5. Chapter Five
Chapter Five
A s soon as I stepped across the threshold, I knew something was wrong. Our minimalistic décor had been taken to a whole new level. The ugly grey paintings Rob claimed were an investment no longer hung from the walls. The only evidence they’d ever been there was a thin square of dust which had collected behind their frames.
In the kitchen, I found the digital radio gone, the two-hundred-pound juicer Rob used each morning no longer sitting on the worktop. The sitting room was worse: no clock, no iPad, no laptop, no sound system. The only electrical item remaining was the giant sixty-inch TV screwed to the wall.
I ran back to the kitchen, grabbing a rolling pin. The thieves could still be in the house, because the only explanation for the destruction of my home was a robbery. Phone in hand, I crept up the stairs. The only items remaining in either mine or Rob’s wardrobes were the old clothes I used for housework.
It was in Bertie’s room that the full horror hit me, and tears broke free. His box of dinosaurs lay on the floor beside his bed, but any toys of value, which was most of them, had been cleared out.
How had they managed to take so much in the hour and a half round trip to school? The burglars must be professionals to find the location of every valuable item we owned.
I dialled the emergency services, but before anyone answered, a text came through from Rob. Sorry .
Sorry for what? As a voice answered my call, I hung up the phone. Was there a rational explanation I was missing? Had Rob colluded with his mother to redesign our home while I was out on the school run? Had he discovered some deep-seated desire to give all our worldly goods to charity?
The doorbell chimed and I ran downstairs, holding the rolling pin behind my back as I opened the door.
‘Good morning, madam. Can I take your name, please?’
‘Um, yes, it’s, um, Olivia Simmons.’ Something about the uniformed man clutching a clipboard made me comply without question.
‘And are you the wife of Robert Simmons?’
‘Yes. What’s happened to Rob?’
‘I regret to inform you, we are here to repossess your property.’
I stumbled backwards. ‘Is this a joke?’
‘I assure you, madam, this is a serious attempt to recover the monies owed by one Robert Simmons. Two-million-three-hundred-and-fifty thousand pounds, to be exact.’
‘What? I don’t understand?’
‘We have sent numerous communications informing you of this course of action.’
‘But I haven’t heard anything. What communications?’
‘Letters.’
‘But I haven’t seen any letters!’
‘I assure you, your husband is fully appraised of the situation. We require your permission to enter the property. However, you should be aware that if you refuse to comply with the court order,’ the man held a piece of paper aloft, ‘then we shall be forced to call in the police for support.’
My mouth opened and closed like the tropical fish Rob kept in a tank in his office. Police? I pictured Jasper turning up on my doorstep in a course of action which would mortify us both. ‘It’s fine, come in.’
‘Thank you, madam. I appreciate your compliance.’
‘Sorry, but could you explain what this means?’
‘It means you’ll need to vacate the house as soon as possible.’
‘Can I take anything with me?’
‘As long as it’s nothing of any value.’
I pushed down an inappropriate desire to laugh. Value? It looked as though Rob had already cleared anything out of value and left me and Bertie with the dregs. ‘I’ll pack some bags.’
‘Thank you.’
As I packed up whatever would fit in the two suitcases Rob had left, my eyes remained dry. I was on autopilot, wandering around the house as though in a dream, or having worked through a bottle of red. ‘I think I’m done,’ I told the bailiff, heaving my suitcases towards the door.
‘Thank you. I’ll need to take any house keys you have, and also those for your car.’
‘My car?’
The bailiff studied his clipboard. ‘Yes, I’m afraid so. The car is registered to your husband, and therefore forms part of our inventory.’
My chest filled with a cold wave of fear. What could I do without a car? How would I be able to pick Bertie up from school? My breath quickened as I handed over the keys to my life. The bailiff closed the door behind me, and I stood in our driveway, trying to unscramble the mass of thoughts swirling through my mind. Cass. I needed Cass.
‘Hey, how’s it going?’
The sound of my sister’s voice loosened something inside me, and I choked on my words.
‘Oh my God, Liv. Are you OK? What’s happened?’
‘I… Rob… I need to see you. Are you at work?’
‘No, I’m on the night shift, so home all day.’
‘Could… could… you help me out with a taxi fare if I come to yours?’
‘Of course, but, Cass, you’re scaring me. Please tell me what’s going on. Is it Rob? Have you two split up?’
‘I’ll tell you when I see you,’ I said, hanging up the phone. Had me and Rob split up? There was plenty of evidence to suggest we had, but as his phone had gone to voicemail during my repeated attempts to call him in the past hour, there was no way of knowing what was going on.
I pulled myself together enough to call a cab. A couple of curtains twitched in the surrounding houses. Let them stare. It would be the most excitement any of my neighbours had had in a long time if their carefully curated lives were anything to go by.
The cab arrived, and the driver helped me load my suitcases into the back. For once, the universe was on my side and my driver had both limited English and no desire to use the little he had. We wove through city centre traffic, my phone clamped to my ear as I alternated between calling Rob, his office and his parents’ landline. Instead of frustration at the lack of response, my reaction was full-blown fear. Not to mention confusion. Wouldn’t I have noticed if things had got so bad? I thought back to my declined credit card and the testy conversation about investments over lunch with Hugo and Marion. Perhaps the signs had been there, I’d just been too stupid to see them.
Cass must have been watching out for me, for no sooner had the driver pulled the cab to a halt than she was running from her front door, clutching her purse. After paying the driver, she helped me lift my bags from the car and carry them to her front door. Not once did she demand answers. She knew me well enough to know I’d tell her in my own sweet time.
It wasn’t until I was curled on her sofa, cup of tea in hand, that the floodgates opened. Between sobs, I spilled my story out, to Cass’s wide-eyed horror.
‘How is that even possible? Over two million quid? What about the house, fancy cars and private school fees? He must have had access to cash to be paying for those.’
‘I have a nasty feeling he’s been paying with other people’s cash. His dad’s for starters.’
‘Horrible Hugo gave him money?’
I nodded. ‘A lot, I’m guessing. God knows what position his parents have been left in.’
‘Do you care?’
I managed a small smile. ‘Not really. I’m far more worried about Bertie. Aside from the fact I’ve no idea how long his school fees have been paid for, there’s also the small matter of how to get him to and from school in the first place.’
‘I can’t believe they took your car.’
‘It was in Rob’s name.’
‘You didn’t even own a car? Liv, what do you have that’s yours?’
I racked my brain but came up blank. ‘Nothing. I have nothing. Zilch, nada, diddly-squat. Christ knows what I’m going to do.’
‘Well, you can stay with us as long as you need. And as for the school run, borrow my car. I usually get the bus into work.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Certain. You’re not going through this alone. Not if I can help it.’
Later that day, I pulled up outside my son’s posh school to curious glances from other parents. It could have been my tear-stained face, smart dress discarded in favour of jeans and T- shirt, or the fact I’d stepped out of a twenty-year-old Ford Escort. Either way, rather than keep my head down, I returned their stares, plastering a smile on my face and pushing back my shoulders. I’d done nothing wrong. None of this was my fault.
On my way to Bertie’s classroom, a prim young woman in dark-rimmed spectacles poked her head around a door and called my name.
‘Yes?’
‘Mrs Simmons, the headteacher would like a quick word with you.’
‘OK.’ Was another teacher going to label my son a devil-child?
I followed the prim secretary through to a wood-panelled office, its enormous windows offering uninterrupted views of the extensive playing fields. Mr Kieling looked far too young to be a headteacher. He was trying to grow a beard, probably in an attempt at authority, but it had the effect of making him look like a pubescent boy.
‘Mrs Simmons, thank you for meeting with me. Do sit down.’
I pulled a chair out and tried to wear an air of confidence. In contrast to the po-faced Mrs Bright, Mr Kieling’s smile was warm and genuine, and I wondered if he struggled with his more abrupt staff members. I liked him and hoped whatever he was about to say wouldn’t change that opinion.
‘Has Bertie got into trouble again?’
‘Oh no, your son is a wonderful little boy. Very bright, sporty, an asset to the school.’
‘Oh. Thank you.’
‘No, I’m afraid the matter I wish to discuss is of a delicate nature.’
I leaned forward in my seat, my hands twisting in my lap. ‘Delicate?’
‘Yes.’ Mr Kieling cleared his throat. ‘It’s about your son’s school fees.’ A red smudge appeared just above Mr Keiling’s Adam’s apple and began snaking its way up his neck. ‘I’ve been trying to get in touch with your husband for some time, as the last three cheques he’s given us have bounced.’
My face mirrored Mr Kieling’s in colour. ‘I’m so sorry. But why has no one mentioned this to me?’
‘It was always Mr Simmons who dealt with fees and financial matters. We rather assumed that you…’
‘Are only good for school runs and housework? Don’t have a first from Oxford in PPE? Am incapable of simple arithmetic?’
Mr Keiling turned purple. I felt awful for making him so uncomfortable, but after the day I’d had, there was little capacity left for sexist bullshit, and no capacity left for beating around the bush. Perhaps if the school had contacted me sooner, I could have spoken to Rob and done some damage limitation on the mess he was wading into.
‘I apologise, Mrs Simmons. I didn’t mean to suggest…’
‘It’s fine. What’s the upshot of these missed payments?’
‘I’m afraid we’re in a tricky spot. All our scholarship places have been filled for the year. If your outstanding bill isn’t settled soon, I’m afraid we’ll have to withdraw Alberto’s place.’
Wow. I leaned back in the leather armchair, wondering if the day could get much worse.