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‘So presumably Andy’s got your password too?’ asked Cass.
Fiona looked outraged. ‘No, of course he hasn’t, but that’s different—I mean, I’m not up to anything.’
‘Changing your password is hardly proof of being up to something though, is it?’
‘He keeps getting texts…’
‘Oh for goodness sake, Fee, we all get texts.’
‘Which he erases,’ Fiona countered. ‘I know because I’ve looked while he’s in the shower. His inbox is always empty—you’ve got to admit that that is suspicious?’
Cass wasn’t sure there was any sane answer. Experience told her that if you think someone is up to something, then your mind is only too happy to fill in the gaps, and everything the other person does only conspires to make them look even more guilty. And while Fiona’s plan all sounded pretty crazy from this side of the fence, no doubt inside Fiona’s head it sounded just fine. When it struck, jealously, insecurity and uncertainty could be a destructive and all-engulfing madness.
‘How long have you two been together?’ asked Cass, adjusting the wig and adding a bit more lipstick. She’d always wondered how she’d look as a blonde. Cass turned to catch a look at her profile; realistically she probably needed something a little less Barbie.
‘Nearly four years. I read somewhere that four years is the new seven-year itch. And besides, if Andy’s got nothing to hide, then why does he keep wiping the inbox on his phone, why does he have a new password on his email account and why does he sneak about? Did I tell you he’s been sneaking about—’
‘Have you thought it might be because you’re trying to break into his email account, read his phone messages and are currently setting someone up to stalk him?’ asked Cass.
Fiona considered the possibility for a few seconds then shook her head. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. Andy’s got no idea he’s going to be stalked. And besides, he is up to something, I know it—and I want you to find out exactly what it is.’
‘Because?’
‘Well, because we’re friends, and I’d do the same for you.’
Cass stared at her. ‘Really?’
‘Oh God yes,’ said Fiona. Which wasn’t exactly how Cass remembered it. She did remember lots of things about being Fiona’s friend, like being left at the bus stop in the pouring rain, in her gym kit, because Fee had persuaded her mum to give the school hunk, Alan Hall, a lift home instead of Cass, the same friend who had refused point-blank to lend Cass a tenner when they were at a gig and Cass found she’d left her handbag backstage.
None of which suggested to Cass that Fiona would be running to her rescue if she ever needed a bit of on-the-side spying.
‘I don’t think blonde’s really my colour, do you?’ asked Cass, narrowing her eyes, trying to gauge the effect of the wig and hoping to lighten the mood. ‘Maybe something with a bit more caramel?’
‘Can we please concentrate? I don’t think you’re taking this seriously,’ snapped Fiona. ‘Andy’s going to be at Sam’s Place, Saturday night, at eight. I’ve brought my camera with me just in case yours doesn’t have a zoom.’
Cass looked at her. ‘Sam’s Place?’
‘Uh-huh you know, the trendy new bar, opposite the Corn Exchange.’
Cass shook her head.
‘Oh, come on, Cass, you must have seen it. It’s been all over the local papers. They did a double-page spread in the Argos and Echo, and a thing on local TV. Some guy off the telly is one of the partners in it. He used to be in The Bill—not that I watch that kind of thing, obviously. Anyway, there’s a cocktail bar and restaurant, and a coffee shop, all retro and very Casablanca, with a nightclub upstairs. I’ve been trying to persuade Andy to take me there for weeks.’ Fiona paused for effect. ‘Do you know what he said?’
Cass decided it would probably be wiser not to offer any suggestions, so pulled an I have no idea face instead.
‘He said, “Fee, what in god’s name do you want to go there for? Clubbing—at our age? It’s ridiculous.” That’s what he said, Cass, “Ridiculous”. It was horrible. It made me sound like some sort of desperate pensioner…’
Fiona was wearing a skirt that was bang on trend—if you happened to be eighteen—a pair of Christian Louboutin knock-offs and a haircut that probably cost more than Cass’s sofa, and Fiona had made Cass swear that she’d never mention the Botox or the fillers in front of anyone. Maybe ‘pensioner’ was a bit cruel, but ‘desperate’ wasn’t far short of the mark.
‘So you haven’t been there?’
Fiona shook her head. ‘No, of course I haven’t been there, although now it looks as if he’s going to be going without me. There was a message on the pad in his office —“Sam’s Place, 8 o’clock”, and what looked like next Saturday’s date. I was going to bring it with me to prove that I wasn’t imagining it…’
‘Did you ask Andy about it? I mean, surely if he left the note on his desk he meant you to see it,’ asked Cass cautiously.
‘He would think I was mad…’
Cass decided not to comment. ‘Maybe he’s planning to surprise you? You said you wanted to go—maybe he’s going to take you as a treat.’
Fiona didn’t look convinced.
‘Why don’t you just ask him, Fee? He left you a note—in plain sight…’
‘It wasn’t actually the note I saw,’ Fiona said, after a few seconds. ‘And Andy didn’t leave it out on the desk for me to see. It was more of an impression on the pad underneath. I could see that it had something written on it, but I couldn’t really make out what it said…’
‘Right,’ murmured Cass in an undertone. This was getting weirder by the second.
‘Anyway, I saw this thing on a film once, where you get a soft pencil and then very lightly shade over the indentations.’ Fiona mimed the action.
Cass had heard enough. ‘Uh-huh, okay, look, I think we should stop right there, Fiona—this is nuts. You need to talk to Andy, not me. And as for the stalking? I think it’s crazy and I’m not doing it.’ As she spoke, Cass pulled off the wig and dropped it onto the bed. ‘I really don’t think it’s a good idea. Do you want to stay with Andy?’
Fiona stared at Cass as if the question hadn’t crossed her mind. ‘Well of course I want to stay with Andy,’ she snapped. ‘Why on earth would I go to all this trouble if I didn’t want to be with him? For god’s sake Cass—have you got any idea how hard it is to get your hands on a decent blonde wig? It’s taken me ages to get all this stuff together…’
‘Well in that case you need to talk to him, not go creeping around spying on him.’ Cass slipped off the trench coat. ‘I’m really sorry, Fee. I’d be glad to help but not like this.’
Fiona looked as if she was about to speak, and then she bit her lip, her eyes filling up with tears. She started stuffing the wig and the brolly into her holdall.
Cass sighed, feeling guilty. ‘Oh for goodness sake Fee—’ she began.
‘Don’t say anything,’ she sniffed. ‘I thought you’d understand.’ Between sobs, Fiona rolled the trench coat into a ball and crammed it into the bag. ‘I thought you were my friend.’
‘I am your friend, and I do understand,’ said Cass. ‘Really, I do—but this isn’t going to help anything.’
‘How do you know unless we try?’ cried Fiona. ‘I don’t know what else to do,’ she wailed, still gathering things up as she made for the door.
‘Fee, wait, let’s talk about this,’ said Cass, but it was too late. The last thing Cass saw was Fiona heading down the stairs with the holdall clutched tight to her chest.
‘Oh bugger,’ said Cass in frustration. The Chinese takeaway they had ordered arrived half an hour later. Mungo and Buster waited by the kitchen door, trying hard not to look too eager, although realistically there was no way Cass was going to manage all those chicken balls on her own.
Chapter Two (#ubbfe2cc8-34b5-5753-b6ca-521d9140aa28)
‘Excuse me, Miss, Miss?’
Cass glanced up from her book and looked at the man framed in the shop doorway.
‘I was wondering if you could help me? Is that record player in the window Chippendale?’
The guy was six two, maybe six three, tanned, with great teeth and an Armani jacket worn dressed down over good jeans and a black tee shirt. He had just the hint of a transatlantic twang somewhere in his voice. He had shoulders broad enough to make a grown woman weep and the biggest brownest eyes. If he were a spaniel, women would arm-wrestle each other to take him home.
Cass closed her book and nodded, ‘Uh-huh, it most certainly is, and you see that cocktail cabinet in the back there? The cream one with the stainless-steel knobs?’ She pointed off into the shadows, between a bentwood hat stand and the little painted pine chiffonier that she’d sold earlier in the day.
The man looked around. ‘Which? Oh right—oh yes, that’s very nice.’
‘Hepplewhite. Genuine George III,’ she said.
‘No?’ said the man, extending the oooo sound to express his incredulity. ‘My god, really? I’d imagine they are just so hard to find.’
‘In that kind of condition,’ Cass said, ‘rare as hen’s teeth.’
‘Oh my god this is just too wonderful. Do you take credit cards? Do you think we can maybe do a deal on the two pieces?’
‘There’s been a lot of interest in them.’
‘I’d imagine there has been. What’s your best price?’
Cass considered for a few moments. ‘Give me your best shot…’
‘You’re a hard woman, Cass.’
Cass broke into a broad grin. ‘So Rocco, how’s life treating you?’
He didn’t answer, instead making a lunge for the biscuit tin, which initially Cass mistook for an attempt at hugging.
‘Are those Fox’s Cream Crunch?’ he asked.
Cass whisked the tin away an instant before he could grab it. ‘Still not quite fast enough, eh? Never mind, maybe another time. What are you doing out here in the boondocks anyway?’
‘Come on, you’re a legend. Cass’s place—great gear, reasonable prices, you’ve always got such lovely things.’ He paused. ‘Actually I’m on the lookout for Christmas presents for your mother.’ He started patting himself down. ‘You want me to tell you how many shopping days we got left? The PalmPilot your mum bought me last year has got this feature—’
Cass shook her head. ‘No, it would so only depress me,’ she said. ‘I’m never organised.’
‘Maybe I could get your mum to buy you one—’ Rocco began.
‘No,’ snapped Cass more forcefully as Rocco continued, ‘I adore those repro radios and turntables you’ve got in the window. Nice chaise by the way,’ he tipped a nod towards the dark green brocade number she had recently finished re-upholstering, which was also currently sitting in the shop’s bay window. ‘That won’t be there very long.’
Cass smiled. ‘I’ve already had a couple of decent offers.’
Rocco grinned mischievously. ‘Really? And you’re still here selling tut—I’d have been long gone by now, if I were you.’
‘What and leave all this behind?’ she said, heavy on irony. ‘Besides one man’s old tut is another man’s design classic. Talking of which, how is my mother?’
He grinned. ‘Gorgeous as ever. Did you get the postcard from Madeira?’
Cass nodded. ‘Uh-huh, and Rome—and where else was it you went?’
‘I could email you the full itinerary if you like.’
Cass laughed, ‘What, when I’ve already had the postcards. Anyway, what is it you’re looking for?’
‘Peace on earth and goodwill to all men?’ Rocco suggested, as he thumbed through the pile of antique greetings cards she had arranged in a basket on the desk.
‘And besides that?’
‘I’m on the hunt for a couple of bedside cabinets, art deco, 1930s. Walnut veneer would be good. Your mother is such a slave driver…’
Not rising to the bait, Cass said, ‘I might be able to help.’
‘You’ve got bedside cabinets?’
‘Might have.’
Rocco’s eyes lit up.
Cass grinned. ‘You’d never make a poker player.’
‘What are they like?’
‘Nice actually, cylindrical, still got both shelves. You mind the shop, I’ll go and put the kettle on.’
‘Jacko not in today?’
‘No,’ said Cass. ‘He hates the cold. He keeps telling me he’s not getting any younger. He’s hanging on till I find someone else, but he can only do the odd hour here and there…. So if you know anyone wants a part-time job…’
Rocco held up his hands in surrender.
Cass laughed. ‘Not you—that wasn’t an offer.’
‘Thank god. Working for your mother is hard enough. Have you got the cabinets here?’
‘No, but there are some pictures on the computer. Take a look. They should be in the file marked “stock, warehouse”. Under bedside cabinets?’
‘Bit obvious—I think I’d rather look in the one marked this year’s diary,’ Rocco called after her as Cass made her way into the back of the shop.
Cass laughed. ‘Knock yourself out, Rocco. My social highlights at the moment are dental appointments, haircuts and choir stuff.’
‘I was hoping there’d be a few stars in the margin. How are the boys?’
‘Last time I heard from them they were fine. Joe was hungover and Daniel was in debt, but that’s university for you.’
‘So okay then? Will they be home for Christmas?’
Cass laughed. ‘It’s obvious you’ve never had kids Rocco. I’m their mother, I’ll be the last one to find out.’
Cass went back to making the tea, wondering how it was that her mother had ended up with a guy like Rocco and she was all on her own. Life was strange at times. She could hear him fiddling about, tapping on the keyboard and then he said, ‘Oh they’re nice. Are those the original handles?’
‘Yup, and they’re not bad, few nicks and dents and there’s been a repair to the veneer, just general wear and tear really. Overall they’re not bad for their age.’
‘We are still talking about bedside cabinets here, are we?’ he asked. Cass could hear the humour in his voice.
