The Fantastic Book of Everybody's Secrets (29 page)

‘Don't bother. I've changed my mind about that. I thought about it after you left and I realised, if my guidelines became famous, you know, really caught on, then everyone'd know what to do to tick all the right boxes, and people's behaviour wouldn't tell you anything about their real selves. It'd give oafs the tools to masquerade as civilised, and that's the last thing I want to do. Oafs. Oaves. It should be “oaves”, shouldn't it?'

Erica felt as as if a small stone, thrown from a great distance, had landed in the pit of her stomach. ‘But I've spent hours on it!'

‘Oh, God! Sorry!' Flora's voice was a loud combination of anguish and the need to make haste. ‘I'll give you a bonus or something. Now, listen. There's been a development on the Paul front.'

‘What? Already? Has he said something?'

‘No, no, I haven't seen him or spoken to him. But… I've met someone. Someone else.'

Another small stone. ‘Who? When?'

‘Last night. I can't go into detail now. I'm not sure whether Frank is in or out. Sometimes he lurks, or drifts around silently while he makes up his mind whether to go in to the office or not. So I'll tell you later. But, anyway, Paul – nothing I said about him applies any more.'

‘You don't fancy him?'

‘Yuck, no. He's a monosyllabic neanderthal who thinks an expensive suit and a talent for adding up is enough to conceal
his essential brutishness. It isn't too big a leap of the
imagination
to picture him clubbing someone to death, his face smeared with blood and wolf saliva. Don't you agree?'

‘Yes,' said Erica in a tight voice. She was angrier with Flora than she had ever been. She had put such effort into producing a definitive document that accurately and eloquently
summarised
all Flora's thoughts on the one-night stand, only for Flora to dismiss the whole thing in a casual aside. Now the hours the two women had spent discussing Paul were to be flushed away as well. But it wasn't the waste of her time and energy that infuriated Erica – it was Flora's knack for making her feel ridiculous. Flora was the one who had dreamed up the absurd idea of marketing herself as a relationships expert; Flora it was who had decided to send a Valentine card to a stocky and uninspiring financial adviser. Yet somehow Erica had ended up, in both cases, as the one to whom it had to be explained, as if she were a child, how preposterous an idea it had been from the start.

Flora sighed. ‘I wish I hadn't sent Paul a Valentine. Too late now, though, isn't it?'

‘Maybe not,' Erica said, without thinking. Then she blinked a couple of times, as if she had just woken from a deep sleep. Damn! She saw instantly that she had committed herself to a full confession. She bit down hard on her lower lip.

‘Maybe not?' Flora perked up; she was ready to be convinced.

‘Has Paul been back to collect his briefcase?'

‘Hey?'

‘He left his briefcase at your house. It was there two days ago. I found it and put it in the hall. I…'

‘What's this got to do with anything?' said Flora impatiently.

‘Flora, I didn't send the three cards. I couldn't do it. I felt too… mean, that it just wasn't fair to the other two, the ones who would imagine someone was interested in them who wasn't, so I…'

‘But you told me you posted them.' Flora sounded confused. Not angry. Yet, thought Erica.

She took a deep breath. ‘I lied. I'm sorry. I'll completely understand if you want to sack me.'

‘Don't be daft, you're my best friend,' said Flora.

‘I was going to post them, honestly!' said Erica. A small tear of relief escaped from the edge of her eye and trickled thinly down her cheek. ‘On my way home the other day. They'd still have got there in time, I'm sure. I would have overcome my silly scruples and sent the cards, but then when I went to the loo I saw Paul had left his briefcase, and I just thought it'd be so much better to stick one of the cards in there and…'

‘He hasn't been back for his briefcase, and I haven't seen it,' Flora interrupted. ‘This is most odd. He can't not have noticed that he hasn't got it. He's so attached to that
briefcase
, it almost qualifies as an essential organ. Where did you say you saw it?'

‘I found it in the downstairs toilet, and I moved it into the hall.'

‘Hang on.'

Erica heard a loud clunk. She chewed the skin around her fingernails. Please let it still be there, she prayed. Flora could retrieve and destroy the card, and no damage would have been done.

‘Erica? It's not there. What did it look like?'

‘Dark brown leather, with two pockets at the front. It's an Armani one, I think.'

Flora screamed with glee, a circus spectator's scream. ‘That's not Paul's briefcase, it's Frank's!' she giggled.

A sour taste filled Erica's mouth. But it wasn't true; she knew that perfectly well. ‘No, it's not. I've seen Frank's – it's black.' She didn't appreciate the joke; what could its aim be, other than to terrify and embarrass her? And that wasn't like Flora.

‘His old one was. He's got a new one. I should know; I bought it for him.'

‘But…' Erica's mind began to spin. ‘It was Paul's, it had to be. It was full of loads of boring stuff about financial thingies. I put the card inside a pamphlet about ISAs.'

Flora was still laughing, but sounded as if she were trying to stop, out of respect for Erica's anxiety. ‘Well, Paul must have given Frank the boring stuff during one of their meetings. Frank's briefcase is a mobile dustbin – he crams it full of all sorts of crap he's never going to need again. Oh, this is brilliant!' She hooted. ‘I wonder if Frank's found the card yet. Shit!'

‘What?' Alone in her living room, Erica ducked when she heard Flora's sudden change of tone, as if she'd just spotted a sniper in the window of the house across the street, with a gun pointed in her direction.

‘Frank might find the card and pass it on to Paul. Then Paul's even more likely to suspect it's from me than he would otherwise have been.'

‘Surely not.' Erica felt feverish; her skin was suddenly clammy. ‘Who'd put a Valentine card for a… prospective lover in her husband's briefcase in the hope that he'll pass it on? Anyway, why would Frank think the card was for Paul?'

‘It was inside an ISA leaflet Paul gave him, it had Paul's name on it…'

‘No, it didn't,' Erica blurted out. ‘I didn't write his name on it; there wasn't time. I just stuffed it in the briefcase. Paul's name's nowhere on the card or the envelope. If Frank's found it, he might think it's intended for him.' Thank God Erica had altered her handwriting. She thought of all the thank-you cards she had sent to Flora and Frank, after staying the night at their house. Then panic took hold of her. What if she hadn't disguised her writing sufficiently? What if Frank thought she was in love with him? Two strangers had escaped, but Frank was now the innocent victim of King Herod. Oh, God; this was the worst disaster imaginable.

Flora was laughing again. ‘If Frank found it, he'd think someone had given
Paul
a Valentine card, which Paul stuffed
into his ISA leaflet and forgot about, and passed on by mistake. Anyway, there's no need to worry because Frank
never
reads those glossy financial brochures Paul gives him. Neither do I. We're always saying, in fact, how pointless it is for us to have a financial adviser when we're too lazy to read any of the information he gives us. All our money sits in the building society, year after year, doing nothing.'

‘You mean Frank might not have found the card yet?' said Erica, trying not be upset by the idea of all the Gustavinas' money.

‘He definitely won't have,' said Flora. ‘Relax. When he gets in later, I'll whip it out and shred it. I'll destroy the evidence. God, how funny! Who'd have thought this would happen, hey? It's like in
What's up, Doc?
, when all the briefcases get mixed up…'

‘What time will Frank get back?' Erica interrupted.

‘I don't know. Look, don't worry. I'll attend to it. You can rely on me. The last thing I want is Frank finding the card and passing it on to Paul. Especially now that I've met Hugh.'

Erica ignored Flora's fluttery sigh. She didn't have the mental strength even to consider Hugh at the moment. She admired Flora's stamina; most people, she guessed, after vigorously desiring and then mercilessly spurning one man, all in the space of a week, would want to wait at least a few days before hurtling towards the next.

Still, who was Erica to criticise Flora? Flora was a loyal best friend – and, it seemed, a compassionate boss. Most people would have fired Erica for her failure to complete her first task as instructed. Flora wasn't even cross about it. ‘I'm sorry I didn't post the Valentines,' Erica said again. ‘I would have done, if I hadn't…'

‘…decided to target Frank instead!' Flora chuckled. ‘Don't worry. I'm glad you didn't send them. If you had, it'd be too late. Maybe you're psychic. As it is, I'll be able to fish the card out of Frank's briefcase and noone'll be any the wiser. And,
since there's no name on the card, I could even send it on to Hugh! I've got until tomorrow, haven't I?'

Please, please, shut up about Hugh, thought Erica. ‘Thanks for being so understanding,' she said.

The next morning, Erica was in the middle of trying to lower a split white bin liner full of rubbish into a black refuse sack when her doorbell rang. She swung round, and red oil from a takeaway curry carton spilled out of the slit in the bin bag, pooling on the already stained linoleum. She sighed, dropped the lot and ran to the door. Please let it be Flora, she prayed. She didn't even mind if Flora wanted the two of them to proceed straight to the home of Hugh, whoever he was, to deliver the Valentine card by hand.

Flora hadn't phoned her yesterday evening, and every time Erica had tried to call the Gustavinas' house she'd got an engaged tone. The same had happened this morning. Flora's mobile wasn't even taking messages. A cold male voice said, ‘The Vodafone you are calling may be switched off. Please try later.' Erica had been trying every five minutes since seven o'clock this morning. She was desperate to hear that Flora had successfully retrieved the card.

She ran to the door and swung it open, gasping with relief when she saw Flora wrapped in a long brown woollen thing that was either a very soft coat or a very long cardigan. ‘Thank goodness! I've been worried sick,' said Erica. ‘Come in. Did you get it? Is everything okay?'

‘I'm afraid not.' Flora didn't move. She looked burdened; miserable, even. Erica's hands flew to her mouth. She couldn't believe that the situation was not resolved. Flora had assured her it would be. ‘I can't come in. We've got to go,' she said, nodding in the direction of her red Mercedes.

‘Where to?' Erica smoothed down her hair with one hand. She was wearing a shapeless old sweatshirt and tracksuit bottoms. She couldn't go out without changing.

‘My house.'

‘But what…?'

‘Come on, I'll explain on the way. Don't worry, I've already thought of a way round the problem,' said Flora. But Erica noticed that she didn't smile.

She abandoned her wish to attend to her appearance and followed Flora to the car. She was desperate to ask more questions, but felt, somehow, that it was not her place to do so. Flora would talk when she was ready. This is all my fault, thought Erica. I've caused everybody so much trouble. She climbed into the Mercedes. It smelled of oranges. Erica rested her feet on the two small piles of battered paperbacks that filled the footwell.

‘Right. Let me update you on the catastrophe.' Flora laughed grimly. The car accelerated steadily, smoothly, as she spoke. ‘I looked in Frank's briefcase and there was no card anywhere in sight. I was a bit puzzled, because Frank hadn't said anything to me and I was sure he would have done if he'd found the Valentine. I was just wondering what to do, whether to bring it up, pretend
you'd
wanted to send Paul a Valentine and mistaken Frank's briefcase for his…'

‘
What
?' Erica thought she might have a seizure.

‘I said I was wondering,' Flora snapped. ‘I didn't actually do it, all right? Anyway, as I was mulling things over, deciding what my next step ought to be, Throat Pastille turned up.' She stopped, sighed.

‘And?' Erica demanded.

‘There's no easy way to say this, Erica, so I'll just say it, okay? Throat Pastille had the card.'

‘He… Oh, no.'

‘He saw you put it in Frank's briefcase. He was in the hall. How could you not have seen him?'

Erica felt too sick to answer. She'd been so nervous, she'd just stuffed the card in, leaving the door to the hall wide open. But TP had been with Flora, hadn't he? Perhaps he'd been on his way to the upstairs bathroom, but had stopped when he saw Erica shaking and sweating over Frank Gustavina's briefcase. She pressed her eyes shut. She considered throwing open the passenger door of Flora's car and launching herself out.