Living with Shadows (4 page)

‘If I had a wife, I wouldn’t let her work in a place like this. No way.’ He shook his head and scraped his folder from the desk. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, then.’

With that, he walked out of the room leaving Kate to dwell on the odd behaviour of this strange youth. He was visibly nervous when she sat down next to him and afterwards, even though he tried to hide it, he had been watching her every move. Wherever she was sitting, each time she glanced his way, he was looking at her but quickly diverted his gaze either back to his work or out through the window. It was apparent that Michael lacked confidence in front of others, but in a one-to-one situation he became a different person, more self-assured.

Jim had not gone more than a couple of miles when the van began to jerk and splutter before finally coming to a stop on a busy main road. Even though he knew it was futile, he still tried desperately to start it up, turning the key over and over in the ignition, listening for the merest hint of a spark,—nothing. He hit the steering wheel with his fist and cursed at not having checked it over when he’d known something was not right with the engine. He’d hoped it would keep going until weekend when he would have more time to take a look at it, but to break down here, now, and with everything he needed for the job in the back of the van, was sickening.

What was even more sickening was the fact he hadn’t renewed his subscription for the breakdown service. The truth was he couldn’t afford it. His overdraft was up to the limit and some days it was as much as he could do to put petrol in the van. The last few jobs he’d priced up hadn’t got back to him and though he considered his prices reasonable, he was thinking he might have to reduce them further just to get the work. Kate had no idea just how bad things were. He’d thought about telling her but in the end he couldn’t face it. To burden her with his problems was unjust. Apart from anything else there was nothing she could do, except worry, and that wouldn’t help either of them.

Thanks to the incompetence of his suppliers, he was already running late on this job, but try telling that to his customer; it was like telling a creditor the cheque’s in the post.

He rummaged through his pockets and found his phone. Better call and tell Mrs. O’Grady he’d be late. That would please her no end. He hated getting into any kind of altercation with his customers. It was never a problem when he worked for someone else but now, since he was sole proprietor, he was responsible for everything that went wrong even when he had no jurisdiction over it.

The conversation went better than he hoped and as he put his phone back in his pocket he noticed a woman staring at him from her doorstep. Since it was her drive he was blocking, he braced himself for more trouble. She caught him looking and waved before stepping onto the gravel and hastily walking towards him. He jumped out of his van with the intention of explaining what had happened before she had time to yell at him.

‘Good morning,’ he called out jovially.

‘Hi.’ Her broad smile made him breathe a sigh of relief. ‘Are you looking for someone?’

‘Wish I was. No, I’m broken down.’

‘Then you’re waiting for someone to come and fix it,’ she presumed.

‘Not exactly; I was going to take a look myself . . . but if I’m in your way I’ll try and push it back a bit.’

‘No, it’s just I noticed your van. You fit kitchens.’

‘Yes, I do.’

‘Could you fit me one?’

‘Sure. I’ll need to give you a quote.’ He felt in his pocket for his diary. ‘How about this evening?’

‘How about now?’

‘I’d love to but I’ve got to get this thing going or . . .’

‘I could sort that . . . well, not personally. There’s a garage I use. Let me call them and, meanwhile, you can come in and give me your quote.’

Jim wondered what this woman was really up to. There had to be a catch. People didn’t usually approach him like this for work. ‘I don’t have enough cash on me right now to pay for the repairs.’ He hoped to put her off, not wanting to dally with a time-waster.

‘I can deduct it from your bill, can’t I?’

Jim held up his hands. ‘OK, you’ve got a deal.’

The kitchen was huge but dowdy which made him feel easier. She introduced herself as Helen Duncan and told him she and her husband had recently moved in. She also told him their plans to build a conservatory, install a new bathroom and refurbish the fitted wardrobes in four of the bedrooms. She was delighted to hear Jim was qualified to undertake all of it and preferred to use a professional workman to a big firm. ‘Far more dependable.’

As soon as Jim had measured up the kitchen, Helen offered him a coffee and sat him down next to her at the large wooden breakfast table while she explained exactly what she had in mind for her kitchen. She was like a child in a toy shop and Jim reminded her she hadn’t had his quote yet, but she dismissed his words by a wave of her arm and told him he was hired.

He was astounded by this woman’s alacrity. She rattled off her plans with no regard for cost. Kate would never do that. In fact most people made the excuse they would have to check with their partner before committing to anything. Perhaps it would all go wrong yet.

She insisted on showing him around the place, at the changes she had in mind and the area outside earmarked for the conservatory. A couple of rooms he could see had been newly decorated while others were in the process. Huge paintings leaned against walls in every room along with wooden crates presumably filled with ornaments, clothes or other items destined for that particular place.

As she swept in and out of rooms, he noticed her graceful movements, her wholesome femininity and the fragrance of her scent that lingered in her wake. Even the way she was dressed in black leggings and a loose, brightly coloured top enhanced her womanliness and she reminded him of a butterfly as she flitted eagerly from room to room delighting in telling him, a stranger, of her plans. He found himself wondering what she did for a living, if anything. From the way she conducted herself, sure and precise, she might be in management. There was nothing in this rambling house to give any clues since there were no photographs on display or papers lying around that might reveal something of their background. It was these things that Jim quickly picked up on first entering someone’s home: pin boards, clothes, animal dishes, photos, medicines, ornaments, the general clutter of people’s lives. They told so much about the inhabitants. There was one room upstairs that she did not invite him into. The white panelled door was closed. He couldn’t think why she should miss showing it to him but of all the rooms he had been into, that one left the greatest impression.

While he didn’t mind being shown around her home—after all, there was a potential job here and a good one at that—he was beginning to get agitated about getting to Mrs. O’Grady’s. He desperately needed the money in the bank from that job.

Thankfully, the doorbell rang. Helen concluded the tour and gestured to him to follow her downstairs. He went back into the kitchen to wait and was glad to hear the mechanic saying he’d fixed the van and then something about fuel starvation. It was what he’d suspected. He heard her settling the bill which put him in her debt, a position he was quite happy to be in for it made their verbal deal all the more tenable.

Jim got to his feet as she entered the kitchen. She handed him the bill reminding him to deduct it from the work he was to do for her and asked when he could start.

‘I should be ready in a fortnight.’ He was covering himself for any eventuality, not wanting to disappoint her before he’d begun. But she was one step ahead.

‘What if we say a week?’ Her dark eyes shone along with that easy smile while she waited for his response, though there was no doubt she knew what it would be.

‘I’ll do my best,’ he promised, defeated. ‘I’d hate to be opposite you in a game of poker.’

‘Oh, I don’t care for games,’ she corrected him.

As Jim left he thought Helen Duncan cared very much for games and he would definitely have to be on his guard with a woman such as her.

Before leaving the house for work, Kate took a minute to admire the flowers Jim had brought home with him the previous evening. He had eagerly told her all about the new job he’d secured. She hadn’t seen him so happy or enthusiastic in weeks and it lifted her spirits to see him so. His news had also erased the niggling doubt she’d had over the past few weeks about how well things were going with his business. She was now glad she hadn’t voiced her fears because it would surely have indicated a lack of confidence in his ability.

By today, decorating of the education block should be complete and hopefully the classes would have moved from the wings back upstairs. That area of the prison was depressing to her and made her realise more than ever the limited space these prisoners had. If ever a word was less appropriate to fit the situation, ‘wings’ would be it.

The classroom was much improved with educational posters stating their messages on brightly painted walls, the smell of gloss still lingering in the air. A new student had joined the class—‘Crow Man’. The men were amused when Kate asked him why he was so called and someone blurted, ‘Because he always flies from the scene by the quickest route—as the crow flies.’ Apparently, when pursued, he would take off on his motorbike along narrow alleyways, across fields, through woods, having researched his territory until he knew it like the back of his hand. She was also informed that the heat-seeking helicopters had made a severe impact on his activities and had put paid to his robbing lifestyle for at least five years.

Crow Man seemed undaunted by his internment, possibly because it wasn’t his first, and turned out to be quite the joker. At times his constant interruptions and witticisms were wearing but he seemed to lighten the initial gloomy atmosphere and raised more than a smile or two on the inmates’ faces.

Kate allowed him to recount a story that may or may not have been true, but was told with such zest and imbued with all the clarity of a painting, he had everyone hanging on his every word.

‘It were like this, see. I got a tip off about an ‘ouse in t’country. Didn’t know whose ‘ouse, only that they were right wealthy. Easy pickin’s coz there’d be no one ‘ome. So I waited till dark and shot straight over. When I got there t’place were in darkness except for a dim light in one o’ th’upstairs windows. It put me off a bit, like, but not for long as I studied size o’ t’place wi’ it’s long gravel drive and leafy gardens. Anyway, I parked me bike and crept around looking for an easy way in. There wasn’t one so I picked up a brick and put it through one o’ t’windows round t’back. I waited a minute or two for th’alarm to go off but nothin’ ‘appened so I eases me way in. It’s t’dinin’ room. Bloody silver everywhere. I’d to shut me eyes to give ‘em a rest, there were that much. Then I starts fillin’ me bags. When I’d crammed ‘em full, I decided to ‘ave a look round for some smaller stuff for me pockets. At t’same time I were wonderin’ if I’d ‘ave time to bury some o’ t’stuff and come back for another ‘elpin’. You wouldn’t believe what were in there; it were awesome. Then I ‘ears a bump from upstairs an’ I thought about doin’ a runner but instead I waited . . . nothin’. I thinks to mesel’, Tommy, lad, you’re gettin’ jittery in yer old age. So I creeps into th’all an’ finds t’stairs. Every time one of ‘em creaked an’ I cursed to mesel’, though by now I was sure there couldn’t be no one at ‘ome wi’ all clangin’ and bangin’ I’d been doin’ fillin’ me bags. Anyway, I makes me way on to t’landin’. Then I sees a light under one o’ t’doors. I picks up this statuette, for protection see, and turns th’andle ever so slow, like. It opens as silent as a virgin’s legs . . . sorry miss . . . an’ I’m starin’ at a bloody awesome sight. No word of a lie, there’s this geezer sprawled in an armchair in women’s underwear, suzzies, frillies, the lot. Th’owd codger were well out of it, an empty whisky tumbler on t’floor next to ‘is chair. I thought, ya dirty old bastard . . . sorry miss . . . an’ then ‘e starts to stir. ‘Mary, is that you?’ he mumbles. ‘I’ll bloody Mary you, you owd perv,’ I sez and leaps on ‘im. I wrangles ‘im to t’floor and reaches over for ‘is dressin’ gown, rippin’ cord out. I ties ‘is ‘ands together. ‘E’s startin’ to come round, goin’ on about ‘ow ‘e’ll ‘ave me locked up for rest o’ me natural. Bugger me if he isn’t a
judge!
God’s honest. So I trusses ‘im up like a turkey, finishes me business and clears off, but not before I’d dialled 999. Get out o’ that, you big ‘enry, or should I say ‘arriot, I sez to mesel. Bloody hell, ‘ow t’other ‘alf live.’