look when there was no chance of them being around. I should have checked that there’s nothing lurking in the files and drawers to land me in trouble. Too late now. I’ll do it tonight though. I’ll come back later and see what they’ve been up to.
‘Can I make either of you a drink?’
‘One black coffee, one black tea, no sugar, thanks.’
‘No problem.’ I head over to the oak dresser in the showroom that I upcycled into a drinks station. The countertop is covered in tea stains and cake crumbs. Molly’s supposed to keep it clean, but she’s been getting very lax about everything lately. I’ll have to have a word.
Before I put the kettle on, I nip down the road to Ida’s Bakery to pick up some pastries. I’m determined to get on Cathleen and John’s good side, and if that means bribing them with freshly baked flaky pastry and apple custard, then that’s what I’ll do. Ten minutes later I walk into the office bearing hot beverages and an assortment of pastries.
Cathleen is sitting in my ergonomic office chair at my desk, while John is crouched over the open filing cabinet, pulling out a folder. I risk a quick peek over his shoulder but frustratingly I can’t read what’s written on the label, so I cross the room to lay the tray down on the desk. Before I do so, Cathleen takes her mug of tea and sets it straight down on my marble-topped desk, ignoring the coaster. It takes every inch of willpower I possess not to say anything about it. She then takes John’s mug and does the same. I can already see a ring of brown coffee seeping into the Carrara.
‘No cakes for me, thanks,’ she says, getting straight back to her note taking.
‘What about John? Would he li—’
‘No thank you.’ Cathleen replies on his behalf, which I feel is a little out of order, so I turn to him and show him the tray.
‘Oh, no. No thanks.’ Neither of them has cracked a smile yet. So much for me winning them over.
As I leave the office, Cathleen adds, ‘Can you please close the door behind you, and would you mind knocking if you need to come back in.’
‘Uh, sure.’ I close the door, walk back into the showroom and set the tray down on the drinks station, feeling almost on the verge of tears. The two of them are so abrupt. Not rude, exactly – it’s as though they’re only as polite as they need to be. I know it must be the nature of the job. They can’t allow themselves to get friendly in case they find something untoward in the books. They can’t afford to be personal. But this is my space. The place I come to be me. And now it doesn’t feel like mine any more. I glance back through the Crittall windows. Cathleen and John appear to be deep in conversation and I wonder what they’re talking about. I wonder if their tone with one another is any different to their tone with me. But I can’t hear anything through the glass. Maybe I should learn to lip read. On second thoughts, they’d see the payment for the classes and grill me for that too.
So what happens if they do find something untoward? I don’t think they will. But they might. What if the truth comes out? Nathan will go mad. Could I go to prison for something like that, or would it just be a fine? I open up Google on my phone and start typing into the search bar. But before pressing ‘enter’, I pause, then delete the words. What if HMRC somehow have access to my phone and can view my search history? They might think I’m guilty just because I looked something up.
I’m becoming paranoid. Driving myself crazy. I need to get out of here.
I can’t face knocking on my own office door, so I don’t bother to tell them that I’m going out. I won’t be long anyway. Just a quick walk around the block to shake off this restless feeling.
I step out onto the pavement, taking a deep, steadying breath. The thing to do is to concentrate on my work rather than on this intrusion. There’s nothing I can do about it anyway, so it’s pointless stressing. I head up the road, towards the town hall, past the library and the supermarket, the clip-clip of my heels on the concrete going some way