Out of the Shadows Read online

  Fishing out her mobile she pressed in the number on the board and was answered almost immediately by a cheery-sounding voice asking her to hold on for an operator unless she knew her party’s extension, which she could key in right away. Next came a recording of Tchaikovsky’s First, which she was still half-listening to as she let herself into the house and felt the warmth of the sitting room envelop her like a welcoming embrace. The gas bill at least was paid, as was the electricity – though not the council tax, or the water, or her credit cards …

  After dropping her bag on the arm of a slightly tatty, but comfy and much-loved sofa that took up almost half the room, she hung her coat in the cupboard under the stairs and went into the kitchen where a round pine dining table dominated the space, and a lean-to conservatory allowed in plenty of light, except on a day like today.

  ‘Hello, can I help you?’ a plummy voice suddenly blurted on to the line.

  ‘Oh, yes I hope so,’ Susannah replied, starting to unload the washing machine. ‘I seem to have acquired one of your For Sale signs by mistake …’

  ‘Can you give me your name and address?’

  After repeating her details, twice, she tried to insist again that an error had been made, but the woman at the other end was saying, ‘Hang on, I’ll see if I can find out what’s happening.’

  As she waited Susannah became aware of a very bad feeling creeping up on her. She tried reminding herself again that she wasn’t far enough in arrears for a repossession to be in motion yet, but living in such fear of losing the house meant that she found it hard to be rational when something even remotely suggested it might happen. She took a breath, trying to still the panicky feelings, but they only seemed to get worse and she was soon frantically trying to work out what she’d do if she and Neve did find themselves out on the street. Obviously Lola would take them in, but not for long, because there were only two bedrooms in her aunt’s tiny flat, and Neve was almost fourteen now. She had to have her own room, which she already had at Lola’s, so Susannah would have to find somewhere else. Maybe a friend or colleague would be able to help out for a while, but what then? Pats would take them in with open arms, of course, were it not for the fact that she’d moved to Australia two years ago, creating a gap in Susannah’s life that no one had ever come even close to filling. So Susannah just knew she was going to end up in some seedy government-run shelter until she managed to get back on her feet which might never happen, but even if it did, by then Neve would have had to change schools, and the possibility of ever putting a foot on the property ladder again would be as remote as finding herself a highly-paid acting job, which for most in her profession was already an oxymoron.

  Forcing herself to sit down at the table, she tried to push past the paranoia and remember that she was still here, nothing bad had happened yet, nor was it going to. However, the louder and more strident Tchaikovsky’s concerto became, the more lurid and horrifying her imaginings were turning. Everything was falling apart, her life was in pieces and no matter what she did she couldn’t pull it together. Something had to change, radically, or she and Neve were going under. Even if the For Sale sign was a mistake, and of course it was, it was acting like a wake-up call, a stark and painful reminder of just how bad things really were.

  ‘Mrs Cates?’ another less plummy female voice asked. ‘It’s Heidi Jameson here. I have some good news. A young couple came in today and they’re very keen to see the house tomorrow, if that’s possible. They aren’t in a chain, so we could have a nice quick sale on our hands.’

  Feeling as though something had come unhinged in her head, allowing her nightmares to come spilling out into reality, Susannah said, ‘I’m sorry, there’s obviously some kind of confusion. My house isn’t on the market. Maybe one of my neighbours …’

  ‘You’re Mrs Cates?’

  ‘Yes, but I’ve never been in touch with your office, so I don’t know how you’ve got my name, or how your board comes to be outside.’

  There was a pause before the agent said, in a tone that was both dark and knowing, ‘Oh dear. This isn’t the kind of situation we like to become involved in, so perhaps you and your husband should talk this through some more and get back to us when you’re both ready to sell.’

  Turning very still, Susannah said, ‘Are you …? Are you saying my husband’s been in touch with you?’

  ‘He contacted us a few days ago, but listen, I’m sorry. This has obviously come as a bit of a shock to you, so …’

  ‘Did he come into the office?’ Susannah interrupted.

  ‘I’m not sure. I didn’t take the details myself.’

  ‘Please will you check? It’s important … I need to know if he was there in person.’

  ‘Hold on.’

  As she waited Susannah’s inner rantings started again. If Duncan was out of prison this was the first she’d heard of it, and the horror of what it could mean was closing in on her like a choking black cloud. The house was in his name. She’d tried to get it changed, several times, but had never succeeded, so officially he was the owner and she was … what? A squatter? No, a tenant, surely, because she’d paid the mortgage for the past three years, and besides, she was his wife and Neve his daughter, which had to count for something. He wouldn’t be allowed to sell from under them, particularly when he’d virtually bankrupted and abandoned them three years ago.

  ‘It seems,’ the agent said, coming back on the line, ‘that the instruction was taken over the phone, but one of my colleagues visited your home with Mr Cates yesterday to measure up and take photographs.’

  Susannah fought back the panic. Duncan had been here? He’d actually set foot in this house and allowed an agent to take down particulars while he watched, knowing he was going to make his own daughter homeless …

  ‘Hang on,’ Heidi Jameson said, ‘I’m just being told that it was actually the owner’s brother who met my colleague at the house.’

  The spinning in Susannah’s head was stopped by a swell of fury. Now things were starting to make more sense. Duncan wasn’t out of prison at all, but for some reason he was trying to stake a claim on the house and Hugh, the despicable two-headed snake that he was, was acting for him.

  ‘Are you still there?’ the agent prompted.

  ‘Yes,’ Susannah replied. ‘Thank you … Uh, I’d be grateful if you could arrange for the board to be removed as soon as possible, and cancel any viewings. The house isn’t for sale,’ and after ringing off, she picked up the landline to call Hugh at his office in Limehouse.

  As she waited to be put through, half-expecting to be cut off any minute, she carried on unloading the washing, while picturing him, Mr Slick and Slimy at his vast glossy desk overlooking the river, surrounded by all things sumptuous and decorative, right down to the telephonist who’d answered her call. His business was some kind of import–export enterprise, which to her mind fitted his shady character to a T. She’d always felt sure he’d been much more involved in Duncan’s supply chain than the authorities had been able to prove, but even if they had he was so slippery he could make an eel look like Velcro.

  ‘Susie,’ he crowed, coming on to the line and making her cringe with the shortening of her name. ‘Long time no hear. How are you? Still as gorgeous as ever, I’m sure. How could you be …’

  ‘I don’t know what the hell you’re playing at,’ she seethed furiously, ‘but I’ve just taken this house off the market. And if you had even a shred of decency in your disgustingly rancid soul, which I happen to know you don’t, you’d never have put it on in the first place.’

  ‘Hey, don’t shoot the messenger,’ he responded breezily. ‘I was just following instructions. Duncan needs the cash to get started again …’

  ‘I don’t care what he needs, and since he isn’t even halfway through his sentence yet …’

  ‘Correction, he’s almost done. Or he could be. He’s in front of the parole board at the end of the month and if it goes his way, we should have him back with us very soon th
ereafter.’

  Trying to stop herself reeling, Susannah said, ‘Even if that happens it doesn’t change things. This house belongs to me and Neve …’

  ‘Now you know that’s not true, but hey, don’t let’s argue about it. If I were you I’d offer to buy him out. I’m not sure he’ll accept half, but you can …’

  ‘As far as I’m concerned he’s not even entitled to that,’ she cut in scathingly, ‘and if he as much as attempts to pull a stunt like this again I’ll go straight to my lawyer. In fact, I’m going to do that anyway,’ and banging down the phone, she stood over it, shaking badly as she tried to get her breath back. If only she had a lawyer, but on her budget she’d struggle to pay for the phone call, never mind the fees, so she had to find another way to deal with this. Were Neve not due home any minute she’d get in touch with Legal Aid right away, or the Child Support Agency, but she didn’t want Neve walking in on the call, so it would have to go to the top of her to-do list in the morning.

  It was a pity the messages on her answerphone couldn’t wait that long too, but she’d learned the hard way that burying her head in the sand only made things worse, so abandoning the laundry for the moment, she obeyed the summons of the flashing red light and hit the playback button.

  No more bad news please, she murmured as the first one began.

  To her amazement it was from her agent, Dorothy. ‘Hi, sweetie,’ she chirruped, ‘I’ll try your mobile, but if I haven’t caught up with you by the time you get this could you give me a quick bell? We’re having a bit of a change-round in the office so I thought I should explain what’s happening in person.’

  Knowing that could only mean Dorothy was planning to drop her from her books, she quickly passed on to the next message, unable to deal with the final closing of that door yet.

  ‘Hey, Susannah. It’s me, Cathy. I’ve done a swap with Felicity tonight, so I’ll be passing your way around eight if you’d like a lift into work. Just text me yes or no, either way is cool.’

  After sending a quick yes please, Susannah moved on to the next message, which turned out to be from the dentist whose reception she ran three mornings a week. He wanted to know if she could cover for the afternoon girl tomorrow and next Monday. Since he paid more than the architect whose filing she did twice a week, she immediately set about rejigging her schedule, which didn’t present a problem, as it turned out, nor would it clash with the extra shifts she’d recently taken on cleaning a local school. The only difficulty was going to be staying awake, since her evening job meant she rarely got to bed before three on Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays.

  Hearing a key going into the front door she looked up as Neve came bursting in, all long blonde hair, and ruddy complexion thanks to the cold. Though still only thirteen she looked closer to sixteen, considered herself as grown-up as eighteen, and was already almost as tall as her mother. They were so alike that people often stopped in the street to stare. Or they used to, before Susannah’s face had started to become ravaged by worry and fatigue.

  ‘Hey, you’re home already,’ Neve cried, dumping her heavy bag at the foot of the stairs and unwinding her scarf. ‘I thought you were going to be late.’

  ‘That’s tomorrow. Did Sasha’s mother bring you home?’

  ‘No, Ping, their housekeeper. She’s such a crazy driver, you should see her yelling at everyone on the road. Anyway, what’s with the For Sale sign? Please don’t tell me things have got that bad …’

  ‘It’s a mistake,’ Susannah broke in.

  ‘I thought so. Did you get my text about Barcelona?’

  That was it, the rogue board was already forgotten. However, the next subject wasn’t one Susannah could welcome in its place. ‘Yes, I did,’ she answered. ‘How was your day?’

  ‘Actually, fab. I had a text from Harry Gelson saying he thought I was really pretty. Isn’t that amazing? Everyone’s mad about him … Oh Mum, don’t look at me like that. Just because you don’t have boyfriends doesn’t mean I shouldn’t either.’

  ‘There’ll be plenty of time for that when you’re older,’ Susannah reminded her. ‘At your age you need to concentrate on your studies.’ Then with a playful smile, ‘Tell me what you texted back.’

  Grinning, Neve said, ‘I told him I thought he was pretty too.’

  With a laugh, Susannah hoisted up the basket of wet laundry to carry it into the bathroom, where they kept the tumble dryer. ‘Do you have much homework?’ she asked, as Neve jumped up the step into the kitchen and tore open the fridge.

  ‘Oh God, tell me about it. I have this mega art project to get through and maths coming out of my ears. Am I staying at Lola’s tonight, by the way?’

  ‘Yes, so you should pack up whatever you need to take with you before we leave. She’s got some nice lamb chops for tea, she tells me.’

  Grabbing a carrot, Neve’s eyes were sparkling with mischief as she turned round. ‘It must be pension day,’ she said, taking a bite. ‘She always buys chops on pension days. Want me to go and put that in the dryer?’

  ‘Yes please, but don’t switch it on. I’ll do that when I come home later.’ She didn’t have to explain that electricity was cheaper after midnight, Neve knew that already. ‘How about a hug?’ she asked, putting the basket down.

  Having no problem obliging, Neve squeezed her mother hard, then gazed quizzically up into her eyes as Susannah cupped her face in her hands. Feeling a powerful surge of love and pride fill up her heart, Susannah reminded herself yet again that though she certainly hadn’t struck lucky with Duncan, with Neve she was truly blessed.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Neve asked. ‘I know something is. I can always tell with you.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Susannah assured her, hoping she wouldn’t mention Barcelona again, ‘and you’re too smart for your own good. Now, off you pop with the laundry while I go online to pay some bills.’

  A few minutes later Neve was back with an empty basket which she dumped in front of the conservatory door, saying, ‘Can you help me with my art project? I have to hand it in tomorrow … Oh, and Mrs Cluskey asked me today how you’re getting on with the fashion show. Do you remember, you said you’d stage one for us again?’

  Susannah was sitting at the computer, which was set up on a makeshift desk in a corner of the kitchen. On the screen in front of her was her bank account, which was looking so sickly it might already be too late for life support.

  ‘Mum, are you listening?’

  ‘Yes, of course. Sorry, yes, the fashion show. Actually the printer was playing up again this morning, so I might have to email the plans to you at school for you to print out there.’

  Neve said nothing.

  Sensing her tension, Susannah tried to ignore it.

  ‘You haven’t done anything, have you?’ Neve accused.

  ‘I thought you could present the ones we did last time. We can always update them as we go along.’

  When Neve fell silent again Susannah turned to look at her, and felt her heart dissolve with guilt to see the disappointment in her eyes. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said softly, ‘but we’ve still got more money going out than coming in, so I can’t afford to take any time off to work on something new.’

  ‘It’s OK,’ Neve said flatly. ‘Actually, Mrs Cluskey said she’d be happy to take it over, if you want her to. I said I thought she probably should.’

  Realising how crushed Neve was, since the last show they’d created together had been a spectacular success, Susannah tried not to feel even more guilt as she said, ‘I’m sure it’ll be different next year.’

  ‘Whatever,’ Neve shrugged, and having fetched her bag she hauled it on to the table and began taking out her books.

  Knowing there was no more she could say, Susannah returned to the computer and felt her stomach churn as she looked at the glaring minus sign in front of two thousand and forty-eight pounds. Still, at least a cheque for six hundred and eighty would go into her account tomorrow – her wages from the dentist. Though it might not make mu
ch of a dent in the debt itself, it would at least pull her back to the right side of her overdraft limit.

  ‘Mum,’ Neve said, a while later, ‘I have to take the money in next week for Barcelona.’

  Glad her back was turned so Neve couldn’t see the way her eyes closed in despair, Susannah said, ‘Remind me again how much it is.’

  ‘Seven hundred pounds, but we’ve already paid a deposit of a hundred, so we only owe six.’

  Only. Susannah took a breath. ‘Why do we have to pay so soon, when the trip’s not until July?’ she asked.

  ‘I think they have to book the flights now, or they’ll get even more expensive.’

  Susannah swallowed hard and tried not to see where this was going to end. She’d either have to tell Neve she couldn’t go, or she’d have to take on more work at the club. It was an option she’d long resisted in spite of how much easier it might make her life – however, things were so bad now that maybe she couldn’t afford the luxury of choice any longer. ‘OK, I’ll let you have a cheque on Monday,’ she said, managing to keep her voice steady.

  With a jubilant ‘Yes!’ Neve came to give her a hug. ‘You know, I was really scared you were going to say I couldn’t go,’ she told her, ‘but you’ve been working such a lot lately that I don’t expect things are as bad any more, are they?’

  ‘No, not really,’ Susannah lied, quickly exiting the screen in front of her.

  ‘So does that mean I can have something new to wear for Melinda’s party next Saturday? Everyone’s going shopping in the afternoon, and I’ve said I’ll go too, but I don’t want to if I can’t buy anything. Oh and guess what, Mum, she’s only inviting Jason Ricard. He is so fit. Well, you’ve seen him, and I really, really like him.’

  ‘You’re becoming boy-mad,’ Susannah told her, getting up from her chair.

  Undaunted, Neve ran on excitedly, ‘Actually, I’ve seen this dress in Topshop. It doesn’t cost very much. I think it was thirty-five, or it might have been forty-five, I’m not sure. Either way, that’s not too much is it? At least it’s not as much as the one Sasha’s buying, because that’s a hundred and thirty. If you ask me, I think it’s a ridiculous price. I mean, it’s a lovely dress, and she’ll look gorgeous in it, but I bet it didn’t cost more than ten or twenty quid to make. Anyway, I thought if I got the dress in Topshop I could wear your black over-the-knee boots …’