Something Wicked Page 10

  Have you ever had a conversation like that? When the words you say are rubbish, but actually you’re reading someone’s mind. Ritchie was trying to tell me that he was embarrassed by his mum, but also that he felt sorry for her. That he felt he should look after her, but also that he was out of his depth. I was honoured that he introduced us and trusted me to pick up the situation, and I wanted him to know I understood. Our silence conveyed all that, I think. Then I said to him, “It must be hard for you.”

  “No,” he said. “I manage. Listen, Anna, forget about all this. Let’s go somewhere. We’ve got the motor. Let’s drive somewhere.”

  “OK,” I said.

  The lift came then, and within a few moments we were downstairs, outside, and back at the car. Next thing, we were flying along the road. There wasn’t too much traffic and we were doing about sixty. It was like we were leaving Wendy and the flat miles and miles behind. I sensed Ritchie’s relief. As for me, I was loving seeing the trees, hedges and houses whizz past, a blurred backdrop to us: me and Ritch. I wanted to forget about Wendy too. Ritchie steadied the car to a safer speed as the road narrowed and we got out into the country. The tape came to an end and he didn’t turn it over.

  “When I get back,” he said, “Wendy’s going to ask me whether we’re going out together.”

  That was the first time he’d mentioned anything like that. I felt stupidly happy.

  “Are we?” I questioned him.

  “It’s up to you,” he said.

  That wasn’t good enough. “Do you want to go out with me?” I prodded.

  “Yeah,” he said, sort of nonchalantly.

  “I want to go out with you too.”

  We drove on a little more, not saying anything. Then Ritchie pulled into a car park adjoining a pub, The Swan with Two Necks. We got out, walked to the wall at the end of the car park, and vaulted over it. We scrabbled our way down a grassy bank to a clump of trees. It was almost pitch black. It took my eyes time to get adjusted to the dark. We settled down on the ground, underneath a large tree. It was cold – we huddled up. I could hear the occasional car rush past and a faint buzz from some nearby electricity pylons. I knew what would happen next. He kissed me.

  You’ll believe this because you know I’m not soft. It was the most amazing kiss ever. It seemed to travel all through me, getting to every bit of my body. When I’d pulled blokes before it was just for show, to prove I could do it. Kissing Ritchie was different. It was partly the physical thing of being so close to him, but also I was getting to know him. I could feel he was hesitant but turned on, it was like he was telling me secret things, but without language. All that from the way our mouths met and got all mixed up.

  We didn’t do anything else except for kiss, not then. People looking over the wall could have seen us and, anyway, it was too cold. Ritch had his parka on and I was wearing a coat with a fur-lined hood. I remember the biting air and snuggling up to Ritchie, wanting his body’s warmth, wanting to give him mine.

  I forget how long it was, but Ritchie broke away to light a cigarette. The flame of his lighter was a tiny beacon. I heard him inhale deeply to get the cigarette going.

  “You’re my girl now,” he said.

  I couldn’t let him get away with that. “And you’re my bloke.” We were equal, remember.

  “In the beginning I didn’t fancy you,” Ritchie said, sort of thinking aloud. “Not in your school uniform. Maybe I wouldn’t have noticed you if you hadn’t come up to talk to me. But you did, and I appreciated that. I was gutted when it turned out to be you I tried to mug. Sorry,” he said.

  “Don’t mention it.”

  “I don’t know when I first started fancying you. Maybe when you nicked those shoes. I saw you in a different light then. You surprised me – you weren’t what I expected. You’re tough – you’re not like the other girls I know, they’re just slags. Well, they can’t help it, half of them. I never thought I’d have a girlfriend, not until after my mum sorted herself out. But I don’t reckon that’ll ever happen.”

  There was something I wanted to know. “Is she going to confront your dad? It sounded like she was pretty serious.”

  “Yeah. She’s got hold of his address. I don’t think he’ll agree to see her. She wants to take me there.”

  “Isn’t that a bit risky?”

  “What do you mean, risky?”

  “I don’t know. He might call the police or something.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Do you want to go, Ritchie? Do you want to meet your dad?”

  “No. He’s a bastard. I hate his guts. But Wendy wants me to see him, and it might shut her up. What I’m thinking is, if he admits he’s my dad, she’ll give the whole thing a rest. Either he’ll give us some money, or she’ll be so blazing angry she won’t want to see him again.”

  I chuckled to myself. “My mum would call that ‘achieving closure’.”

  “You what?”

  “Like, giving the whole thing a proper ending. So you can move on. My mum’s into all that therapy stuff. She’s as crazy as your mum.” I said that to make Ritchie feel better, but as I said it, I knew it wasn’t true. My mum felt sorry for herself sometimes, but she still had a grip on reality. Ritchie’s mum scared me.

  Ritchie was silent for a bit. I thought to myself, whatever happens, I’d stand by him. I decided that he needed me, and I wasn’t going to let him down. I didn’t need words to tell him that. I pulled him to me and kissed him again.

  We stayed there until the dampness in the ground seemed to travel up and through us. Reluctantly we got up and went back to the car park. Neither of us wanted to talk about Wendy and her plans. But we didn’t have to. We had other things to preoccupy us. We were taxers. We needed to plan what was going to happen at the dinner dance. Ritchie reckoned I’d be able to open a window somewhere and let one of the lads in – Tanner was small, he could squeeze in anywhere. And maybe there was a trophy lying around which could bring in a bit of cash. I said Ritch could come to see me, pretend to be my brother, and then I could pass him anything I’d lifted. Though it was hard to plan, not having ever been inside the clubhouse before. There was a risk attached, I knew. But I liked risks.

  Ritchie took me all the way home. It must have been nearly one in the morning when we got back. It was hard to part. Once in bed, I thought through all the stuff Wendy had told me and wondered what Ritchie’s childhood must have been like. It was almost impossible to imagine. All I knew was, I felt sorry for him. I rolled my duvet up, and hugged it, wanting it to be Ritchie. And so I fell asleep.

  We swung into the drive leading to the golf club, Mum and me. There were trees on either side, and then the drive turned and led down the side of the long, low building where the car park was. I got a good view of the surrounding land. I noticed that the car park was large and sloped down on the right to a border of shrubs and bushes. On the left I could see the dim outline of what I imagined was the golf course, adjoining the clubhouse. There was a van parked next to the kitchen with men unloading things.

  “I wish you’d have changed before you left home,” Mum said. “I’d have liked to have seen you in your waitress uniform.”

  “Looking such a dork,” I finished. “There is no way I’m going to risk having any of my mates see me dressed up like a French maid.”

  “I’d think you look rather sweet.”

  I just laughed. At my feet was my sports bag, with a black skirt, white shirt, my black school shoes and black tights. And room in it for whatever I could find on the premises.

  I gave my mum a peck on the cheek and said I’d give her a bell when I knew what time I was finishing. Then I made my way to the kitchen.

  You know, it’s funny. They say that crime doesn’t pay and yet one thing I’d got from Ritchie’s and my exploits, was increased confidence. A few months ago I would have been nervous, having to be a waitress. Now I knew how to act, how to put on a front. I could do anything. My nerves were reserved for hoping our plans w
ould go without a hitch.

  I entered the kitchen and made myself known to the people there and they introduced me to Donna, the head waitress. She seemed nice. She was a big, rather lumpy woman, her hair in a bun, and glasses perched on her nose. She told me she couldn’t wear her contact lenses as they were making her eyes sore. I explained I needed to get changed and so she pointed to the ladies.

  To get there I needed to cross the room where the dinner was being held. It was a smallish hall. There were ten or so round tables which were in the process of being prepared by a group of waiters and waitresses, most looking a little older than me. In one corner was a raised platform with some musical equipment. There was a space around it. When I came out of the hall I found myself in the lobby. There were a number of doors but the ladies was clearly marked. And immediately I saw what I was looking for. Between the ladies and the gents was a small room with the door ajar. In it were two moveable units for hanging coats on. Already there were some jackets there. I filled with exultation. Our plan was going to work. Because the room didn’t have space for an assistant, the coats would just be left there and, best of all, there was a window at the far end, a dirty-looking window, big enough for someone to climb through. I walked over to it to check it wasn’t locked. As far as I could see, it was just an ordinary sash window. I darted back to the cloakroom door, pushed it almost shut, ran back to the window and lifted it a couple of inches. That was our sign. Now they would know which one was the cloakroom window, and they would also know it would be OK to follow our plan.

  Then I went next door to the ladies, took my bag into a cubicle and texted Ritchie. I told him about the window and reminded him of our signal for the all clear. I got changed, and just as I was wriggling into my skirt, he texted back. All of them were in the Micra round the corner. It was looking good. Ritchie reckoned they needed the car. He said they’d look more suspicious approaching the clubhouse on foot, and they needed to make a quick getaway.

  Outside the cubicles there was a mirror and I checked my appearance. I redid my hair, scraping it right back in a ponytail. I was wearing just a little bit of makeup, because I wanted to look slightly older and responsible. And there was another reason too. Because of Ritchie. I know that was so stupid of me as he’d seen me loads of times without make-up, but now it was different. Now it was important that he kept on fancying me. I didn’t want to lose what I valued so highly.

  I could feel my stomach knotting. That familiar feeling was kicking in – the mixture of dread and excitement. I reviewed our plans. I had to find out where the trophies were kept. If it was possible, I was going to lift one and put it in my sports bag. Ritchie would turn up and I’d give him the bag. Since his arrival would create a diversion, that would be the moment when one of the lads would get in through the window and go through the coats. We’d decided to assume that one of the coats would belong to that Mr Singh. Of course, there was a chance he wouldn’t be there, but somehow I knew he would. Things always worked out for me and Ritchie.

  This was the first time, though, we’d planned to steal from real people – I mean, as opposed to shops. The way I thought about it was, these people could afford it. I didn’t know much about golf or golf clubs, but I did know you have to be reasonably rich to join one. Anyway, they were all probably insured. When they got home and realised their credit cards or whatever were gone, they’d ring their banks and stop them. All they’d lose was some cash and a few bits and pieces. It was no big deal. Most of it would find its way to Oxfam. I had a guilty pang then about the toys that were still lying in the office, but I thought maybe it was better they should stay there, until the heat was off.

  When you think about it, why should some people be rich, and others poor? I remembered the way Ritchie’s mum lived and what she said about Ritchie’s dad having a BMW. Where was the justice in that? And by the sound of it, this Mr Singh exploited people. I thought about all those celebrities who earn millions of pounds for just prancing about on the stage or on a catwalk, and how they get so up themselves. I smiled. Maybe it was doing rich people a favour to relieve them of their money. You could have too much, couldn’t you?

  So I left the ladies just as another girl dressed in waitress uniform was coming in. She smiled shyly at me and introduced herself as Kelly. I was glad people were being friendly.

  Back in the kitchen Donna explained what was expected of us. We had to help lay the tables. Then we had to go back to the kitchen and we would be given trays of hors d’oeuvres to pass round, once people had started to arrive. Then we just had to bring out the food to the tables, and clear away the old plates. Finally we had to serve coffee. And then we were free to go. I was going to earn thirty quid doing that. I decided I might give some of it to Ritchie.

  * * *

  My tray had little mushroom vol-au-vents, cocktail sausages on sticks and tiny pastries that Donna said had a cheesy filling. I walked out of the kitchen and into the dining hall, where quite a few people had congregated. There was a string quartet now, playing something or other. All the women wore long, flashy dresses. The men were in suits. I saw Mr Singh straightaway. He was the only Sikh there. Sikh men always wear turbans because they’re not allowed to cut their hair. He was a tall, fat man, wearing an expensive-looking suit and a scarlet tie. He was in the centre of a knot of people all talking and laughing. I took my tray in his direction.

  When the people saw me they all began to help themselves. I had a grin plastered to my face. Mr Singh’s eyes met mine and he smiled. It was a friendly smile and for a moment I felt a bit bad. But I remembered what Woodsy had said. This man had sacked his dad. I mustn’t be led astray by appearances. Mr Singh was probably ruthless in his business life.

  My tray was soon empty and I returned to the kitchen to get another. Some people helped themselves without acknowledging me at all, others smiled and even said thank you. When Julia recognised me she squealed and waved. I felt myself blush. I prayed she wouldn’t come over and kiss me or anything. Partly because that would be so embarrassing and partly because it was vital I didn’t draw attention to myself. Complete anonymity was the best cover. Luckily Julia was all over some man, flirting like crazy. Walking to and from the kitchen I began to wonder when I would get a chance to find out where the trophies were.

  Donna said they were ready now to sit down for the first course, and a few of us stood by the kitchen door watching the guests go to their tables. I kept my eye on Mr Singh. Accompanied by a petite Indian lady, he made his way to a table in the centre of the room – then I went white with horror. Sitting there already was someone I recognised – it was the manager from the toy shop, Bromley and Bromley, the one who had questioned us. He would be bound to recognise me. I couldn’t possibly serve that table. For a second I just wanted to run and abandon the whole thing.

  Then I pulled myself together. Anna, I said, think of Ritchie. He likes you for your nerve. Stay calm. I looked over at Mr Singh’s table again. I stared hard. The chances were that I could arrange to be attached to another table. Everything was going to be fine.

  We were told to get back in the kitchen and wait for the signal from Donna to fetch the empties from the first course. Then someone told me I was table number seven. There was no time, or reason, to raise an objection. I prayed that seven was not Mr Singh’s table. But as I went into the hall with the other waiters and waitresses, my eyes locked on to him, and in the middle of his table was a card with the figure seven. It partly obscured the face of the manager from Bromley’s. I walked out into the hall and took a deep breath. I made my feet take me in that direction. I reached the table. I couldn’t help but sneak a glance at the toy-shop manager. I looked again. It wasn’t him! It was another man – a shorter one, with a faint, thin moustache. I had been imagining things. I couldn’t understand how I could have possibly mistaken this man for the guy from Bromley’s. I filled with relief which expressed itself in a radiant smile.

  “Good evening,” Mr Singh said to me. “Are yo
u our waitress for the evening?”

  “I think so,” I said.

  He grinned, and nodded at me. “Now, remember, young lady,” he said. “I’ve got quite an appetite!” His wife laughed at him. There was a friendly atmosphere on the table, and it seemed to emanate from Mr Singh. Appearances can be deceptive.

  For the next fifteen minutes or so I was frantically busy, going to and from the kitchen, bringing plates, vegetarian alternatives, potatoes, vegetables, refilling jugs of water, and quite enjoying being so busy. It was so much easier to be doing things rather than waiting around, thinking about what was going to happen later.

  And it was to be sooner rather than later, as once I’d returned with an empty jug of water, Donna said we could have a twenty-minute break before the next course. There was some food for us if we wanted it.

  Food was the last thing on my mind. I realised this was the moment. While all the guests were eating, it was unlikely there would be anyone around near the cloakroom. So I excused myself and went out to the ladies. The game was beginning.

  Once in the lobby, I decided to try all the doors. One said “Office”. It was locked. The next I tried opened easily. It looked like some kind of conference room. There was a long table in the middle with chairs all around. And there, against the wall, was the trophy cabinet. I stood there, summoning my resolve. I knew it might be locked, but there was a chance it wasn’t. As quickly as possible, I had to open it, remove one or two items, dart into the cloakroom where my sports bag was, and put them in.

  But what seemed so easy when I was planning it with Ritchie seemed almost impossible now. Wrong, even. I desperately wished he was with me. Then it wouldn’t have even mattered if we were caught. I wanted to be doing the same thing as him. Then I told myself he’d be with me in a few minutes. I thought about how pleased he’d be if I’d managed to lift a trophy or two.

  I had enough presence of mind not to switch the light on. But I knew if I closed the door it would be so dark I wouldn’t be able to see what I was doing. So I risked leaving the door slightly open. I walked over to the cabinet.