The Woman Who Knew Everything Read online

  Amber’s thoughts fragmented as Mr Tomkin shot through the cat flat. He yowled a greeting and began to weave around her ankles, head-butting her legs.

  ‘Hello,’ she cooed, stooping to stroke his soft head. ‘At least one of the men in my life has turned up for some dinner.’

  She removed two steak-and-kidney pies from the freezer. She’d cook both anyway. So what if one wasn’t eaten? Matthew could always re-heat it tomorrow when she went out with Chrissie and Dee to Cougar Kate’s psychic evening. Amber peered in the cupboard under the sink where Mr Tomkin’s cat food was kept. She withdrew a sachet of rather stinky flaked fish.

  ‘Someone’s a lucky boy having a trout treat this evening,’ she said to the purring cat, and set the dish down for him. Her mind wandered to another trout, and most definitely an old one. Cougar Kate. Amber couldn’t stand her. From the moment Katherine Colgan had arrived at Hood, Mann & Derek, Amber’s “people radar” had gone haywire. Amber was someone who could suss a person in five seconds flat, but she’d figured out Katherine Colgan in half a heartbeat. The woman had “devious” stamped all over her, from her heavily made-up face to her pumped-up silicon breasts. When Katherine Colgan had arrived for her interview with Clive Derek, Amber had been in Reception collecting a “by hand” courier delivery. Amber had watched with interest as Clive had greeted Katherine, his eyes lighting up like Harrod’s at Christmastime. Katherine had simpered a greeting and extended one hand. For one ridiculous moment Clive had looked like he was going to press Katherine’s hand to his lips. The stupid idiot. Amber hadn’t been remotely surprised at Katherine and Clive’s rumoured fling, and Katherine had made no secret of the fact that she was looking for a hubby – even if he did belong to somebody else.

  Amber turned the oven on and began chopping veg. Thankfully her own boss wasn’t a letch. Her mind wandered to Steve Hood. He’d joined the firm a couple of years ago when Amber’s old boss, Bernard Blake, retired. Amber had heaved a sigh of relief when she’d been informed by Human Resources that her new boss would be Mr Stephen Hood. She’d been a bit twitchy about old Bernard retiring in case she’d been made redundant. Steve was everything dear old Bernard wasn’t – thirty years younger, a whole foot taller, and extremely good-looking. Steve had opted to leave the rat-race of London and work closer to his home in the picturesque village of Culverstone Green. Within a year he’d been made a partner. Amber would not have passed a Jeremy Kyle lie-detector test if the presenter himself had stuck a microphone under her nose and asked whether she had a crush on Steve Hood. All the secretaries had a crush on Steve Hood. What was there not to like, especially as he was so eligible. Despite having now worked for Steve these last two years, she still didn’t know much about him. She smiled as she remembered the last day of their first week working together.

  ‘See you on Monday,’ Amber had trilled, pulling on her coat.

  ‘Sure. Have a nice weekend,’ Steve had replied.

  ‘Up to anything nice?’

  ‘Yes, chilling out.’

  ‘Doing what?’

  ‘Absolutely nothing if I can help it.’

  ‘Nice. But won’t Mrs Hood expect you to mow the lawn and wash the cars?’

  He’d grinned. ‘No. There isn’t a Mrs Hood, and I pay a man to mow the lawn, and I take my car to the car wash.’

  Amber had secretly been thrilled to hear there was no Mrs Hood, although she didn’t know why she’d felt that way. After all, she had her own boyfriend thank you very much, and one she was hoping to eventually marry. But she’d persisted in her nosiness with Steve Hood.

  ‘So, doing anything nice with your girlfriend on Saturday night?’

  ‘I have plans, but not with the girlfriend.’

  Amber had pulled a face. ‘Aw, that’s not very nice. I hope she’s not annoyed that you’re not spending time with her.’

  ‘No,’ he’d smiled at Amber’s dogged questioning. ‘The girlfriend definitely won’t be put out because there is no girlfriend.’

  ‘Oh, right,’ Amber had said casually as she’d zipped up her coat. There had been something about Steve’s tone that had been friendly but firmly polite in letting her know he wasn’t answering any more questions. She’d deduced there and then that Steve Hood must be gay, which was probably just as well. Amber hadn’t told anybody about how her heart had bounced about when Steve strode past her desk and said, ‘Good morning, Amber,’ in his deep sexy voice. She’d even been a little bit fanciful thinking that perhaps his accompanying smile had been just for her. It had certainly made her knees wobble when she’d gone off to the staff kitchen to make his morning coffee. She truly hadn’t liked Steve playing havoc with her emotions. It had made her feel disloyal to Matthew. Since then, whenever she’d enquired on a Monday morning if Steve had had a nice weekend, she’d not been surprised to hear he’d had a great time cycling with a mate, or fishing with a mate, or hitting golf balls with a mate, or playing football with a mate. She’d heaved a sigh as she’d organised a Land Registry search, privately lamenting that it was always the good-looking guys who were gay. Two years later her heart still leapt with joy at the sight of Steve every morning, but knowing he was gay meant she no longer became flustered.

  As she scraped carrots, the landline rang, bringing her back to the present. She quickly wiped her hands before snatching up the phone.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘It’s me,’ said Matthew.

  ‘Hi.’ Amber felt her tummy start to knot. Interesting. Since when had her boyfriend’s lateness affected her so much that butterflies took off in her stomach for all the wrong reasons?

  ‘Don’t bother cooking for me. I have to work late.’

  ‘Again?’ Amber’s shoulders sagged. She’d allowed herself to get carried away with the vegetable peeling. She’d never eat all this. ‘Why?’

  When Matthew spoke again he sounded impatient. ‘Because I’m trying to further my career, Amber. Surely you realise that? I’m doing this for us. It would be helpful if you were supportive instead of sounding like a nag.’

  Stunned, Amber opened her mouth to say something but then shut it again. The last thing she wanted was Matthew thinking she didn’t support him. After all, if he achieved promotion he’d receive a salary increase. And hadn’t he said he was “doing this for us”? A beam of hope flickered through her. If Matthew was promoted and received a salary increase, maybe he’d think about putting a ring on her finger – instead of two rings through her earlobes.

  ‘Sorry,’ Amber apologised. ‘I didn’t mean to sound annoyed, darling. I’m a little disappointed. I haven’t spent a proper evening with you for, well, it seems like ages.’

  ‘Sometimes these things can’t be helped,’ Matthew huffed. ‘And before you ask, I’ll be going to the office tomorrow as well.’

  ‘But tomorrow is Saturday!’

  ‘Yes, Amber, I do know what day comes after Friday, and there you go again. Whining.’

  ‘N-no, I’m not,’ said Amber quickly. ‘I’m just surprised, sweetie.’ Her voice was placating, and she hated herself for it. Shouldn’t Matthew be the one placating her?

  ‘There’s a big account up for grabs. I want to make sure I’m the one who gets it. I probably won’t be home until early evening. I know you like us to go out on a Saturday night, but I’ll be too tired. Sorry.’

  ‘That’s fine,’ said Amber, deciding to play it cool. ‘I’d suspected you might be doing something like that, so don’t worry. I wouldn’t have been able to go out with you on Saturday evening anyway. I have my own arrangements.’ Amber felt a smidgen of satisfaction that she was turning the tables for one night. This time it would be Matthew alone at home with only Mr Tomkin for company.

  ‘Oh?’ Matthew sounded surprised. ‘Where are you going?’

  Amber felt a burst of happiness. Matthew does care about what I’m up to after all! ‘I’m out with Chrissie and Dee. We’re going to Cougar Kate’s.’

  From the other end of the phone came silence. When Matt
hew eventually spoke, he sounded puzzled. ‘Who?’

  ‘You must remember her! She was at the office Christmas party. Don’t tell me you can’t recall the woman who launched herself at you?’ When Matthew didn’t speak, Amber prodded his memory. ‘She had a trout pout and plastic bosoms like a life-size Barbie doll.’ Amber couldn’t help being derogatory where that woman was concerned. At the other end of the phone the silence continued. Clearly Matthew was having trouble recalling who Amber was sniping about. ‘Her proper name is Katherine Col–’

  ‘Yes, I remember now,’ Matthew interrupted. ‘What on earth are you doing spending Saturday night with her? I thought you couldn’t stand her?’

  ‘I can’t,’ Amber confessed. ‘But she absolutely insisted we all attend her fortieth birthday celebration.’

  ‘Fortieth?’ Matthew made a harrumphing sound. ‘Surely she means fiftieth.’

  Amber grinned. ‘I thought it was only women who had the monopoly on being bitchy!’ This was more like it. The two of them were having a joke at Cougar Kate’s expense.

  ‘What exactly will you all be doing when you get together?’ asked Matthew curiously.

  ‘She’s having a psychic evening. Some woman in a head-scarf and gypsy earrings is going to tell everyone their fortune. Cougar Kate has a secret lover. She made some comment about wanting to know if he was ever going to–’ Amber ground to a halt. She didn’t want to mention the words “propose marriage”. Otherwise Matthew might put two and two together and realise that she, too, was hoping for a bit of information about whether or not her near future would be full of wedding bells. Getting your boyfriend to put a ring on your finger, especially a boyfriend like Matthew, required the softly-softly approach. ‘Er, she wants to know if…her lover will leave his wife.’

  Matthew snorted. ‘What a load of tosh. You don’t honestly believe all that twaddle, do you?’

  ‘No, of course not,’ said Amber hastily. Even if this Madam Rosa did tell Amber that Matthew would eventually want to whisk her down the nearest aisle, the fact was Amber wouldn’t really believe it until it happened. She wasn’t that gullible.

  ‘Well have fun at your psychic evening tomorrow with…whatever-she’s-called…Clapped Out Kate,’ said Matthew, suddenly brisk. ‘Meanwhile, I’ll see you later tonight.’

  ‘Bye, darling,’ said Amber. ‘I love y–’

  But she was talking to herself. Matthew had already rung off. Amber’s buoyed-up emotions popped like a soap bubble. For a couple of minutes there she’d kidded herself everything between them was okay.

  Returning the handset to its cradle, she stared at the pile of veg on the chopping board. Since when had her relationship changed from love and fun to, well, indifference? She didn’t know. These days Matthew was more like a brother, and an irritable one at that. It had happened so slowly she’d not even noticed. Never had she felt so miserable.

  Filling the steamer with water, she tipped the veg into the top pan and put the lid on. Suddenly she was glad she was seeing this acclaimed psychic. Maybe, just maybe, Madam Rosa would be totally brilliant, read Amber’s palm and say, ‘Your boyfriend is a gem. He’s hard-working and saving every penny for a secret wedding you know nothing about. One day very soon you’re going to get the surprise of your life. Hang in there!’

  Amber didn’t really believe in all that nonsense. However, she was so desperate for crumbs of information about her relationship, she was prepared to give Madam Rosa the benefit of the doubt. Roll on tomorrow night.

  Chapter Three

  Chrissie slotted her key into the front door of the crumbling maisonette she shared with Andrew. Their home was on a sprawling council estate on the outskirts of Gravesend. She was desperate to move. She’d love a house like Amber’s – a dear little two-up-two-down in New Ash Green, complete with chocolate-box sized garden filled with flowering tubs. Amber’s home was surrounded by woodland pathways and restful fields. By contrast, Chrissie’s estate was bounded by a network of roads punctuated with industrial parks and chimneys that constantly belched smoke.

  The estate, no matter what hour of the day or night, was never quiet. Many of its residents were unemployed. There was always somebody playing music at three in the morning, or hanging out on a street corner doing a dodgy deal, or having a domestic indoors, or screaming at their kids – like Fran on the other side of the maisonette’s dividing wall. At least twice a week a police siren wailed through the meandering roads that criss-crossed like scars on a convict’s face. The Old Bill’s flickering light would flash against Chrissie’s bedroom curtains, like a blue spaceship coming in to land.

  For Chrissie, the only plus for living here was the bus stop directly outside the estate. Monday to Friday the local transport service rumbled all the way into town dropping her outside the front door of Hood, Mann & Derek. Fortunately, the fares weren’t too pricey. Which was just as well, because Andrew was always asking Chrissie to bail him out of financial trouble. He had a credit card that delivered a regular statement full of spiralling figures. More often than not he couldn’t meet its monthly minimum payment. Chrissie couldn’t remember the last time Andrew had paid his share of the rent. His contribution to the grocery bill was getting smaller by the week. She couldn’t understand what he did with his money. After all, he worked. He kept telling her that electricians didn’t make very much, but she was sure they earned a lot more than a secretary working for Gravesend solicitors. Sometimes Andrew did the odd private job, but where the money went she didn’t know. Once she’d dared to ask, and Andrew had got very stroppy. He’d irritably countered that he didn’t ask how she spent her wages, so to quit nagging how he spent his. She’d answered him back and said, ‘It’s quite obvious how I spend my wages – I pay for your share of things.’ He’d punished her bluntness by ignoring her for an entire week. In the end Chrissie had been the one to deliver a grovelling apology to smooth things over.

  Chrissie loved Amber and Dee like sisters. It went without saying they were both her best friends. However, she hadn’t confided in them about how Andrew really was. Why? Because she was ashamed. Instead she painted a picture of him being a hard-working guy, one who didn’t take her out because he was always busy with private weekend jobs to supplement their income. She also made out they were saving up to get on the property ladder, which legitimately excused her from Amber and Dee’s occasional trips to Bluewater shopping mall. Her besties thought nothing of blowing twenty quid on a lipstick they didn’t need, but had to have because they liked the colour.

  Chrissie spent her wages on essentials, never frivolity. Her wardrobe for work was a supermarket clothing brand. It was more affordable than the garments hanging on the mannequins of Bluewater’s brightly lit shops. To Chrissie, the enormous mall was a slice of heaven. She’d love nothing more than to join Amber and Dee as they went into shoe shop after shoe shop and deliberated whether to buy Ugg boots in tan or black. She couldn’t imagine spending over a hundred pounds on such an item. Instead Chrissie had bought herself cheap imitations from e-Bay at ninety-nine pence.

  As Chrissie entered the maisonette’s narrow, cramped hallway, the television blared from the lounge. She stuck her head around the door to greet Andrew. He was sprawled in an armchair, a can of lager in one hand. On the floor, by his feet, were two empty tins.

  ‘Hi,’ she smiled.

  ‘Hello,’ he replied, and belched loudly. ‘What’s for dinner? I’m starving.’

  Chrissie lived in hope that one day she’d walk in and find the table laid and a hot meal awaiting her. That was what Amber said her boyfriend did for her. Lucky Amber. How she’d love a boyfriend like Matthew. No wonder Amber was desperate to wed him. He was so hard working. So caring. Chrissie wanted to marry simply because that was how she’d been brought up. Her parents had expounded the virtues of keeping her head down at school in order to bag a decent job. They’d also suggested it was through the work place one met a like-minded person with similar values. Their lessons to Chrissie had
been simple: study, date, become engaged, marry, have children, then bring your own children up to do exactly the same thing you’d done. But somehow the game plan with Andrew had gone wrong.

  They’d met at college when he’d been studying to be a spark and she’d been on her secretarial course. Chrissie had been instantly attracted to the good-looking lad with the floppy fringe, and he’d made a bee-line for her. So far, so good. They’d moved into the maisonette together not long after they’d both started work. Previously, Andrew’s divorced aunt had lived in it, but she’d met and subsequently married a much older man with an enormous pension pot. She’d moved into her new husband’s house but, rather than relinquish the maisonette, she’d opted to illegally sub-let the council property to Andrew and Chrissie at a discounted rate. The maisonette was meant to be a stop-gap home while they saved up for their own property. But somewhere along the way Andrew had settled into a routine of going to the pub for darts nights, or PlayStation games on a rota with other beer-swilling buddies.