The front door swung open and a flustered Sinead appeared on the step. He couldn’t quite tell if she was crying – he’d been forced to park further down the street on this occasion – but she was definitely upset. Furious, even. She slammed the door shut and stood momentarily on the step; she appeared to be trembling. Flushed red cheeks and messed-up hair. He leaned closer to the windscreen and caught a glimpse of Sinead’s cleavage as she was buttoning up her blouse underneath the denim jacket. She straightened the hem of her skirt then smoothed down her tousled hair.
This was an unexpected development. He sat back and pondered. There were only two things she could have been doing in that house: fighting or fornicating. Putting the pieces together, he came to a quick conclusion: Sinead had been conducting a torrid affair with Joel.
He recapped the evening’s events. At 5.20 the three girls and Heidi’s fat boyfriend, Tim, had gone out. Joel had turned up at 6.30, just as it was getting dark. Sinead’s arrival must have occurred when he’d gone to answer a call of nature in McDonald’s, but she couldn’t have been in the house for more than twenty minutes. He wondered how often Sinead met her friend’s partner for these secret trysts. She really was a dark horse. Tapping his fingers on the arm rest, he watched Sinead wipe a hand across her cheeks before she rushed along the path to the pavement. So there were indeed tears. Lovers’ tiff, perhaps?
‘Did you just see that?’
At the sound of a female voice, he instinctively slumped down in his seat, lowering the baseball cap’s peak across his eyebrows. He glanced off to the side. A few feet from the car, Heidi and Tim were loitering on the pavement. Turning his head fractionally, he got a better view without exposing his face. She had one arm linked around his. With the other arm, she was pointing at Sinead who was now hurrying off in the opposite direction.
‘Who is she?’ asked Tim.
‘Oh. My. God.’
Heidi stumbled forward, dragging her boyfriend along with her. They were soon out of earshot. Judging by her body language, she was evidently drunk and gossiping. He eased himself up in the car seat and watched the couple amble up to the house. They stopped outside; Heidi gesticulating wildly, Tim attempting to calm her down.
‘Busted,’ he said and chuckled as he reached for his notebook on the dashboard. He flipped through several pages of scrawled handwriting and then jotted down a few pertinent details from the exciting incident he’d just witnessed.
He leaned back in his seat and placed his hands behind his head. The surveillance had paid off handsomely. Now he had found something to work with. This was exactly what he’d been searching for: Sinead’s thumbscrew.
***
Ninety minutes later, he returned to the lock-up on the other side of London. After parking the car a few streets down and stopping off at the fried chicken shop, he unlocked the garage door and raised it up on its hinges, ducking quickly underneath to get inside before he was seen. He pulled the door shut before turning on the ceiling strip light. Entrances and exits had to be made quickly so nosey neighbours wouldn’t know that he was living there.
Sat on top of the freezer, eating a boxed portion of chicken and chips, he wondered if Sinead was missing him at all. It must get lonely in the bungalow. If he’d had the money, he might have set up a couple of discreet cameras to see what she got up to on her own. Perhaps she’d brought Joel over to stay, taking advantage of having a free run of the place. That would be something.
He thought about Sinead coming out of her old house, looking sad, bedraggled and pathetic. And now Heidi was onto her. Intuition told him that an ideal scenario had just been created. After this crisis in her love life, Sinead would be more vulnerable – and he could offer the proverbial shoulder to cry on. Yes, that’s what a friend ought to do in this situation. He dislodged some gristle from his teeth and spat it out onto the floor.
***
Early the next morning, disturbed by someone collecting a motorbike from the adjoining garage, he lay there listening to the various noises. He was acutely aware of muscle pain between his shoulder and neck; the result of too many uncomfortable nights bedding down on the crappy fold-out bed. When he heard the motorcyclist drive off, he flopped his legs out, sat up, and scratched his head. Hanging from a rusty old bracket in the wall was the new M&S dark-blue suit, still in its coverall. He rifled in his suitcase and found a packaged shirt, a pinstriped tie, and his electric shaver. A quick sniff of the armpits reassured him that yesterday’s shower at a leisure centre should just about see him through. Teeth would have to be brushed in the public toilets at St Pancras.
He sat back down on the rickety camp bed and rubbed the back of his aching neck. He was tired of living like this. Sinead’s rent money was running down quicker than he’d anticipated. If he didn’t find a reliable source of income soon, he might end up taking the kind of risks that he’d never normally consider. He checked the time on his BlackBerry and realised he’d have to get a move on.
***
‘Miles Brampton?’
The woman was holding the door and looking directly at him. Apart from the receptionist, he was the only other person present. He had been sitting there for the past twelve minutes, thinking about Sinead. Now he found himself staring back at this woman who was clearly addressing him. For a beat or two his mind went blank until everything flooded back and he realised what was so peculiar. It sounded odd hearing his real name spoken out loud for the first time in weeks. He rose from the creaky leather chair and flashed the woman his best shit-eating grin.
‘Yes, that’s me. Hello. Nice to meet you.’
‘Would you like to come through?’ She pretended to smile and impatiently held the door open for him. Miles crossed the reception area, but she was already moving and let go of the heavy fire door a second too soon. He darted over and grabbed the door just before it swung shut in his face. The woman walked a few paces ahead then halted, waiting for him to catch up. So naturally he slowed down.
‘Sorry about the wait. We’ve had a busy morning – just catching up after the bank holiday,’ she said over her shoulder.
‘That’s quite all right.’
He followed the woman down the corridor and tried to get the measure of her. Mid-forties, greying hair clipped tightly back, slightly overweight. She was not entirely unattractive if one overlooked the prominent jawline. She wore an expensive-looking blue and brown striped shirt and grey tailored trousers. Her manner was either professionally curt or just plain rude.
‘Have you come far today?’ she said.
‘I’ve been staying in Beckenham. Took me about an hour and a quarter, not too bad.’
‘Beckenham? That’s somewhere out west, isn’t it?’
‘South-east, actually.’
The woman stopped by another door. She nodded at him and pushed the handle down. ‘Okay then, if you’d like to come in. Take a seat.’
Miles entered the undersized meeting room; a circular white table took up most of the space, with six chairs around it. Some paperwork and a blue vinyl document case were on the far side of the table. He indicated a nearby chair. ‘All right here?’
‘That’s fine.’ She shut the door. Miles slid back the plastic chair, plucked up his trousers at the knees and sat down.
‘Would you like some water?’ she asked.
‘That’s very good of you but no, I’m quite all right, thank you.’
She took her seat and sorted the paperwork into a neat pile. From the top, she picked up his CV and gave it a cursory once-over. More for show than anything else; someone as organised as this recruiter would have familiarised herself with his credentials before beginning the meeting. This was just to make him wait some more – a basic power-play tactic.