‘Let’s get out of here,’ Kenny whispered.
‘No point keeping quiet,’ Graham said. ‘He can’t hear us.’
‘What if there’s somebody else upstairs?’
The newly sobered Graham let this sink in. ‘Shit! Let’s go.’ He picked up the walking stick. ‘Here, use this. He’ll not be needing it anymore.’
Graham went out of the kitchen window first, and helped Kenny through. Graham handed the walking stick back to him once he was safely outside, and they walked away as fast as they could, hugging the shadows.
‘You ever had your fingerprints taken by the cops?’ Kenny panted, struggling to keep up with his more-mobile friend.
‘No. You?’
‘No, so they’re not going to match anything. Ever wish you could rewind an hour?’
‘Yep. We splitting the money now?’
They turned the corner and sat on a bench used for various nefarious activities on the playing fields. Kenny sat down with a groan. ‘I’m really struggling here, mate. This ankle frickin’ hurts.’ He pulled the rolls of notes out of his pockets, and counted them. There was more than they had previously thought, and their haul for the night was three hundred pounds each.
As Kenny climbed wearily into his empty bed that night, he realised he was bound to Graham for life. A death, whether accidental or not, while during a robbery, was pretty much frowned upon. One wrong word from Graham to anybody, and it could have major consequences. Yep, Kenny thought, a mate for life.
1
Carla Andrews’ drive to work was undertaken almost on autopilot every morning. She always felt mildly surprised that she had arrived, without actually having seen anything of the route she had driven. Seven years of working in the same place had given her superpowers, she reckoned; the ability to get to work without having to think about it.
Saturday, 5 May 2018 was no exception. It was always a short journey, but in term time it took seven minutes, and school holidays and weekends a mere five.
Her designated parking space – the sign saying MANAGER was firmly attached to the wall alongside the AREA MANAGER sign – was empty and waiting for her, and she felt the familiar irritation that her sign was slightly misaligned and skewed while the AREA MANAGER sign was perfect. Her marginal OCD made her want to get a screwdriver and a drill, and set to work repositioning it to bring it in line with Pete Newton’s.
Carla switched off the engine and sat for a moment, enjoying the car. Although not new, it was a recent acquisition, and she was still at the stage of loving the fresh smell of it before it became contaminated by the fragrance of numerous Happy Meals eaten on the back seat by Kelly and Daniel.
To make everything even better, she had chosen it without input from Graham or the children. Her husband had found fault with it, of course, but the children loved it. The sparkly blue paintwork had really hit the spot with nine-year-old Kelly. And yes, Graham had sneered at it, but he would have ridiculed a Rolls Royce if he hadn’t been allowed to have a say in its choice.
A glance at the Suzuki’s dashboard clock told her it was time to open up the shop, so she pulled down the interior mirror and examined her face and hair before opening the car door. Her hair had magically stayed in the bun on top of her head, although she knew that by the time she went off shift at five, her long brown locks would have started to fall down around her shoulders. Brown eyes stared back at her, and she smiled. She’d do.
She checked all the car doors were locked before opening the shutters covering the entire entrance to the building.
The metal rattled, creaked and groaned as it slowly rose upwards to settle into its housing. She unlocked the main door and went inside, locking it behind her. Lorraine West, Carla’s cashier for the day, was clearly running late, so she would have to knock to gain entry.
Everywhere was feeling freshly vacuumed and bleached, putting a smile on Carla’s face. For the previous four days she had been covering for Janice Marshall, cleaner extraordinaire, who had temporarily shelved her job for a three-day hen do in Majorca. But it looked like she was back.
Carla raised the blinds on the large window, adding extra light to the dark interior, although the frosted glass in the betting shop window frame prevented visibility either in or out.
Lorraine had once asked her why the glass was frosted, and she had said it was to prevent wives looking in and spotting their husbands spending the housekeeping money on the slot machines, coupled with betting on the horses and dogs.
In reality, Carla had no idea why their vision to the outside world was impaired; she would prefer to be able to see when smelly George was approaching, so she could have the can of air freshener primed.
Carla heard the knock on the door and she went to unlock it.
Putting a cigarette out before ambling in, Lorraine was already ten minutes late and definitely not bothered. She hadn’t told anyone yet, but she was starting a new job in six weeks, a new life. She was already feeling demob happy.
‘Morning,’ she said.
‘You’re late,’ Carla responded. ‘I’ve done all the cleaning.’
‘No you haven’t,’ Lorraine said, grinning at her manager. ‘I saw Janice in the pub last night and she said she would be here for seven this morning to give the place a good fettling. Has she?’
‘She has,’ Carla conceded. She walked into the tiny kitchen where their safe was housed, and keyed in the number to open it. She took out almost all the money, leaving a thousand in the safe for emergencies. She relocked the safe, then moved behind the counter where she put two hundred pounds float money in Lorraine’s till. She counted out her own float, slightly under three hundred pounds, and made sure all the Queen’s heads were facing the same way before stocking up her own till drawer.
Lorraine made them a coffee while Carla filled out the paying in book; her intention was to go and get cakes for their break, then nip into the post office and pay in the extra two thousand pounds. She put the money and the paying in book into her bag and picked up her drink.
‘All done?’ Lorraine asked, already having drunk half of her coffee.
‘Yep. Good day yesterday, wasn’t it?’
‘Busy,’ Lorraine agreed. ‘Better than it dragging.’ She glanced at the clock. ‘Right, we’ve ten minutes of peace before we open.’ She walked around the counter and through the secure staff-only door, taking her seat beside Carla, and at the second till. She checked her float and closed up the till before finishing her coffee.
‘Kids okay?’
‘Kids are fine,’ Carla responded. ‘It’s bloody Graham who causes me all the stress. If I could go back fifteen years…’ She sighed.
Lorraine nodded in agreement with her friend’s words. So many times she had seen Graham, along with the dog he had taken for his evening walk, waiting outside the betting office for his wife to finish work, so he could travel back home in the car with her. And the dog.
Carla had explained in the past it wasn’t that he cared whether she arrived home safely or not, it was all about control. A wife managing a betting shop, a predominantly male environment, had to be made to realise it was unacceptable to speak to the customers outside of the betting shop. The dog suffered – it may be a short drive but to a little bichon frise it was an interminably long walk – and Carla suffered pangs of humiliation. Lorraine understood.