The Forever Home by Sue Watson

Chapter Nineteen

A couple of days after he’d installed the CCTV, I had a call from Simon.

‘Hi Simon, everything seems to be working okay,’ I said, hoping I wasn’t in for a lengthy phone discussion on the new camera equipment.

‘Good, good,’ he said, then silence.

‘So, can I help you with anything?’ I asked, not quite sure what was going on.

‘Yeah… yeah actually, it’s all a bit awkward, Mrs Anderson. Thing is, I don’t always take cheques – I’ve had them bounce in the past, and now people usually transfer money or use a credit card – but I took a cheque because Ryan knows you. And – well, who doesn’t know you – I mean you’re Mrs Anderson, I used to watch you on the telly…’

‘Right…’ I said, unsure where this was going.

‘Thing is – your cheque bounced, Mrs Anderson.’

‘Oh God, I’m sorry, Simon,’ I said, embarrassed. ‘There’s money in there, it’s probably a glitch. I’ll contact the bank right away.’

I’d paid him from the joint account; there was plenty of money in there, so I wasn’t worried, but would need to sort it out. Mark and I had agreed that until the settlement we’d both use that account for basics but leave the majority of the money in there, then settle up when everything was agreed. I called the bank straight away, and after being kept on hold for too long, a rather bubbly young woman called Faye answered the phone, asking how she could help. I explained the situation, and she immediately checked our joint account, saying, ‘I’m afraid, Mrs Anderson, it says “insufficient funds”.’

I assured her the bank must have made a mistake and asked if she could tell me how much was showing in my account.

‘Two pounds and forty-three pence,’ she said, in the same jolly tone she’d answered in. I asked her to repeat what she’d said, and she did and I thanked her and clicked off the phone.

I was convinced the bank was in the wrong, so logged on to the account online but, to my horror, saw exactly the same figure that bouncy Faye had reported over the phone. There had been thousands of pounds in that account only two days before, and now just £2.43.

I immediately went into our joint savings account, where between us we’d had over £75,000 in there. We’d agreed not to touch that, it was waiting to be split 50/50 when we divorced, so I was confident it would all be there. I clicked on the page, and gasped, unable to believe what I saw. The final balance was £500. Two days before, £74,500 had been withdrawn. I sat with my head in my hands, and cried. Mark had emptied our bank accounts.

‘You are kidding me, Mum?’ Phoebe replied incredulously.

‘No, I’m not. He’s taken everything.’

I hated laying this on my daughter, but as Mark still wasn’t picking up, she was the only person I could share this with. And she was my only hope – because Mark wasn’t going to return my calls or respond to any emails, voicemails or death threats. So, in my desperation, I was hoping Phoebe might offer to call him and ask on my behalf what had happened with all the money we had in the world. He at least might answer if she called, even if he evaded her questioning.

‘I’ll call him,’ she said, as I’d hoped.

‘Are you sure, darling? I don’t want you to feel like you have to get involved.’

‘Get involved? Bloody hell, Mum, that’s half your money – it isn’t his to take, and it sure as hell isn’t hers. That snotty little bitch can sing for it. Honestly, if I saw her, I don’t know what I’d do… I’d want to grab her by the throat and—’

‘It is what it is, there’s no point in violence. We’re now at damage limitation.’ I tried to sound calm, but I was on the verge of bursting into tears. ‘Actually no, forget that, violence is the answer. Let’s strangle her together.’

That made us laugh and we both calmed down a bit.

‘I can’t believe I’ve been so bloody stupid to leave the chicken coop open for the fox to get in,’ I said. I could have kicked myself for being so trusting – the majority of it was Mum’s money, which she and my dad had saved all their lives.

Phoebe rang off, so she could call her dad. And, just then, Ryan appeared at the glass doors of the sitting room, which led out onto the garden.

‘I’ve asked my mate to come over tomorrow to look at those cracks…’ He seemed to suddenly realise I was upset. ‘Sorry,’ he said, leaning into the room, ‘are you okay? I can’t come in – my boots are caked in cement.’

‘I’m fine – it’s fine,’ I said, discreetly wiping away tears with the back of my wrist. ‘Just money worries.’

‘Oh?’ he said, and looked at me questioningly. I had living expenses, the cost of maintaining the house, I owed Ryan money for the work he was doing, not to mention Simon. And how could I continue living here with no money? I’d been living from hand to mouth and the pittance I’d receive from my new job in the interiors shop wasn’t going to compensate for the money Mark had taken from our account.

I’d have to speak to Simon, and explain to Ryan that I wouldn’t be able to pay him straight away for working on the house. He might be able to find work somewhere else until I could find the money to pay him. I dreaded telling him. He needed the money, and I liked him being around, but it was only fair to let him go – I just had to hope the house didn’t collapse in his absence. Then there was the lawyer’s bill; the money for that was to come out of the divorce settlement. And that was the money Mark had taken from our joint accounts.

My phone rang, and I looked at Ryan. I would talk to him later, once I knew the score. I made an ‘I must take this’ gesture, and he closed the door and went back to his work.

‘You really shouldn’t have got Phoebe involved.’ It was Mark, and he wasn’t wasting time with niceties today.

‘I didn’t want to, Mark, but it was the only way to get you to respond to me. You must have known how upset I was, I’ve left enough messages.’

‘Erin says it’s harassment,’ he replied flatly, ignoring the whole money issue.

‘Does she? Well, she should know,’ I said bitterly. ‘You really need to keep her on a leash. But as much as her fishwife behaviour in a village café, libelling me on TV and sending a dead rat in the post deserves a mention, let’s save that for the finale, shall we? The most pressing thing on my agenda is where the hell has approximately seventy-five thousand pounds gone from our joint account?’

He cleared his throat. ‘I was going to speak with you about that.’

‘I bet you were.’

‘I borrowed it. I have some outgoings – but plenty coming in and as soon as I get my US payment, I’ll replace it.’

‘You borrowed seventy-five thousand pounds and you didn’t think to ask me or assume I’d notice?’

‘I’m sorry, but the point is I’m on the cusp of signing, and the minute the American money comes in, I’ll put it straight back,’ Mark replied defiantly.

‘Timeframe?’ I snapped.

‘Any day now – I think.’

‘Look, I will give you a week, and if that money isn’t back in the accounts, then I’m going to my lawyer – and the press.’

‘There’s no need for that, Carly,’ he sighed; this laid-back approach was infuriating.

‘No need? There’s no need for you to have seventy-five thousand pounds, but you took it. What did you need that kind of money for anyway? Is Erin demanding a sports car – for her Barbie?’

‘I… I owed it,’ he muttered.

‘For what?’ I asked, imagining a gambling bill or some other luxury expense he’d incurred.

‘Erin needed baby stuff – the baby’s been born, a boy.’

I didn’t know how to respond to this, it still didn’t feel real, nor did it justify him taking the money, but I had to acknowledge what he’d just said. ‘Oh, I didn’t know,’ was all I could manage.

‘Yes, it was all rather distressing. Her waters broke, I wasn’t there, she couldn’t get hold of me—’

‘So just like when Jake was born?’ I said, remembering how scared I’d been, how alone. ‘Congratulations, I suppose,’ I heard myself say, into the silence.

‘Thank you.’

‘But can we rewind a moment? I’m still trying to process what you said – that you needed the seventy-five thousand pounds for baby stuff. I didn’t know she’d given birth to a prince!’

‘Erin wants the best for Billy, nothing wrong with that, and… and she needed a car.’

‘A bloody Lamborghini?’

‘She has to get out, it’s driving her mad living in that little cottage. It’s so cramped. I don’t expect you to show me sympathy – but Erin is quite, how can I put it… a bit high-maintenance?’

‘She was high-maintenance when she was five, why are you so surprised?’

‘I just didn’t expect it to be so – relentless. She wants things, expects things – a car, a holiday… a big house. She isn’t happy with the cottage, but I can’t afford to rent anything more expensive.’ He sounded tense, desperate.

‘This girl will be the death of you, Mark.’

He sighed. ‘I feel like I’m—’

‘Her father?’

‘No, I feel like I’m—’

‘Her grandfather?’ I couldn’t help myself; the scorned, bitter, middle-aged woman part of me was loving this conversation.

‘She watches my every move, Carly… always accusing me of seeing other women.’

‘Yeah, but Mark, you probably are,’ I said, struck by the irony of it all.

‘I need to go to LA to make the pilot soon, but we can’t just fly off to the States with a young baby – and Erin is refusing to let me go without her, she literally grabbed my ankles this morning before I went out.’ He sighed. ‘And then there’s the baby. I’ve told her don’t expect me to be getting up at all hours, I need my sleep – I can’t do a piece to camera on no sleep, Carly, you know that. At my age, HD is unforgiving.’

‘HD is an infringement on a presenter’s human rights,’ I said, but the sarcasm was completely lost on him. When Mark talked too much about himself and his problems, I either indulged or ignored him, depending on my mood – a technique I learned early on in marriage. Now I was completely detached from his self-imposed misery, and it was liberating.

‘She’s just permanently stressed, Carly,’ he continued.

‘I can imagine. Husband-stealing is a stressful business.’

‘I’m sorry… for everything, Carly,’ he said slowly, letting my name roll on his tongue; his voice was husky with what I recognised as lust. I hadn’t heard that longing in his voice for years, except when he was talking to other women on the phone, when he thought I was out of earshot. But, of course, I was ‘other women’ now, wasn’t I? And, consequently, I was far more attractive to him than when I’d been his wife.

Then I dropped the bomb: ‘If the money isn’t in the account, I’m going straight to the press with my video diary, remember? The one telling the truth about you, the perfect husband… the one I made after you hit me?’

His charm offensive immediately slipped then. ‘You really are a bitch, aren’t you?’ he started, ‘but don’t forget, I also know the truth about you, and if you force me, I will use it!’

And with one click, he was gone.