at the face staring in, trying to process the reality of it. For a moment fear tricked her eyes into seeing a stranger, until she realized it was her neighbour, Melvin, who lived two doors down with his wife, Mandy, and their twin girls who were Zac’s age. He was clearly concerned, perplexed, as he circled a finger for her to lower the window.

She did so and as cold morning air swept into the van her lungs grasped it as though she’d been suffocating them. ‘Sorry,’ she said, ‘I was miles away.’ Melvin and his family hadn’t lived in Willow Close for long, and hadn’t gone out of their way to be friendly, just nodding good morning when they came out with the bins, or to get in the car. She understood that some people preferred to keep themselves to themselves, but she’d been surprised when they hadn’t joined in the carol-singing party that Grace and her friends had organized at the community centre before Christmas. Everyone else had taken part, bringing flasks of hot chocolate, mince pies and handmade ornaments to decorate the tree. Bob, from across the street, had asked Angie if she’d mind him being Santa this year, a role Steve had always played, and she’d told him she thought it was a lovely idea.

Steve would have wanted her to say that, and Bob would hopefully never know that it had almost broken her to go and watch someone else in her husband’s place.

‘Are you OK?’ Melvin asked. He looked awkward, apparently not wanting to get involved if there was a problem, but here he was anyway. ‘You’ve been sitting there for a while,’ he explained. ‘Are you having engine trouble? I’m about to go into town so I can give you a lift …?’

‘No, I’m fine, thanks,’ she assured him. ‘I was just … I …’ Her hand tightened around her phone. ‘I was waiting for someone to call, and didn’t want to drive …’ She stopped, the fear of a call silencing her. It hadn’t happened yet, but she knew it would, just as she knew she’d have to take it.

Melvin was watching her through the thick lenses of his dark-rimmed glasses, seeming to see past her excuse, all the way to … To what? Even she didn’t know the real reason she was sitting here like someone who had no idea how to drive, so there was no way he could.

‘OK, if you’re sure …’ He gestured behind him to his own car.

‘Sure,’ she insisted. She hadn’t realized until now that he was quite good-looking. She and Emma often likened men to movie stars, and she guessed Melvin-from-down-the-street could qualify, on a dark night at a good distance, as a bit of a Matt Damon. Smaller, thinner, kind of gaunt, but still managing to be attractive. He was more Emma’s type than hers.

‘I should be going,’ she said, starting the engine. ‘Hope you have a good day.’

As she drove away she glanced in the rear-view mirror and saw that he was walking back down the street. She wondered what his story was, why he and his family were so aloof, although he’d seemed fairly neighbourly just then.

By the time she’d cleaned the restaurant, and met with the sponsor who’d willingly committed for another year, she’d forgotten all about Melvin, had even managed to push Liam out of her mind for the time being. Now, having completed an hour at the office, she was picking her way through the ruts and puddles of a building site on the outer edge of town, heading for the portacabins tucked in against the hillside like metal mushrooms.

She hadn’t received the dreaded phone call yet, nor had she responded to Agi’s email, although she was ready to admit that she couldn’t go on avoiding him. The trouble was she still didn’t know how to deal with the mess she was in, what her next step should be to avoid sinking her and her family completely.

A burning prickle of fear coasted down her spine.

As she approached the first portacabin a tall, muscular man in a hard hat and hi-vis jacket came out in a hurry, and almost collided with her at the foot of the steps.

‘Christ, I’m sorry,’ he apologized, reaching out to steady her. ‘I didn’t see you. Are you OK?’

‘I’m fine,’ she assured him, dimly aware that this was the second time today that she’d had this start to a conversation. He really did look concerned, and then his frown deepened as he peered at her more closely.

‘Do I know you?’ he asked. ‘You look familiar.’

She shook her head, certain their paths hadn’t crossed, but it wasn’t rare for people to think they recognized her, since her face had been all over the press at the time of Steve’s death. Anyway, this man was a bit of a Daniel Craig, so she’d surely remember if they’d met.

Two handsome men, and it wasn’t even noon. Maybe the day wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

‘I know,’ he suddenly cried, ‘you’re Wattie’s wife. Steve Watts, the decorator?’

As the pain of hearing her husband’s name tightened her heart, Angie said, ‘That’s right.’ It wasn’t a surprise that this man had known Steve, for just about everyone who worked on the buildings in this town had. ‘Don’t tell me, he did some work for you?’ she ventured. As everything about Daniel Craig – he wasn’t so much like him really, maybe better – suggested he was some sort of boss, it was a reasonable guess that he’d employed Steve at some stage.

The man smiled. ‘When we could get him,’ he replied. Then his eyes softened in an almost tender way as he said, ‘I’m so sorry about what happened. It must have been very difficult for you and your family.’

Angie didn’t deny it, why would she, but she didn’t want to get into it, so using words to cut off the swell of emotion she said, ‘I’m here to find out if you’d be willing to give a second chance to one or more of my residents. My sister and I run Bridging the Gap, you might have heard of it. Well, you might not have, but we help people, men mostly, to find their way back from difficult times.’

‘Actually, I have heard of it,’ he told her, going with the change of subject, though she could tell he was still thinking about Steve and no doubt remembering now the full detail of just how terrible his death had been, ‘but it’s not me you need to speak to, it’s Cliff, the site manager.’ He turned back up the steps. ‘He’s inside,’ he said over his shoulder, ‘I’ll introduce you and make sure he understands that this is a construction company that believes in second chances.’

Appreciating his readiness to help, she stepped through the door he was holding open for her and felt the welcoming warmth of the interior embrace her. As expected, the place was a dumping ground for everything: boots, jackets, paperwork, plans, hard hats and every other kind of builder paraphernalia. Seated at an enormous desk in one corner was a gruff-looking man in his fifties with flattened grey hair, no doubt from the wearing of a hat, a bulbous nose, flinty eyes and a ragged white beard.

No chance of making it a hat trick of handsome blokes with this one, she couldn’t help reflecting wryly to herself.

‘Cliff, this is Steve Watts’s wife,’ Daniel Craig said. ‘Mrs Watts …’

‘Angie,’ she interjected.

‘Angie,’ he repeated with a smile that made her smile too, ‘wants to talk to you about taking on a couple of her residents. They’re blokes who haven’t had the easiest of times and need someone to give them a bit of a leg-up. I said we’d be happy to do that.’

Cliff’s whiskery eyebrows rose in a way that told her he might not be quite as ready to throw out lifelines, were the decision his. Apparently it wasn’t, since he didn’t argue, simply said, ‘What skills do your residents have, Mrs Watts?’

Prepared for the question, Angie said, ‘Most of them don’t have a skill, but they could be labourers, or maybe apprentices to some of the tradesmen …’

‘The tradesmen take on their own people,’ he interrupted. ‘That’s nothing to do with us.’

‘But you can put in a word,’ the man who was apparently his boss interrupted. ‘And you were telling me only minutes ago that you’re short of a gofer.’ He smiled roguishly in Angie’s direction, and checking his watch said, ‘Sorry, I have to go, but Cliff will take your details and sort something out for you.’ As pleasantly as it was said, it was clearly an instruction, but before Angie could thank him he’d gone.

She looked at the older man, and tried to tease out a smile with one of her own.

It didn’t work. ‘Write everything down,’ he said brusquely, and pushing a tea-stained A4 pad towards her he tossed a pen after it. ‘If you haven’t heard from me in a couple of days, you can give me a call, but don’t expect miracles.’

Sensing this was the best she could hope for from this curmudgeon she wrote down her details, followed by the reminder of why she was there, and pushed the pad back to him.

‘Incidentally,’ she said, turning round as she reached the door, ‘I’d like to thank the man who brought me in here, but I don’t know his name or how to get hold of him.’

The site manager smirked in a way that made her hackles rise.

She stared at him hard. Surely he didn’t think she was trying to make a move on his boss, for that was what his manner seemed to suggest. The very idea made her want to slap the grin right off his smug face. Instead, she opened the door and stepped back into the hectic cacophony of the site.

It was at the bottom of the steps where she’d almost collided with the boss and now paused to let a transit van pass that she saw the words Stone Construction emblazoned on the side, and could have kicked herself.

Of course she’d known the name of the company before coming, but she’d been too distracted to make the connection. Now, as she did, it felt strangely as though sunbeams were breaking free of the dull grey sky to carry her back to when she’d first met the owner of Stone Construction.

Steve was laughing in that annoyingly teasing way of his that made her laugh too when she really didn’t want to.

‘You should have seen your face when I introduced you,’ he told her, eyes twinkling wickedly. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen you blush like that before.’

‘I did not blush,’ she protested.

‘Oh but you did. So come on, admit it, you fancied him.’

‘You’re delusional, and may I remind you we were at his father’s funeral, so you need to show more respect.’

Suitably chastened, he tugged off his tie and threw his suit jacket over the end of the bed as he said, ‘Everyone’s going to miss Dougie Stone. He was the best mayor this town’s ever had, and a great businessman. Now what everyone wants to know is whether or not his son, who’s apparently going to inherit everything, the construction company, the properties, all the other businesses, will keep it all going.’

‘What was his name again?’ Angie asked casually, stepping out of her formal grey dress and reaching for a hanger. Wasn’t it just typical of her husband to notice when she found another man attractive? She couldn’t get anything past him.

Steve was grinning. ‘Martin,’ he replied, and coming up behind her he drew her against him. ‘They say he’s minted in his own right,’ he murmured against her neck, ‘even before he cleans up from his father.’

‘Oh well, in that case,’ she said, turning in his arms, ‘perhaps I did fancy him.’

Laughing, he touched his mouth to hers.

‘Are you jealous?’ she teased.

‘Madly,’ he declared, not sounding it at all. ‘Now get the rest of that kit off, woman, and let me have my way with you before Coronation Street starts.’

Coronation Street, she was smiling to herself as she returned to the van. He’d never watched an episode in his life. However he had worked for Martin Stone a few times since Martin had taken over the company, but today was the only other time she’d met the man. She felt pleased that he’d remembered Steve so fondly, and touched by his willingness to help her small charity – and sorry that she hadn’t made more of an effort with her appearance this morning, as if he’d have noticed, which of course he wouldn’t have.

It would be quite something though to attract someone like him, a real boost to her spirits and her confidence, to her outlook on everything, so she might play with the fantasy for a while. Better that than make an immediate return to the grimness of her actual life.

Half an hour later, Angie was leaving Hill Lodge, and focussing on her next meeting, which was with an independent-living agency for those with mental health issues. They didn’t have any apartments free at the moment, but it did no harm to keep in touch with these people, to make sure Bridging the Gap’s residents weren’t forgotten when something did come up.

On reaching the front gate of the Lodge she looked up and had to fight the sudden impulse to run back inside. A man was slouching against her van, clearly waiting for her, and she knew exactly who he was.

Suddenly damned if she was going to let him see her fear, she raised her chin as she approached him, eyes blazing contempt, hands clenched in fists in her pockets.

‘Hello, Angie,’ he drawled, straightening up in an absurdly awkward way, as if he were pulling up his trousers, or shaking them out to dry. He was short and bald-headed with a prizefighter’s physique, multiple piercings in his ears and nose and a smile that, in spite of his attempts to appear friendly, made him look like an untrained pit bull.

This was Agi, the charmer Roland Shalik sent to carry out his dirty work.

‘Get out of my way,’ she said tightly.

‘Angie, Angie,’ he drawled, putting his hands together as though in prayer. ‘You know you have to pay your rent. It’s the law, and yet you don’t pay yours. So how can you expect to stay where you are?’

She regarded him fiercely, teeth gritted, sweat prickling the back of her neck as her heart thudded with dread.

‘Mr Shalik has asked me to inform you,’ he said smoothly, ‘of the steps he has taken to remove you from the house. Do you know of them? Are you opening your mail?’

Temper flashed in her eyes. ‘Yes, I know, and you can tell him from me …’ She broke off as he closed the short distance between them.

‘If you need help,’ he said quietly, ‘Mr Shalik is still willing to arrange a loan …’

She stepped back, shaking her head in disgust. Taking a loan from that shark would end her up in ten times more debt than she was in already, more even, and she wasn’t going to do it. Not even to save her home. There would be no point, for she’d end up losing it anyway.

Agi’s smile was one of sad understanding, even benevolence, as he murmured, ‘Of course there are other possibilities …’

She stared at him, not sure she wanted to know where this was going.

His eyes took on a mocking gleam. ‘You have a very beautiful daughter,’ he reminded her, ‘it would be …’ He broke off as her hand slammed across his face.

‘Don’t you bring my daughter into this,’ she hissed at him. ‘Do you hear me? If you try it again I’ll have the immigration people on you so fast your feet won’t hit the ground as they throw you back to the sewer you came from,’ and pushing past him she ran to get in the van.

As she drove away she heard him call after her. ‘Don’t forget you have choices, Angie. We always have choices,’ and for one blinding moment she almost turned the van around to drive straight at him.

‘How dare he threaten me like that?’ Angie raged, pacing up and down the office in a frenzy of fury that was likely to erupt at any moment into an explosion of panic. The door was tightly closed so no chance passer-by could hear if she swore, and Emma had switched the phones to voicemail as soon as she’d seen Angie coming in the door.

‘Why the hell are you only telling me about him now?’ Emma demanded angrily. ‘How many times has he threatened you before?’

‘Once, twice, I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. Shalik knows very well there’s no way I can get the money, so what’s he going to do, send more heavies round to scare it out of me? Well, good luck with that.’

‘There are laws to protect people in your position,’ Emma reminded her fiercely. ‘He has to give proper notice and he knows it.’

‘He already has. It’s going through the courts as we speak.’

Emma regarded her aghast. ‘For God’s sake, Angie. How could you have kept this from me? I mean, I knew it was bad, but …’ Words failed her as she tried to grasp the enormity of Angie’s plight. ‘We have to get a lawyer,’ she stated. ‘We know plenty, thanks to what we do here …’

‘They’re not going to do it for free,’ Angie interrupted, ‘and there’s just no way I can pay them. I can’t even afford a bloody birthday cake for Zac next week. Christ, what am I saying? We’ll be lucky to have a damned kitchen next week the way things are going, never mind a cake.’ She stared at Emma, so horrified by this possibility that she felt herself starting to shake. ‘I need to speak to Roland Shalik,’ she declared, grabbing her phone. ‘I know he won’t take my call, snivelling coward that he is, hiding behind his ludicrous army of thugs and bullies, but I have to try.’

Emma watched uneasily as Angie connected to the number. ‘What are you going to say?’ she asked.

Angie put up a hand as a female voice answered with the name of Shalik’s company. ‘Put me through to Mr Shalik,’ she said abruptly.

‘Who’s calling please?’

‘Angela Watts from Willow Close.’ Immediately the words were out she realized her mistake.

‘You need to speak to the tenancy manager,’ she was told. ‘I’ll give you the number …’

‘Thanks, I have it,’ and she cut the call dead.

Her eyes went to Emma, and she saw a reflection of her own outrage and helplessness. She knew her sister would do anything in her power to help if she could, but her finances weren’t in a healthy state either – the only reason she wasn’t being hounded out of her house was because she had an ex-husband to pay the rent.

Emma said, ‘Whatever happens, he won’t get away with throwing you out. You’re a single mother with two children …’

Angie regarded her incredulously. ‘Are you serious? You know very well that’s no insurance. Women are losing their homes all the time, and in some cases their kids end up in care.’ The chance of that nightmare scenario struck her another horrific blow; it was one she simply couldn’t let happen.

‘No one’s going to take Grace and Zac away,’ Emma said forcefully, ‘and you’ve got to stop telling yourself they will. We need to fight this rationally, make a plan …’

‘Don’t you think I’ve been trying to come up with one? I’ve got no idea how to get the money, unless I take one of their crooked doorstep loans so I’ll be in hock to them for evermore. Well, that’s not going to happen. I’d rather be on the streets than let Roland Shalik control my life any more than he does already.’ She faltered for a moment, knowing she didn’t mean that about the streets – or did she?

‘I know, why don’t I try to get a loan?’ Emma suggested. ‘I mean a legit one, from the bank. You can pay me back …’

‘No, I can’t let you do that, and besides they’d never lend you as much as I need.’

Emma’s anxiety visibly grew. ‘So how much rent do you owe?’ she asked carefully.

Angie looked away, unable to speak the figure even to her sister.

‘Five, six thousand?’ Emma ventured.

Angie shook her head. ‘Try doubling it,’ she said, thinking of the council tax and how much more that was adding to it, along with the utilities, credit cards, overdraft …

Emma said gravely, ‘Well, if the worst comes to the worst you’ll come and stay with me. It’ll be tight with all of us, but we’ll …’

‘You know that won’t work,’ Angie reminded her despairingly. ‘Remember how hard Shalik came down on you for overcrowding when you let Cherie Burrows and her kids stay after they lost their flat? He threatened to evict you and he could have done it, because your house is a single-family residence.’ They were both afraid that he might seek to get rid of Emma anyway, although for the moment he’d made no move to.

‘He’d never have known about Cherie if it weren’t for Amy effing Cutler,’ Emma snarled, referring to her next-door neighbour who’d once made a move on Steve and had been firmly rebuffed. She’d detested them all ever since, as if they were responsible for her knickerless attempt to straddle the man under her kitchen sink trying to clear the U-bend.

‘She’ll go to Shalik again,’ Angie warned, ‘and think about how bad you felt when you had to make Cherie and her kids leave; it’ll be a hundred times worse if you have to do it to me.’

Having to accept that was true, Emma slapped a hand on the desk. ‘That’s why we have to get a lawyer,’ she insisted. ‘If we can find someone who’ll give us the first hour for free, it might be all we need.’

This time Angie didn’t argue; however, an hour later, having called every solicitor on their contact list, they still weren’t able to get an appointment before the middle of next week.

Angie forced back tears and picked up the tea Emma had put in front of her. She felt sick, terrified, unable to think straight as everything seemed to close in on her. ‘Oh God, how has this become my life?’ she cried wretchedly. ‘What did I do to make it happen? Isn’t it enough that I’ve lost my husband and son, do I really have to lose my home as well?’

Without explaining anything, Emma picked up Angie’s mobile and made a call. When it was answered, she said, ‘Hello, I have Miles Granger on the line for Mr Shalik.’ Granger was their local MP.

Angie’s eyes widened in surprise, and she almost managed a smile as she caught on to Emma’s ruse.

‘What’s it about?’ Emma cried, indignantly echoing the voice at the other end of the line. ‘I’ve just told you, it’s Miles Granger calling. He’ll discuss his business with Mr Shalik, when you put us through.’ She glanced at Angie and winked. A moment later, she said, ‘Mr Shalik? Thank you, I’ll put Mr Granger on.’

As she held out the receiver Angie stared at it, so thrown she couldn’t get a single thought through the chaos in her head. A brief reminder of her children, a birthday cake, the threat of eviction brought her to her senses, and taking the phone she said, quickly, ‘Mr Shalik, it’s Angie Watts. I’m sure you know that your father …’

‘Mrs Watts,’ came the dark, drawling tones of her landlord, ‘I don’t appreciate being tricked into taking phone calls. I believe Agi offered you a loan to help with your difficulties …’

‘You know very well I can’t take it.’

‘That’s your choice. My position is clear. I wish to sell that house and you presumably know by now that you have until the end of this month to make alternative arrangements.’

Angie was so unprepared for his last words that she thought for a moment she’d imagined them. But she hadn’t, he really had said the end of this month, which must mean things had progressed through the courts even faster than she’d realized.