The Shoplifting Mothers' Club Page 7

  Besides, Ronald would refuse. That was the one thing on which she could rely. Her husband’s lack of support.

  ‘Look, make sure the doors are locked and get some sleep, Mum. I’ll try to arrange a visit, soon.’

  ‘Yes, yes. I’ll be fine. Just having a grizzle, that’s all.’

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  THE SCHEME, AS RITA called it, wasn’t brilliant, and Jessica asked Frieda for additional help. ‘You only need one large bag for it to work,’ Frieda told her as they sat in Starbucks – Frieda’s treat. ‘How about you’re poor and need stuff to burn for your fire.’

  ‘So burning the carry bags from their particular store is what I came up with?’

  Frieda paused, then asked, ‘Why do you want to do this, anyway?’

  ‘Because I need the money, obviously.’

  Another long wait before she spoke. ‘Well, think about it carefully. AD aren’t going to just let you wander out with a truckload of their stuff. In fact, I’m surprised Chelsea let you do this one. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she wanted you to get caught.’

  Shocked, Jessica asked whether it was really a possibility. Should have guessed – mutual detestation, remember?

  ‘Given you could shop us in an instant, I doubt it – but she does know how concerned you are about Rachel. She might figure you wouldn’t tell on us in case we took it out on Rachel.’

  Her ultimate fear voiced. And if Frieda was putting energy into thinking it, then Jessica was glad she hadn’t shared too much with the Norwegian. She might be nice, but she was still a BIB.

  ‘I did promise not to do snitch on you lot, didn’t I?’

  ‘So? You’re new to the group. You think that you’re one hundred per cent trustworthy?’

  Ouch. That hurt. ‘Of course I am. After all, I could go to jail, too.’

  ‘Yes, but you’ve never been there, have you?’

  ‘Where? Jail?’

  Frieda sipped her coffee. ‘No, in the position of being caught.’

  ‘Have you?’ She’d assumed there had been no arrests, no near misses. Except that one time with Hailey.

  ‘We all have.’

  What had she got herself into? ‘What!’

  ‘We’ve been doing it for two years, Jessica. There’s bound to be a couple of problems.’

  ‘Problems?’ Jessica was freaked out now. She should have asked about this before. There was always the possibility of getting caught, but the implication from the members of the Club was that it was unlikely to happen if she followed their tried and tested rules.

  ‘Well, Chelsea got fingered by the owner of a jewellery store. She’d tried to steal a diamond ring by leaving it on her finger but the owner cottoned on and told her he was calling the police.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Chelsea’s not as dumb as she looks. Did the old ‘just going to look at it outside, you silly man – after all, we need to check it’s a proper diamond, don’t we?’’

  ‘Did he buy it?’

  ‘Apparently not at first. So she told him to search her bag if he didn’t believe her; got all affronted. Next she told him to call the cops – except, of course, she had been in the store the whole time, hadn’t she? What could the cops do?’

  ‘And?’

  ‘She told him the ring was substandard and left.’

  ‘With nothing?’

  ‘No. When he had his back turned earlier, she’d taken an even more expensive ring off the tray and popped in her jacket pocket. She gave one back, and took the other.’

  The nerve. ‘What if he had called the police? Chelsea is easy to spot.’

  ‘That’s why we wear the disguises, and are careful where we park.’

  Okay.

  ‘And Hailey?’

  ‘Well, apart from the issue with the jewellery, she took a couple of small whitegoods from a department store, and was about to trolley them out without paying when she was caught just outside the entrance.’

  ‘Gosh, what did she do?’

  ‘Told them she had schizophrenia, and couldn’t remember that she hadn’t paid for them. Began speaking in other voices, apparently.’

  Bloody clever. ‘And that worked?’

  ‘More than once. It’s her failsafe.’

  ‘Wow. And they just let her go?’

  ‘Waste of everyone’s time, trying to get a conviction on a person with mental issues. They told her to not to come back into the store, and she promised not to, as long as all her other personalities obeyed.’

  Jessica couldn’t help but laugh. ‘That is outlandish.’

  ‘And effective. Unlike Rita’s way out of a mess, which almost ended up in court.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘She was in one of those huge chains on Oxford Street in London, with about four pairs of shoes in her bag. As she left the store after taking the security tags off, two guards came running up. Shocked, because she has been doing this, um, job for years, even before she met us, without a problem, she insisted she’d paid for them, and tried to run.’

  ‘So what happened?’

  ‘They called the cops and she was arrested.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘But she got off with an unrecorded caution.’

  ‘But how?’

  Frieda grinned. ‘She was dressed as a nun.’

  No! ‘A nun?’

  ‘Everyone was uncomfortable with arresting and charging a nun, especially one who refused to give her name and address, other than to say bride of Christ and Heaven.’

  Truly inspiring. Not that Jessica wanted to look up to thieves as role models. ‘So score one for the disguises then. Does she still do the nun thing?’

  ‘Well, I think she still uses it, but doesn’t go anywhere near Oxford Street, for safety’s sake.’

  They both finished off their drinks.

  ‘And you?’ Jessica asked. ‘How about you?’

  ‘Oh, just a stupid thing with a jacket from Marks. They caught me outside and dragged me back, but luckily they couldn’t be bothered with the police and a prosecution, so they just banned me from the store. A bit annoying, as I used to buy food there, too.’

  ‘You weren’t wearing a disguise?’

  ‘Sort of – wig and glasses; not different enough from the real me to risk it – especially if Annika is with me.’

  ‘I didn’t realise you’d all been . . .’ Jessica didn’t need to say the words.

  ‘It’s the risk we all take. For various reasons, we need to do it. And you seem to need to do it more than us, if you don’t mind me saying.’

  The need was increasing by the minute, too. Rachel was still acting strangely, and Ronald wouldn’t stop going on about counselling, telling her that it wasn’t normal that an eight-year-old girl would throw herself off a building. Jessica, previously adamant that Rachel seemed fine, was now beginning to wonder if he could be right – in which case she might need some private counselling. They’d tried the NHS offering – a lovely man who had attempted animated conversations and a session of colouring, but for some reason, Rachel couldn’t stand him and held onto the doorframe screaming the next time they were due to go and visit him. Worse, the little girl didn’t eat, or overate. She refused to exercise, or ran in circles around the back garden with determined effort until she almost collapsed. She didn’t want to play with Paul, or watch her favourite programs. Even computers held no joy for her now. If Jessica had to sum it up, she’d say that Rachel was falling apart. How much of it was that Sienna Jordan’s fault remained to be seen – the two weren’t friends but Rachel didn’t seem to have any friends at all now. The roof incident had tarnished her in the eyes of the other eight year olds, probably because their own mothers were fearful of what might happen if little Grace or Casey played with ‘crazy’ Rachel. Occasionally, Rachel would mention Sienna, but only in a passing, non judgemental sort of way. Still, it made Jessica uneasy to be in a business of sorts with Sienna’s mother, even if Rachel had no idea what was going on.

&n
bsp; ‘Jessica?’

  ‘Sorry, drifted off for a moment, what were you saying?’

  Frieda, face full of concern, suggested that Jessica choose something a little less ambitious for her second ‘job’. ‘Electronics are difficult, even for those of us who are experienced. The fact that Rita couldn’t really help is telling.’

  She could have suggested the nun disguise. That might work.

  ‘I still don’t get why you bother with this,’ Jessica said. ‘It’s so traumatic.’

  ‘Believe me, I am no stranger to trauma.’ The Norwegian’s eyes became teary.

  I didn’t expect that. ‘Frieda, I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.’

  ‘I started this when I lost my last baby. A stillbirth.’

  Oh God.

  ‘It took my mind off things,’ Frida confessed. ‘I didn’t care about the illegal aspect because I figured that there was no God. My little angel – Harry, I was going to call him – was taken from me, and evil trolls who continue to abuse their children are gifted with more and more infants. I decided there wasn’t a God, at least, not one that cared about me. So, why should I bother about doing the right thing? The thrill of it keeps me from going insane. The money is put into an account for Annika, for when she’s older.’

  Jessica was speechless. What do you say to that? On the face of it, Frieda seemed to have everything, but just below the surface bubbled a horror that every mother dreads.

  ‘I’m being morbid,’ Frieda said, patting her eyes with the napkin. ‘How about another round of cappuccini?’ She used the correct Italian plural – clearly a smart woman, doing a dumb thing. Just like Jessica.

  ‘I’ll buy,’ Jessica said automatically, because it was polite. Thankfully, Frieda said no. ‘I’ve got heaps of points on my card, anyway. Don’t worry.’ As she made her way past numerous buggies to the counter, Jessica realised that everyone had some level of crap in their lives. It was how you dealt with it that mattered.

  The thought made her uneasy all over again. Although that Visa bill needed desperate attention, stealing under any circumstances was wrong.

  No matter what life threw at you, you shouldn’t resort to that, should you?

  It wasn’t right, but sometimes, there wasn’t a choice.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  IN SPITE OF all the horrific discoveries, and the limited possibility for success, Jessica went ahead with the ‘carry bag’ plan. She put on the Lady Muck disguise, and caught a bus from a different parking station in London to the chosen store in central London that stocked the items she needed – it was a popular chain called AD. On the bus, she felt as if everyone was staring; that it was apparent she was a criminal. Be sensible. How would they know? Or care? This was London. You could meander through the crowds in a leopard skin bikini and people might not even cast a glance in your direction.

  After having a cup of decaf tea in a cheap builders’ caf’ to calm her nerves, she arrived at the store. As expected, it was buzzing with an eclectic mix of young people and those older and with money, who were actually making purchases.

  ‘Can I help you?’ The store detective, a rather dishy looking man in his late thirties, was observing her intently.

  ‘Oh, just a customer service issue, young man.’

  ‘Well, if you go to the back of the store, the boy at the desk should be able to help you.’

  Reminding herself to walk the walk of someone in her sixties or seventies, Jessica made her way to the counter, conscious of the guard’s rearguard scrutiny.

  You haven’t even done anything yet. Stop being so paranoid.

  The boy at the counter had two nose rings and a cheerful expression. ‘Can I help you, madam?’

  ‘Yes,’ Jessica said. ‘I have a little problem. You see, I bought three computers and some iPads for my grandchildren – triplets can you believe it – in another AD store. The kind man there, the manager, carried my purchases to the car for me, but when I got home, I realised that I’d have to take it all on the train to Birmingham, where my daughter lives. Without bags, that will be a tad difficult.’

  ‘Oh, he didn’t offer to give you bags?’ The tone was one of surprise.

  ‘He offered, but I wasn’t thinking. I do hate having the recycle them, you see. It was my fault.’

  ‘Do you have a receipt?’

  She feigned surprise. ‘Oh, no. I’ve filed it away in my warranty drawer. I could go and get it, but it is such a long journey . . .’

  Observing her scratch her head in mock confusion, the boy gave her the benefit of the doubt. ‘Well, we’re not supposed to do this, but I suppose it will be okay just this once. How many bags do you need?’

  The wig had come loose with the scratching. If it moves too far forward my real hair will be visible from the back. And Jessica felt sure the security guard’s beady eyes were still boring into her back.

  ‘To fit three laptops and three iPads.’

  ‘Right.’

  Quickly yanking the wig backwards, and running a finger around the rim to ensure her real hair was fully encased, Jessica let herself take a few deep breaths of relief as the boy reached beneath the counter.

  Suddenly he popped his head up. ‘Three computers and three iPads? That’s a pricey purchase. They’re lucky kids.’

  He’d stopped rooting about for the bags. Heart thumping once more, Jessica thought quickly. ‘Oh, I got a little windfall recently, on the lotto. She has three boys and the triplets. Six children in all. How my daughter does it I’ll never know.’

  Accepting her words as fact, the boy fiddled beneath the counter and finally passed over a bag. ‘There you go. I’ve put two inside this one. There is also a couple of smaller ones for the iPads. Should fit it all.’

  ‘You are a very kind boy. You’ll go far in life.’

  ‘Thanks madam, have a good day.’ The boy was already looking at the next customer, who was impatiently tapping on the counter.

  When she got to the front door, the security guard stepped forward.

  ‘Can I check your bags, madam?’

  Bloody hell. The guard seemed far more suspicious than the boy at the counter. What if she started with the questions again?.

  Suddenly, a big group of school kids lurched in through the barriers and the guard reluctantly moved to stop them coming in with backpacks. Believing she was forgotten, Jessica slipped out.

  Moving slowly, in spite of the urge to run, Jessica walked away from AD, back to the bus stop, and finally, to the car park where her Fiat sat, baking in uncharacteristic sun.

  I did it.

  Removing the disguise in the car – something Frieda said not to do – she congratulated herself on a job well done. Of course, it was only the first part of the plan, but at least she was on the way to that much needed one thousand pounds.

  The feeling of confidence lasted until Jessica got home, and went to take the bags out of the car to hide them from Ronald and the kids. Halfway up the path, she heard a voice.

  ‘Excuse me?’ The voice sounded vaguely familiar. Thinking it was the son of her neighbour, she cast a glance next door. Nope. No one there.

  Then a horn bleeped, and there, standing on the other side of the street, was the AD store detective. Lean, tall and seemingly really, really pissed off. Seeing that he had her attention, he pressed his key fob, and the lights of his car flashed as they locked, illuminating his form as he strode towards her.

  ‘Aren’t you the . . .’

  ‘You know who I am.’ Up close, he was better looking than she recalled from the store. Not that how he looked should be a consideration. Pay attention. This could be serious.

  ‘What was with the old lady’s suit?’

  It took a moment to dredge up a suitable reply. And when it came, it was moronic. ‘Oh, I was dressed for a play. At my daughter’s school.’

  Why? Why say that? Idiot!

  The guard stared at her, disbelief clearly etched on his face. ‘And you chose to walk out in public as if
you were in the play?’

  ‘I like to get in character.’

  It was total bollocks and he knew it. Left eyebrow raised, he shook his head as he said, ‘Your daughter lives in Birmingham with six kids, doesn’t she? A bit old for school plays.’

  Great. He’d somehow spoken to the boy at the counter. How? When? AD was running a pretty slick operation.

  Thinking quickly, and not thoroughly, Jessica said, ‘That’s another daughter. I’m, um, going there tomorrow.’

  ‘You have two daughters, one with six kids? How old are you? Thirty? That must be a medical impossibility.’

  Shit. ‘They’re not hers . . . her husband had kids before they got married . . . and I had her young.’ Jessica tried to do the math as she spoke.

  The guard scowled. ‘Let’s have a little chat somewhere, shall we? What’s your name?’

  ‘You can’t make me tell you that. You’re not the police, and I haven’t done anything.’

  ‘So, let’s call the police, shall we? Ask them?’

  The kids were due to be picked up from school soon – there was no time to deal with being arrested. ‘No. That won’t be necessary. My name is Jessica Maroni.’

  ‘So, let’s talk, Jessica Maroni.’

  Not in my house. ‘There’s a pub about a mile down the road.’

  ‘Fine, see you there in a minute. I wouldn’t bother running off if I was you. I’ve got your numberplate and suspect this is your house.’

  ‘I haven’t done anything. My husband is a lawyer, you know. I am fairly confident you could get into trouble for this.’