The Victim Read online

  Unzipping the side part of her portfolio and reaching in, Georgie’s hands closed around … nothing. A cold, sharp chill went through her. Impossible! She’d put the car keys there when she’d got out of the car. Hadn’t she? She normally kept them in her soft navy leather handbag but after she’d dropped it, she’d placed the latter in the boot – too much to carry! – away from prying eyes.

  Frantically, Georgie began to rifle through her pockets. Nothing. Then her portfolio case. That was empty too. Perhaps she’d dropped the keys by the driver’s door. Running now towards the road, she stopped dead.

  The Volvo wasn’t there.

  ‘Impossible,’ Georgie told herself as her heart began to beat itself into her throat. What were the chances of her dropping the keys, only for them to be picked up by a thief who had made off with a car? Oh my God. Her purse had been in the handbag too.

  Thank heavens she still had her mobile on her. It was in her portfolio case. She’d remembered checking it when she’d got out of the car. The portfolio case which had then fallen from her arms, scattering pages …

  A wave of sickness followed by disbelief swam through her as she unzipped the case on the ground and found … Nothing. She couldn’t have lost the phone too. She just couldn’t. There had to be a mistake, some simple explanation.

  Struggling to remain calm – and failing – Georgie ran the last few hours through her mind. When she’d dropped her things, people had been walking past. The young mum who’d helped her. The youth in the maroon hoody with hands in his pockets. The middle-aged man cycling past.

  It had to be the youth in the hoodie. He would have seen her and come back in the hope she’d dropped something precious.

  Georgie’s heart began to race. At the same time, she felt a sickening weight building up in her stomach. What should she do now? She could go back to the Hon. Mrs R-R, but that would look incompetent. Losing keys and a phone, not to mention a car, definitely wouldn’t give the right impression. Yet without any of these ‘necessities’, she felt as if she was standing naked in one of the best residential roads in town.

  Not sure what else to do, Georgie began to walk. Maybe she’d bump into someone who would lend her a phone. But there was no one. No sign of any of the people who had walked past when she’d arrived, or anyone else for that matter. It was way past school run time and not early enough for nursery pick-up (although she guessed that in an area like this, there would be au pairs or nannies to do that).

  Great. Now it was beginning to drizzle. Putting up the collar of her crisp white shirt (she’d left her jacket in the car too!), Georgie stumbled on miserably, towards the main road. Her little red suede boots – not made for walking – began to pinch.

  Wait! There was a phone box on the corner. Her spirits lifted only to fall again when she remembered she didn’t have any spare change for a call. Still, she could reverse the charges! It had been years since she’d done this. Her mother had thoroughly scolded her at the time (‘Do you realise how much that cost?’) even though she’d been stranded in town after missing the last bus.

  She’d never have done that to her two.

  Georgie had to try several times to dial Sam’s number, even though she never usually had trouble in remembering. It was as though the theft had centrifuged her brain, rendering her incapable of thinking clearly. Was the last digit a six? Yes!

  ‘Hi. This is Sam Hamilton on Monday July 12. I’m in a meeting until 3 p.m. but leave a message and I will come back to you shortly afterwards.’

  Her husband was always so precise. ‘How could you lose your keys?’ she could almost hear him saying. ‘That’s not like you.’

  What was she going to do now? Her eye fell on a sticker advertising a free number for a taxi. Someone had scribbled on it, but the number was still readable. Thank God.

  Fifteen minutes later (‘There’s a bit of a wait, love’), a silver Fiesta pulled up. By then, Georgie was in such mess that she could hardly get in. All her credit cards had been in the purse. She needed to cancel them but how could she, without her phone which had a copy of the passwords on them (stupid, she could see with hindsight, but at the time it seemed the easiest option). And what about all her contacts? They were on the phone as well. Ellie had promised to back them up on the computer but had never got round to it …

  Somehow she found herself babbling this all out to the young taxi driver with slicked-back hair.

  ‘You can borrow my phone, love. Use Google to get your bank’s emergency number.’ He shook his head. ‘You’ve got to stop those bastards. Soon as they get your cards, they’re quick.’

  It was all she could do not to throw up. She’d have to try to remember her passwords …

  ‘Your call is important to us …’

  Come on. Come on.

  ‘No luck?’

  The driver glanced sympathetically at her in his mirror.

  Tearfully, she shook her head. How could they take so long! She’d have to do it at home. They were here now anyway.

  No. This couldn’t be right.

  ‘My car’s there,’ she said out loud.

  There was an uncertain glance via the mirror. ‘Thought you said it had been nicked.’

  ‘That’s what I thought.’

  She could sense his suspicion. Feel the sympathy evaporate only to be replaced with a growing wariness. ‘My mum does things like that sometimes. Forgets she’s done things. Maybe you didn’t take it in the first place.’

  ‘But I couldn’t have got there any other way.’ Georgie heard her voice coming out in a slightly hysterical scream. ‘I told you. My house keys were stolen too. And my purse. And my phone …’

  ‘Maybe you left those behind too.’

  ‘But I didn’t!’ She ran her hands through her hair. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to shout. But none of this is making sense.’

  The startled look in the lad’s eyes suggested he felt the same.

  ‘It’s all right,’ she added, forcing herself to be calmer. ‘I’ve got money inside so I’ll be able to pay you.’

  ‘Ta.’ He looked relieved. ‘Want me to come in with you, just to make sure everything’s OK?’

  Stammering her thanks (Georgie hadn’t stammered since she was a child), she walked hesitantly down the path, past the blowsy peonies and straight lines of delphiniums.

  ‘Looks like you left the door open.’ There was a pitying edge to the young man’s voice.

  ‘But I didn’t. I never do …’

  ‘Perhaps we ought to call the police first, then.’

  Too late. She was in. Her heart beating so loudly now that she could hardly hear him, Georgie stared around the wide spacious hall. It had been the first feature that she and Sam had fallen in love with when they’d seen the house. It was virtually a room in its own right, with enough space for the nineteenth-century pew that had come from Sam’s family home and a rich red mahogany rocking chair and marble hall table where they kept their keys in a bowl.

  Both the car keys and the house keys were in it.

  On the pew was her navy blue leather handbag. With her matching purse sitting on top. Georgie’s heart took another leap. ‘I had that this morning,’ she stammered. ‘I know I did. I had to get petrol on the way.’

  ‘Better check your credit cards then.’

  Frantically, she unzipped it. ‘They’re all here. So’s the money I withdrew from the hole in the wall this morning.’

  He shrugged. ‘That’s all right then.’

  No it wasn’t. Her phone, she realised with a sinking thud, was nowhere to be seen. And besides, none of this explained how the car arrived back here before her.

  Georgie’s stomach began to churn like the drum of a washing machine on spin. It was like a trailer to a weird psychological film that she and Sam had seen at the cinema the other month. The plot had featured a woman who was losing her mind.

  ‘Looks good,’ her husband had said.

  ‘Not for me,’ she’d shuddered.


  And now it was happening to her. Perhaps someone was here, in the house, right now! Or maybe that person had been and gone, having burgled them.

  Glancing through the door of the sitting room, she took in the pictures on the walls and the pink cranberry vases that Sam’s mother had left them. It didn’t look as though anything had been taken, although part of her almost hoped that it had, if only to prove that she wasn’t going crazy.

  Meanwhile, the driver with the slicked-back hair was waiting to be paid. She pressed a ten-pound note into his hand. The boy had done more than enough.

  ‘Ta.’ His tone was slightly mollified by the tip. ‘Don’t take this the wrong way, miss, but I’d have a bit of a lie down if I were you. Perhaps you’ve been overdoing it.’

  TWO

  I’ve done it. Did what I was told.

  Dead simple, really.

  All I had to do was keep my eyes open. Knew it was my lucky day when I saw those two magpies.

  Usually, I bump into someone or almost run them over. Of course, I make out it’s my fault. I say ‘Sorry’ so much that they start saying sorry themselves. It’s only afterwards that they realise their purse or bag or phone is missing.

  And by then, I’ve legged it.

  They’ve also taught us to ask people for directions. Even better if you’ve got a map. You hold it right up to them and while they’re busy trying to help, you pick their pockets.

  Sometimes, if we’re on airport duty, we’re given a partner. You ask someone something to distract them and then the other person nicks their bag. That one works well in hire car depots, especially late at night. I had a French couple the other day where the bloke was loading the cases into the boot and the woman had put her handbag onto the driver’s seat. I asked her some questions that didn’t make sense – putting on a silly accent – and while she tried to understand what I was saying, my ‘partner’ sneaked in the other side and got her bag. Bit risky, that one, but we were lucky. We got a passport; an EHIC card; a phone; three credit cards; and five hundred euros in cash. You’d be amazed what they fetch on the black market. As for the euros, we kept a few and passed the rest onto the boss. He’s not to know, is he?

  Talking of luck, today’s was a doddle. I didn’t have to bump into that woman with the blonde hair and posh accent. Or ask her the way. She did it all for me by dropping her phone just as I happened to walk by. It was like picking an apple off a tree. I couldn’t believe it when she dropped the car keys too. Sat Navs are the icing on the cake. A dream come true.

  Home.

  What a giveaway.

  Don’t take anything, they said. But it was tempting when I opened the boot and found that bag with the purse inside. Four lots of twenty-quid smackers.

  I touched them, just to feel the crispness.

  One day, I’m going to have a stack of notes under the bed. And a phone. I would have kept that one if I didn’t need the money so badly.

  One day, I’ll have a runner of my own to do the dirty work.

  ‘When will I get paid?’ I asked my brother.

  ‘When they’re ready.’

  ‘Who’s they?’

  I reeled as the blow hit my cheek. ‘Don’t ask and you won’t be able to tell.’

  OK. OK. I get it. Maybe now wasn’t the time to tell him about selling on the phone. Or taking one or two other little things.

  ‘Want me to do anything else?’

  There was a snort. ‘Another geezer will take over now.’

  After that, it will be someone else and then someone else. It’s the way it works on the estate. You start at the bottom and one day, you won’t have to touch the stuff – whether it’s money or drugs. Then you can tell the Pigs you had nothing to do with it.

  Like I said, I’m going to be at the top one day. That’s cos I take risks. If you don’t, everyone else will tread on you.

  And no one’s going to do that to me.

  THREE

  ‘Who’s that?’

  Georgie froze at the sound of footsteps clattering – very deliberately – down the stairs from the third floor.

  Sweat streamed from under her arms, sweat she didn’t know she was capable of producing. She felt an urgent need to wee. And her voice refused to obey as she tried to scream. ‘Stop. STOP!’

  Stumbling to the door, she opened the front door to call the taxi driver back. But he’d gone, a flash of silver grey disappearing round the corner.

  ‘Mum?’

  Georgie’s chest filled with relief as she whipped round, taking in the tall, slim girl with long, dark hair tied up in a casual ponytail. Ellie had always called her Mum. It was, the child psychologist had said, a sign that she needed stability. Not surprising given what she’d been through. Correction. What they’d all been through. When a teenager goes off the rails, it affects the whole family.

  ‘Ellie! Thank heavens. I thought we had burglars.’

  Her daughter’s normally smooth forehead – that complexion was to die for! – creased with confusion. ‘Really? I was looking upstairs for you. When I got home, I saw the car was unlocked and found your handbag in the back. So I brought it in. You must be more careful, Mum.’

  None of this was making sense.

  ‘But I put it in the boot – not the back.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  Georgie waved her question aside. ‘Anyway, why was the door open?’

  ‘Was it?’ Ellie bit her lip. ‘Sorry. I was so worried about you that I must have just run in and forgotten to shut it.’

  Georgie began to feel cold again. ‘Not again,’ she murmured.

  Ellie sighed heavily. ‘I wish you and Dad would stop going on about that. It was only the once. And anyway, it was ages ago.’

  Once was more than enough, she had to stop herself from saying. She and Sam had gone away for the night, telling themselves that the psychologist was right. They had to learn to trust her. Besides, as Ellie had argued, she was seventeen years old! More than capable of looking after herself for twenty-four hours. But when they’d got back, the back door was swinging in the wind because Georgie had ‘forgotten to shut it properly’.

  The fact that she and a friend were completely plastered in the cellar ‘den’, was not entirely unrelated. Nor were the strange-smelling roll-up ends that lay littered around them, not to mention the empty bottles of vodka.

  Georgie didn’t even want to think about those dark days when, at times, she’d begun to despair that a rebellious Ellie would even get through her A-levels. Yet here she was: a beautiful, composed, ‘clean’ young woman, about to embark on a PhD. Psychology had seemed a fitting subject, given the amount of help she’d had.

  ‘It’s all really weird.’ Georgie sat down at the kitchen table next to the comforting warmth of the Aga. For a summer day, there was a nip in the air. Or maybe it was because she couldn’t stop shaking.

  Ellie put a slim arm around her. She smelt of soap – such a welcome change from the BO-heavy days when she’d refused to change her jeans, let alone have a shower. ‘How come you left the bag in the car? Where have you been?’

  Her voice began to falter. How to explain? ‘I went to see a new client and I know I drove there. I had so much stuff to carry that I left my bag in the car. But when I came out, my keys weren’t in my portfolio.’

  Ellie drew back, frowning again. ‘What do you mean?’

  Georgie was beginning to feel foolish now. ‘It had gone. I had to get a taxi back and …’

  ‘But the Volvo’s outside. I saw it when I came home. Unlocked, like I said. That’s why I thought you were in the house.’ Ellie’s hand tightened on hers. ‘I know it’s hard now with Nick and me gone but …’

  ‘It’s not like that!’

  For the second time in less than an hour, Georgie found herself shouting. What was wrong with her?

  ‘Sorry.’

  Ellie’s hand began to stroke hers in lovely, slow, comforting circles, just like she’d done with her daughter as a child when she’d had n
ightmares. ‘I know what it’s like when you’re stressed. You begin to imagine things.’

  ‘But I couldn’t. I didn’t. I …’ Then she gasped. ‘In fact, I can prove it.’

  Leaping up, she grabbed her purse, pulling out the receipts until she found the one she wanted. There it was. ‘See! I stopped on the way to the client’s house to get petrol. It’s got the time on it.’

  Together they stared at the credit card receipt. There was no doubt about it. The date was clear enough. So too was the time. Just ten minutes before her appointment with the Hon. Mrs R-R.

  ‘And my phone isn’t here. You didn’t borrow it, did you?’

  It wouldn’t have been the first time. But Ellie was shaking her head, still looking at the petrol receipt.

  ‘I don’t know what to say,’ she faltered. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to doubt you. It’s just that I remember when I imagined things … when …’

  ‘It’s all right.’ Georgie wrapped her arms around her daughter. ‘Don’t go there. Blank it out.’

  Don’t, she found herself praying fiercely, don’t let this make her regress again.

  ‘I’m sure there’s a logical reason behind this.’ She forced herself to laugh brightly. ‘Maybe I’ll give your dad a ring. See what he makes of this. I’ll ring the bank again too. Just to make sure no one’s taken anything. And cancel the phone.’

  It took ages. Why hadn’t she written down her passwords on a piece of paper instead of on her missing phone? But eventually, it was all done. A kindly voice from the ‘Lost or Stolen’ option at the other end of the phone confirmed that no one had taken money from her cards in that short time they’d gone missing. Thank heavens. She decided there was no need to cancel them.

  ‘See,’ said Ellie, giving her a comforting hug. ‘It’s all right. Mind you, it might be an idea to call the police to tell them about the phone and the money.’