Chapter 25
TWENTY-FIVE
It seemed unlikely to me that I could feel much worse. I’d lain in bed that night, tossing and turning, running different scenarios over in my head. Maybe there was a secret gig that wasn’t on their social media? He could have some kind of emergency that he didn’t feel comfortable talking to me about – after all, we’d barely been friends, never mind sleeping with each other for long. But my mind kept being distracted by a pulsing beacon of suspicion. He was gorgeous, in a band and lived a pretty rootless lifestyle – the opportunities to have more than one woman on the go were immeasurable. Had I been naive to think that I could completely trust him, or that we were exclusive? Eventually I drifted into a fitful sleep.
When I woke up the next morning, I thought again – with my parents’ problems and my new worries about Penn, I wasn’t quite at rock bottom, but I was slipping down the slope. Then I arrived into Pilgrim Street to see Arthur, Sven, Jake and Penn clustered outside the shop, having a frantic discussion. Penn gestured at the shop and rubbed his forehead in exasperation.
Fuck. Had Neil been back and sprayed offensive graffiti over the window again? I picked up my pace and stopped in front of the shop. The windows were clean, but the main door to the arcade was splintered and broken.
‘What’s happened?’
Penn looked at me, his eyes pained. ‘We’ve been burgled.’
‘ What ?’
‘We’re very sorry, dear,’ said Arthur. ‘If there’s anything we can do to help…’
I stared more closely at the window and then noticed that the shop was in more disarray than I’d first realised. Not trashed, but things looked out of place and chaotic. Several of my tables were empty.
‘Is it just us?’
‘I’m afraid so,’ said Sven. ‘Maybe they tried the other doors and couldn’t get in, or got disturbed, but… it seems to be just yours.’
Neil. He failed to make an impact last time, so he’s gone a step further. I gave Penn a stricken look.
Just then, Mike pulled up in his car and clambered out, his hair sticking up and shirt untucked. He groaned when he saw what had happened.
‘Bloody hell. I’ve called the police – they should be here any minute. Have you had a look at what’s gone?’
‘Not yet. Come on – let’s go and see the damage.’ Penn led on, and we all followed.
The door to our shop had been forced open, and inside there were empty spaces where some of mine and Penn’s stock had been. I noted it was the more expensive items that were missing. I went to the back room, already knowing what I’d see. Inside, where my Liaison Secrète boxes had been were simply bare floorboards and dust motes. A couple of my other boxes were left behind in the corner, mostly empty except for random bits and pieces of little value. Penn’s side had been similarly plundered.
I walked back into the shop in a daze to find the police had arrived and were speaking to Mike.
‘What about your CCTV?’ a tall red-haired police officer asked.
Mike shook his head, grimacing. ‘I don’t have any.’
The officer raised his eyebrows and looked out into the street. ‘Unfortunate. The shopfront’s in a black spot where the security cameras are placed along the street. Unless we can find eyewitnesses, then we’re going to struggle.’
I considered how quiet this road would be in the dead of night and didn’t hold out much hope. I approached the officers.
‘I have an idea who could have done it. We’ve been getting threats and abuse from the previous shop owner. His name’s Neil.’
Mike’s eyebrows rose – presumably this was the first he’d heard of it. ‘Neil Crosby,’ he added, then frowned, seeming to process this revelation. ‘I’ve got his last address if you want to go and speak to him. It sounds like he could possibly be responsible. He was a bit of a livewire after all.’
The policemen exchanged an amused glance. ‘You don’t say.’
‘You know him?’ I asked.
‘Know him?’ said the other officer, a beefy-looking man with a shaved head. ‘He’s one of our best customers.’
‘What?’
‘He’s a bit of a livewire wherever he goes, love. Must be once a month we have him in for drunk and disorderly, affray, breach of the peace. He’s on first-name terms with the custody officer.’
Mike rolled his eyes and muttered something indecipherable, the only recognisable words being ‘background checks’. I guessed he hadn’t done one.
‘So, are you going to go and see him?’ I pressed. ‘With his history and what he’s been putting us through, it looks like he could be bang to rights.’
The taller police officer chuckled. ‘He’d have had a hard job breaking in here last night. He spent the night in his usual cell down at our station. I think he must enjoy the breakfast.’
I gaped at him and then at Penn. So it wasn’t Neil. Then who the hell could it be? It seemed too much of a coincidence that the sabotage wasn’t linked. Maybe we had it all wrong. Penn just shook his head and ran his hand down his face.
The officers went out into the street, promising someone would be over soon to dust for prints and so on, leaving me, Penn and Mike standing in a state of shock and exhaustion.
‘Please tell me the two of you took out some insurance. Mine will cover the damage to the building but not your contents.’
Penn nodded, but I stood there, the question sinking in. No, I hadn’t taken out insurance. Since it was such a short-term arrangement, it hadn’t crossed my mind. Now I felt incredibly stupid.
Mike left, and I sat down heavily on my chair. Any hopes I’d had of helping Mam and Dad had been thoroughly dashed. Everything was gone. My most valuable commodity, Liaison Secrète, had been a lifeline, and now it had been cut off. My heart felt like it had been put through a mangle.
Penn came over and pulled me to standing, enveloping me in a hug, stroking my hair.
‘What if someone sees?’ I whispered into his neck.
‘I don’t care.’
I relaxed a little, trying not to think about that phone call the previous night. He still seemed so into me, so attentive. Meeting another woman last night seemed so unlikely now I was in his arms, but the idea still hovered over me like a rain-filled cloud. I rested my chin on his shoulder, trying not to cry, and then saw the empty glass cabinet on his side of the shop. I gasped.
‘Penn. The Pink Floyd.’
He flinched and squeezed me tighter. ‘I know. It’s okay.’
I pulled back to look him in the eye. He avoided my gaze.
‘It’s not okay. You said it was worth thousands.’
He sighed. ‘The insurance will cover it.’
‘But your godfather… Uncle Al.’
The muscle at his temple twitched, and he stared out of the window. Then, like he’d flicked a switch, his expression cleared and he shrugged. ‘It is what it is.’
I reached for him, but he gave me an apologetic look. ‘I’m going to get a coffee. Do you want one?’
‘I’ll come with you.’
‘Is it okay if I go alone? I just need a minute.’
I nodded and watched him go, his black Converse treading towards the door as if it were gallows. I felt a rush of sympathy for him, which made a strange bedfellow with the confused feelings I had about that phone call. After a minute, in a flash of mania, I followed him out, deciding if I didn’t ask him about last night right then, I would drive myself mad. I couldn’t cope with more than one dilemma that day.
By the time I’d made it down the street, he was just about to turn into the door of the coffee shop, but stopped and took out his mobile, leaning against the shop wall. Before he could see me, I ducked into the doorway just yards away, immediately feeling guilty and, frankly, like Columbo going through a breakdown. But the overheard call the previous night had made me cautious and ill-at-ease – I had to hear if my suspicions might be right before I confronted him.
‘Phil. Hi,’ he said, and my belly turned over with relief. It wasn’t another woman at least. I waited where I was, not wanting him to know I’d been listening in, then he carried on.
‘Yeah, the upfront money’s cleared. Where shall I meet you?’
There was a muffled, tinny sound as ‘Phil’ replied.
‘Okay. I’ll see you there, and you can transfer the rest when I hand it over… Of course you can check it. Fair enough, you’ve seen it’s the 1973 version on the photos last night, but I told you – it’s in mint condition… Right. See you later.’ He rang off, and I heard him go into the coffee shop.
I stood there, my mind racing. The relief of finding out it hadn’t been another woman had been solidly trumped by the sickening feeling that replaced it. The rare Pink Floyd . Missing from its case, presumed stolen in the burglary. But he still had it. He’d arranged to sell it last night, and then the shop was robbed. Cogs turned in the most disturbing way. Penn had told me he’d claim on his insurance for it… but he was also about to sell it to someone else. My brain scrambled to make sense of it.
Despite all my best efforts to find a rational explanation, one thought kept pushing through the rest. What if he’d… staged the burglary so he could sell the album then claim the insurance too? No, he wouldn’t. The Penn I knew wouldn’t do that. But the Penn I thought I knew had lied to me last night. I needed it not to be true, but I couldn’t completely discount the awful possibility. Then I remembered that my things had been stolen too, and it was like a punch in the gut.
What if he’d staged the burglary to make money? And then taken me down with him?