Chapter 47 #2
“You mean this bag. Da daaaa.” He tipped it out of the carrier he was holding, like a rabbit out of a magician’s hat, and
put it down on the desk. And what’s more, when he told Billy the story behind it, he’d be telling the truth—albeit with a
few tiny tweaks—as Billy, who could spot a lie at fifty paces, would be able to confirm.
“I was walking on the beach, only to check if it was still up there, mind, and a seagull swooped on me and nabbed off with
my hat, so I shouted at it and I must have scared it because it went splat into the cliff face. But guess why it didn’t hurt
itself, Bill? Because it only went and crashed into the bag, breaking the branch it was hanging on, and it tumbled down and
fell at my feet along with my hat. The bird flew off, in case you’re wondering. It was a blimming miracle,” Orrible concluded.
“And I brought it to you. Oh, and I swilled it in seawater first because that gets rid of any DNA.”
Billy studied this chuckling creature before him and, blow me, it was telling the truth. He was sure there must have been a leetle bit more to the story, but he could let it go on this occasion, seeing as Orrible had come through for him with a beautiful
Range Rover Sport SVR. Billy took a pair of disposable gloves out of his desk drawer and dragged the handbag toward him. This
wouldn’t be gracing any lady’s arm again. He rifled through the pockets, found the usual women’s detritus: makeup, pen, brush,
and a model of phone that came out before the last brontosaurus had perished. He drew out the purse. There was a debit card
and a Visa and a five-pound note in the money slot. Billy smirked. Orrible’s attempt to “prove” he hadn’t touched any money
and was as honest as the day was long. He pulled it out and tossed it toward Orrible. “You might as well have that... as
a reward for your scrupulous morals.”
“Aw, cheers, Billy. I didn’t notice there was anything in the purse.” Orrible didn’t wait to be asked twice.
There was a bag of small brooches and a note in with them. Billy unfolded it and read it. From someone called Will, thanking
someone called Polly for helping him get through his exams when he didn’t think he would. It brought a proper lump of emotion
to his throat.
He took out the passport and looked at the photo of a woman staring straight ahead with lovely light eyes. The woman who had
given him a bit of a headache these past weeks, even though she hadn’t known a thing about that.
“Polly Potter. She looks nice, doesn’t she?
I mean, not as nice as your Tina, of course, but I think she’d like to have her bag returned to her.
One of my little birds tells me she’s working at the Italian in Shoresend.
She never did get her memory back, so I think being reunited with herself would be a good, Christian thing to do, don’t you?
Kind of leveling things up a bit. Take with one hand, give with the other; that’s what we do and that’s why the universe is balanced.
I’m presuming all her cards are present and correct and that no one has been flashing them around buying things contactless and being captured on CCTV cameras, because that would be very, very stupid, wouldn’t it? ”
“Didn’t touch ’em, Billy.” Orrible nodded and produced his most honest smile.
“Good boy. Well, I’ll make sure this gets to her. Sorry to hear about your uncle Benny’s hand. Tell him when you see him that
I hope he recovers soon.”
“I will, Billy.” He’d rather have had Uncle Benny’s hand than the other fella’s face. Orrible was really glad he’d been distracted
from trying to blackmail him that day when he nicked Polly Potter’s car at the beauty spot. He was indebted to her really,
hence why he was here with the bag full of her things. Like Billy said: balance .
“So, Orrible, our business has concluded,” said Billy with his big-toothed crocodile smile. “Our association is at an end.
Off you go. Have a nice life.”
Orrible almost skipped to the door, where he turned. “Billy, do you think when me and Tina get married next year you’d consider
being my best m—”
“Bye, Orrible.”
As Orrible sauntered out into the bright and beautiful day, he thought how life-affirming it felt to do a good deed. Not as
life-affirming as getting Billy the Donk off his back, but in a week when he’d done both and become an engaged man, he felt
as if the sun had come out especially to shine on him.
Will never shouted at people over the telephone, but today he made an exception. He’d given whoever had picked up the phone
at the Daily Trumpet both barrels. His father had been totally misguided suggesting the Daily Trumpet as a way of contacting Polly.
Polly Pocket? Could they have gotten it any more wrong?
And as for calling his father Christ..
. They’d put the wrong month in too—she’d been missing since May, not March.
He just hoped that poor old Sinitta had more luck finding her family, but at least there was plenty of hope for the foul-mouthed parrot.
She’d promised to refund him and put in a correction on Wednesday, if they had the room, she said.
He said that they’d better have the room, then apologized for snapping at her when it wasn’t her fault.
He reckoned that anyone who handled calls from the public for the Trumpet must be hard as nails, and he just hoped they were paid well for the flak they must take.
First thing in the morning, he and “Christ” were going to the police station as his pal on the force had advised him to.