PERSONAL FAVOUR

The Neve & Egan cases

a Short Story

Cristelle Comby

- ii -

Copyright © 2013 by Cristelle Comby

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious. Any resemblance

to actual events or real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All rights reserved.

No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission

in writing from Cristelle Comby.

Edition: 1

- 3 -

Autumn is one of my favourite seasons. From an artist’s point of view, it’s

almost perfect. The array of colours in the sky, the scattering of leaves across

pavements and grass, and the weather changes of rain and wind are a landscape

artist’s dream. It’s also great for portraits; I like drawing people bundled up from the

cold and the couples strolling through the park, hand in hand and kicking up leaves

as they walk.

The University College London is an endless supply of material for my

sketchbook, despite having attended only for about six weeks. I’m in love with the

architecture of the building, developing an eye for the beauty for such things

through my father’s taste for art. Sitting on one of the benches in the courtyard, I’m

idly sketching a girl seated on the grass, scarf wrapped tight around her neck, and

reading a book I recognise from my own Literature class. I have my own coat

wrapped tight around me, and my black converse are propped up on the bench seat,

keeping me as warm as possible in the early morning chill. My mother’s always

trying to get me to eat more, hoping I’ll fatten up enough that the chill won’t affect

me, not matter how many times I tell her that my lean stature is thanks to my father

and not through lack of food.

The walkways are littered with students of all races and ages, and as I let my

gaze wander across the grounds, I spot a group of girls I’m already familiar with.

They’re part of what I call the group of ‘rich kids’. They sit at the back of the lecture

theatres, paying more attention to their phones and each other than to the professor.

I turn back to my sketchbook as they pass, disinterested in the conversation that

washes over me. It’s seemingly self-centred and vapid nonsense, and it’s easy

enough to get deeply invested in my drawing. As I draw, my dark-brown hair falls

down around my face and I bite off a frustrated sigh, quickly drawing it into my

customary plait and tossing it behind my back.

‘Lexa!’ a familiar voice disturbs my concentration, and I set my pencil down.

I look up as my friend, Irina Anderson, peels away from the group of girls and

starts up the path towards me. I met Irina in my second week at the university when

she approached me while I was sketching. She proceeded to watch me for a while

and while I’d never had someone that interested in my work before, she was nice

- 4 -

enough. We were friends in that we didn’t really hang out all that often outside of

classes, but we sat together in lectures and exchanged numbers after that first

meeting. Irina and I were from completely different social groups, and she’s three

years younger than me, but I liked her and she seemed to enjoy the times we had

hung out together.

‘What’s up?’ I ask as she sits down next to me, almost immediately leaning over

to look at my work.

She rests her bag on the bench and tosses her blond hair over her shoulder with

a sigh. Irina’s pretty easy going and I haven’t seen her look irritated at much of

anything, so when she gives me a look that’s equal parts annoyance and concern, I

wonder what’s happened. ‘Someone stole my credit card.’

‘Call the police,’ I offer.

She shakes her head negatively. ‘I can’t tell my father, Lexa. He’ll go mad.’

I frown, I don’t know much about Irina’s father except that he’s a banker and she

has a slightly difficult relationship with him. She’s never offered up information and

I don’t ask. She’ll tell me if there’s anything to say. ‘Have you told anyone else?’

Irina shakes her head slowly. ‘Not yet. I need to discover what’s happened

before my father finds out.’

I’m confused. ‘And you’re telling me this why? I’m not sure what I can do.’

She flashes me a knowing smile. ‘You observe. You’re really good at it.’

I easily understand the true meaning of her words. This is a conversation we’ve

had before, usually in regards to me not always paying attention to what people say.

Somehow, I don’t think that’s what she’s alluding to right now, however. ‘So?’

‘You’re always looking at people, watching. You see things other people don’t.’

She shrugs, dislodging a lock of hair and re-tucking it behind her ear with a huff of

annoyance. ‘I can’t tell anyone else about this, not until I know who has my card.

Please, you’re my only hope.’

I let out a slow breath and tap my pencil idly against my notebook. What the hell

does she want me to do about it? I’m not a detective and I don’t know how to begin

finding a thief.

- 5 -

Irina reaches into her bag and pulls out some papers. ‘I want you to take a look

at something,’ she says, handing them over to me. ‘I think a female student stole it.’

I take the papers with a frown, but don’t look at them. I’m not even sure that I

really want to do this. I rest them in my lap and finally look into Irina’s eyes. She’s

watching me with an expression that I can’t decipher, but there’s something else in

her light blue eyes that makes me turn over the papers. I realise that they’re bank

statements and immediately try to return them to her. ‘I shouldn’t really—’

‘Please,’ she says, pushing them back. ‘Just take a look.’

Relenting, I scan over the first statement and frown. Most of the purchases are

from stores I recognise; independent boutiques from Selfridges, the Gucci store, and

various cosmetics outlets. Irina’s assumption is valid. The culprit is obviously a

female, most likely a fellow student. The only question is whether or not I wanted to

be the one to discover which one of them had done it. And how? ‘What makes you

think it’s a student and not somebody else?’

‘The last time I saw my credit card was when I went shopping at the weekend.

The only people I’ve seen since then have been at the university. It has to be

someone here, Lexa.’ She pauses. ‘It narrows it down, right?’ She gives me a look I

have a feeling I’m going to become accustomed to. ‘Will you help me?’

I look over the statement once more. I have no idea what I’m actually going to be

able to accomplish for her and when I say so out loud, she snorts unattractively and

nudges me with her elbow.

‘You’re an outsider. Not that I mean that in a bad way,’ she hurries to correct

when she sees the look on my face. ‘I just mean that it won’t be obvious that I’m

trying to find out who did this. If I start asking questions of my friends...’

She trails off, but I understand what she means. I can find out who did this much

easier than she can, although if it were me, I would just ask them outright. ‘None of

them even need your credit card,’ I say, looking over at the girls now settled on the

grass. ‘Are you sure it’s one of them?’

‘No,’ Irina says with a wry smile. ‘That’s why I need your help.’

The words needle and haystack come to mind, but I sigh and hand the

statements back to her. ‘Fine, I’ll help.’

- 6 -

‘Keep them.’ To my surprise, Irina leans over and hugs me, before pulling away

and grabbing her bag. ‘Thank you so much, Lexa.’

I nod, stuffing the bank statement into the side pocket of my own bag. ‘I only

meant that I’ll try. I might not even find anything.’

With a shrug, Irina stands. ‘I know. I appreciate that you’re going to try.’ She

turns on her heel and heads across the path to rejoin her friends.

Giving up on finishing my drawing, I gather up my things and make my way

across the courtyard, contemplating Irina’s request and how exactly I’m going to

discover who’s stolen her credit card. The problem, I realise quickly, is that there’s

no real place to start. I can’t just stroll into boutiques and shops, show them the bank

statement, and ask whether or not they remember the face of the person who came

to purchase items from the list. Not only would people refuse to take me seriously, it

would also take me forever to get through them all. I have only a bank statement

and the knowledge that these purchases were obviously made by a young female.

I’m still pondering the situation as I walk into my poetry class and take my seat.

I share the class with two of Irina’s friends, Stephanie Harvell and Lily Corrigan.

Neither of them seems particularly interested in the subject at hand, usually

spending most of the lessons passing notes and talking under their breath, but I

decide that now is a good time to start working on my special assignment. Lily is

conspicuously absent today, which is a surprise in itself. The two girls might not pay

as much attention as they should, but neither of them has ever missed a class before.

It wouldn’t be odd, but Lily once turned up with a fever and refused to go home. It

doesn’t bother me for long, and I tune back into the lecture and take notes. Every

now and then, I chance a glance at Stephanie, but without her partner-in-crime she

remains quiet and attentive.

The day passes quickly and I push Irina’s problem to the back of my mind while

I focus on my classes and take down the notes I’m going to need later in the term.

As I walk home that evening, I ponder which course of action I could take to

fulfil Irina’s request. I could watch her friends for anything that doesn’t make sense;

any obvious guilt or shame. I frown, as I realise that I don’t know them well enough

- 7 -

to know whether or not they’d be behaving unnaturally, I still have no clue what to

do, as I enter the flat and join my mother in the kitchen.

‘Is everything okay?’ she asks, as I sit opposite her at the table.

‘Just a uni problem,’ I say, trying not to worry her. She worries enough about me

as it is. I smile to give credence to my words. ‘It will pass.’

She nods. ‘They always do,’ she assures me. ‘I’m sure you’ll come up with a

solution.’

I’m grateful for her faith in me, but I’m still not sure I’m the right person for the

job. I may just have to give in and get Irina to go to someone with a better grasp of

things like this. It would involve telling her father, something I know she doesn’t

want to do and with what I know about him, I’m not that surprised.

I resolve to give it another try and keep watching Irina’s friends for the next

couple of days and hopefully something will come up. Who knows? She might be

right, maybe I’ll see something. If nothing turns up, I’ll speak to Irina and together

we can decide exactly what to do about the situation.

The college is exceptionally busy the next day and I’m forced to thread my way

through the students gathered in the corridor. I manage to make it into the canteen

at lunch and grab a tray from the stack. They’re serving the inevitable industrial

food that appeals, or doesn’t, to everyone, and I take it outside with the intention of

leaving most of it behind. My mother’s always complaining that I don’t eat enough,

but if she saw the food they had on offer at the UCL, she probably wouldn’t eat it

either. It’s not completely terrible, it just conforms to the usual canteen standards

you’d expect anywhere. I sit at one of the tables and push my food around the plate,

deciding that now’s a good a time as any to sketch something else while I wait.

There are enough students around the campus for me to get some fresh

inspiration for a drawing, and I’m half way through a sketch when a shrill voice

drifts from a few tables over.

‘Isn’t it beautiful?’

I look up from my dinner and sketchbook to see Stephanie Harvell showing off a

new top to Lily. They’re both seated and eating what looks like a salad. Between

- 8 -

them. Stephanie has the blouse spread out on a plastic bag, and Lily’s looking over it

with an expression that borders on envy. It’s not unusual for them to buy new

clothes and they’re always coming in with a shopping bag from some pricy store.

Lily sounds almost wistful when she says, ‘It’s gorgeous. Where did you get it? I

thought your father had cut you off.’

I frown, remembering my quest to find the mysterious thief who stole Irina’s

card. Stephanie had been cut off by her father? Where had she got the money to buy

new clothes? Was this it? Had I just resolved the case?

There’s an hesitation before Stephanie answers, ‘My mum loaned me some

money until Dad wakes up and realises that me having a credit card isn’t the

greatest crime.’

My enthusiasm sags — evidently, it couldn’t have been that easy. Stephanie’s

explanation sounds... plausible, but I store the information — and the hesitation —

away for consideration.

I turn back to my sketchbook, but look up again when Lily lets out a small

exclamation. She’s holding the blouse flush against her body, standing next to the

bench and she does a small twirl. I frown in incomprehension. The blouse doesn’t

seem all that spectacular, and I have no idea why Lily’s viewing it with such

enthusiasm. I don’t think I will ever understand these girls.

‘You’ll have to tell me where you bought it,’ she says, smoothing it down her

body. ‘I think I’d like to get one.’

Stephanie grins and puts the top back in the boutique bag — some store from

Oxford Street, if memory serves — and the two of them leave the benches and make

their way back to the university. I narrow my eyes, as I look down at my half-

finished sketch, and wonder what to think about the girls’ display.

I finish my food, and then swivel around on the bench, taking a moment to kick

at the leaves as I look around the campus. From where I’m sitting I can see Irina and

the rest of her friends sitting outside the door to the Literature block, and I watch

them. No sudden clue jumps up at me, but a lot can be learned from seeing how

Irina’s friends interact with her. I find that none of them seem particularly guilty,

surely a thief would act cagey and show signs of nervousness, right? Then again, on

- 9 -

second thought, I realise that I’ve never taken the time to count how many friends

Irina has and that I have no way of knowing if they’re all present.

Stephanie joins the group, dropping down onto the grass and immediately

fitting into the conversation as if she had never been sitting apart. Lily isn’t with her,

so I can only assume that she left at some point. It’s Stephanie I have my attention

on, however, and as she sits down, she brings out her blouse once again and I roll

my eyes. The enthusiasm these girls have for clothing is something that I will never

understand. I’m happy enough in my converse trainers and jeans. I don’t overly care

about my appearance, but I like to be comfortable when I do.

Everyone fawns over the blouse for a minute, and Stephanie seems to revel in

their attention. When she puts the blouse back in her bag, I keep my eye on her and

study her interactions with Irina; she seems a little reserved, and doesn’t meet Irina’s

eyes once during their conversation. It can be a sign of guilt, I know, and I add that

to my list of clues. I need to know more about Stephanie, and resolve to ask Irina

about her later. I keep watching them from afar until the time for my next lecture

comes.

I sit up, realising that I need to make a little stop beforehand.

As I push open the door to the ladies toilets in the east corridor, I see Lily

hurrying out of one of the cubicles, wrestling her way into a new sweater. There’s a

tag still hanging down the back and as she pulls it off, she looks up to see me

standing in the doorway. ‘Oh, hey.’

‘Hi,’ I say, opening one of the cubicle doors. I keep my eyes discreetly on her as I

shut the door, and see the bag she stuffs into the bin by the sinks, Prada. She’s

obviously just bought it and wants to wear it straight away. I snort inwardly, as I

lock the door and I try to imagine Stephanie’s reaction. After washing my hands, I

hurry back in the hallways. It’s almost time for history class and I don’t want to be

late for that. It’s one of my favourites.

The subject is interesting, of course, but I also like the professor. Most of the

students, for whatever reason they’ve decided upon this week, don’t like Ashford

Egan very much. He’s the hardest professor to get along with, mostly because he

spends a lot of the lecture sitting behind his desk, observing the class. You wouldn’t

- 10 -

think that he could, considering he’s the only blind professor in the university. It’s

not observing in your usual sense, of course, but it must be true what they say about

your other senses getting better. He can hear exceptionally well; stopping students

from texting, or mumbling under their breath. He also calls some out on behaviour

nobody else will have noticed. It’s impressive.

The other students’ penchant for giving Egan the worst monikers is a little at

odds with how much attention they pay to the subjects he teaches. It has a lot to do

with his enthusiasm for the subject. He doesn’t seem like it outside of class. Professor

Egan isn’t really what you could call a people person; he’s cold and a little strange,

and seems distant when he speaks to you outside of class. If he does. I don’t know

why I find him so fascinating to listen to when he could easily be considered one of

the least friendly people I’ve ever met. Then again, I’m not exactly the easiest person

to get along with.

I’m only half paying attention to the subject at hand, distracted by the things I’d

overheard Stephanie saying by the benches. Had her mother really lent her the

money? I know my mother would never do such a thing. She’d tell me that I have

enough clothes in my closet already. Had Stephanie lied to her friend then? Is she

the thief? Porca vacca! Why is this so difficult? It shouldn’t be that hard to find

someone acting cagey and weird around their friend when they’ve stolen something.

I don’t realise I’m muttering under my breath until I look up to see that

Professor Egan’s attention is directed straight at me. I expect him to frown at me, but

instead his mouth quirks into an almost smile. It’s an odd look to wear when you’ve

caught one of your students in the act of doing something they really shouldn’t be

when they’re attending a lecture. I’m expecting a call out, but he just turns back to

the lesson at hand and I stare at the back of his ginger head. I make an effort to keep

my thoughts to myself for the remainder of the hour.

With the lesson over, I put my things back in my bag and hurry out of the

classroom. My first instinct is to find Irina and tell her what I’ve found out so far, but

I know that I need to be sure before I accuse anybody. Stalking Stephanie in the

corridors of the university sounds creepy and weird, but I’m not above using that as

a final option. I surprise myself to realise that I’m now caught in the game and quite

- 11 -

determined to find out who stole the card. I’m on a case, it would seem, and

Stephanie is my prime suspect at the moment.

I’m so lost in thought that, as I turn on my heel, I almost run smack into

Professor Egan who’s making his way down the corridor with his customary white

cane in hand. ‘Gosh, sorry,’ I say, clear enough that he can hear me.

‘Ah,’ he says, raising his eyebrows, as he smoothes down imaginary creases on

his navy blue turtleneck pullover. ‘Would that be the dulcet tones of Alexandra

Neve?’

‘Uh,’ I start, and then nod. Realising that he won’t be able to see, I hurry to say,

‘Yes, it is.’

I move to the side, and expect him to just walk forward, but he seems content to

remain where he is. ‘You took a lot from my lecture today, I hope?’ he asks.

I flush, fully aware that he knows I wasn’t paying complete attention. ‘I did.’ He

frowns at my reply and I add, ‘I’m a little distracted at the moment.’

‘So I heard,’ he says, with a tilt to his lips that could almost be a smile. It reminds

me of the one he gave me in the classroom and I’m irritated; what the hell is his

problem?

‘Is there anything else, Professor? I really have to get home,’ I say, trying to back

away. Something about his expression shifts, then, but I don’t have time to analyze

what it means.

He nods quickly. ‘Of course. Have a good day, Miss Neve.’

He turns his back on me and leaves. I watch him go, shaking my head

incredulously. Bloody hell, I feel guilty and have no idea why; I haven’t said

anything particularly nasty or rude to him, but for a moment it looked as though he

was sad about something. I keep watching until he’s turned the corner and can’t

help but wonder a little about Ashford Egan. Goodness knows there are many layers

to people, but so far I hadn’t considered Professor Egan as anything other than the

cold and aloof persona he presents. Perhaps I was wrong. That realisation makes me

wonder if I may be wrong about Stephanie as well.

I take the Tube home, like I usually do, and open the door to the apartment I

share with my mother in Hackney. I can hear her in the kitchen as I make my way

- 12 -

through to my bedroom, dropping my bag just inside the door and then poke my

head around the kitchen door. ‘Hi, Mum.’

‘Lexa, darling.’ I take a seat at the table, resting my black converse on the seat

across the table, and let my mother’s voice wash over me as she talks about her day.

‘— and she came in to collect her order, and then she thanked me and we started

talking. She told me how she was having to be careful with her money now, and she

looked sad. I can understand. It must be hard to come from money like that and then

have nothing. But she is a lovely lady. Mrs. Corrigan, I think her name was. It was

on the order slip.’

I immediately tune back in to what my mother is saying. ‘Did you say Mrs.

Corrigan?’

My mother nods, and continues to chop onions, pushing them to the end of the

board. ‘Yes. She came in looking for new shoes. I think we met her once at your

University? During orientation.’

I do remember seeing Lily there, but not what her mother looked like. It helped

to know, however.

My mother shakes her head and drops the knife in the sink. ‘It was odd, though.’

‘Why?’ I’m intrigued. Whatever she has to say about Lily’s mother could be

helpful.

‘You know I don’t like to cast aspersions on people,’ my mother chastises, but

she continues anyway. ‘She had the manner of someone who isn’t—’

‘—used to shopping in shops like yours?’ I say, grinning. My mother throws a

piece of onion at me and I catch it in the air and pop it into my mouth.

‘Well, yes,’ my mother continues eventually. ‘Oh, and I meant to tell you. The

shop next to ours has a vacancy and I thought of you.’

I have no intention of getting a job at the moment. I’ve only just started

university and I don’t have the time. When I climb into bed that night, I wonder

about Lily. Her absences from university, the envy she always seems to have around

other students, the hurried changing in the toilets, and now someone who could

very well be her mother shopping in some regular, affordable stores. They weren’t

the hallmarks one would usually associate with one of Irina’s friends; the ones who

- 13 -

came from money and didn’t need to do the things I’d caught Lily doing over the

past few days. With a pleased smile, I mentally rearrange my suspect’s list,

awarding Lily the first place. If only I could find some kind of proof that Lily is the

one who stole the card. I have none.

I have to get some.

Following someone isn’t as uncomfortable and creepy as I would have thought.

The next day, as I follow Lily home, I keep telling myself that this is for Irina;

someone is stealing from her and she asked me to find out whom. If it isn’t Lily, I

can reconcile that with myself later, but for now I have to know for sure whether or

not she is the one who stole Irina’s credit card.

It’s easy enough to follow her home. She isn’t taking cabs like most of her

friends, instead she takes the Tube. I follow her onto the platform of Euston Square

station and sit on one of the benches. I keep a few people between us so that she

won’t notice me, not that I think she’d recognise me if she did, but it’s a precaution.

When she steps on to the next train, I jog over to the doors she’s just entered and

squeeze my way between a couple. I keep Lily in sight as I lean against the glass

partition. She’s sitting next to a businessman tapping away on a Blackberry and she

looks down at his phone briefly, looking wistful. It’s an expression I’ve seen on her

face a lot lately and it fits with everything I already know.

Lily’s acting as though she doesn’t have the money she once did, and putting

that together with what my mother said about Mrs. Corrigan, I wonder if perhaps

someone in her family is ill. I know what that can be like, having lost my father at a

young age, and my heart goes out to her. If she’s stolen the card, I’ll act accordingly,

but that doesn’t mean I have to stop being a decent human being about somebody

else’s problems. If they are problems.

As we pull into Tower Gateway, Lily stands and heads for the doors. This

station makes no sense. I don’t know her home address, but there’s no way it can be

anywhere near here. I’m curious as to her destination now and careful to keep Lily

in sight as she makes her way towards the District line. I keep on her heels right up

until we exit at Barking, a district known for being cheap and a little bit rough. As

- 14 -

soon as we step outside of the station into the cutting wind, Lily digs into her bag for

her phone. Unlike the iPhone I had seen her using on the grass this morning, she

pulls out an old phone that looks a lot like mine. She frowns at it an instant, then,

after the push of a button, she presses it to her ear.

I keep on her heels as she walks, hoping to catch some of the conversation. I hug

my jacket closer, making sure my scarf is tight around my neck as a gust of wind

almost blows me over. Lily seems oblivious as she says, ‘Hi, Mum, sorry I missed

your call. I was on the Tube; I’m on my way home.’

That settles it; for whatever reason, Lily now lives in Barking. I add this new

detail to the long list of things that don’t make sense, confident that understanding

will come soon. As we make our way down George Street, Lily seems to fold in on

herself, almost as if she’s trying to make herself smaller.

‘Tell Dad I won’t be late, I promise. We can talk about it when I get there.’ Lily

lets out a small, watery laugh and I wish I could see her face. ‘No Mum, I have

enough credit on my phone. I’d just rather talk to him face-to-face, it’s all.’

Lily needs credit on her phone? I don’t have the money she and her friends do,

and I can afford a contract phone. I wonder how bad things have really become for

Lily that she needs to do that. I also wonder why she carries around an iPhone still if

she can’t use it.

‘Okay. I’ll see you later. Love you too, bye.’ Lily hangs up the phone and slips it

into her bag, swiping at her a face a little as she does so. We end up walking for a

little while longer and while the neighbourhood isn’t awful, it’s a total step down

from what I’m used to seeing from the girls that hang out with Lily and Irina. They

don’t look like the kind of people that are used to ‘slumming it’ in Barking with the

lower classes.

We come to a small cul-de-sac of red-bricked houses with gardens slightly

overgrown and kids’ toys littering the lawns. I hang out at the corner as Lily enters

the gate of one nearer the road and I frown as a middle-aged woman appears and

envelops Lily in a hug. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but I assume that this is

Lily’s mother; and this is Lily’s house. I turn away from what I’ve learned and make

my way back to Barking station.

- 15 -

Before talking to Irina, I decide to confront Lily knowing that it’s better to be on

neutral ground, I approach her at university the next day, cornering her in the

bathroom. ‘I need to speak to you.’

‘You’re Alexandra, right?’ She frowns a little. ‘Um, what do you want to talk

about?’

‘I know what you did,’ I say, holding her elbow. ‘I think you should come clean.’

‘I don’t—’Lily starts, before snapping her mouth shut. She looks resolved, but

I’m just as stubborn when I want to be and glare at her.

‘You do,’ I counter. ‘I know you stole Irina’s card.’

Lily’s face visibly pales and her resolve falters.

‘I don’t know why.’

‘Look,’ she says, wrenching her elbow out of my grasp. ‘I have class. Can we

meet somewhere later to talk?’

I agree to meet Lily at the Pescoti restaurant near the university. It’s a little more

classy than I usually like to frequent with someone I didn’t even consider a friend,

but it helps to make a point — something I’ve always been good at.

As I enter the restaurant, after my last class, a waiter greets me and leads me to a

seat close to the windows. I order a drink, but don’t bother ordering one for Lily.

We’re not friends and I’m not all that sure I’ll like what she says to me.

‘Alexandra?’

Lily has her red hair hanging loosely about her shoulders, which are sagging a

little. She’s nervous, I realise, and with good reason. I nod and wait for her to sit

down. ‘Are you sure you can afford this?’

It’s mean and not like me to be that way with someone I don’t know, but she

stole Irina’s credit card and I’m not feeling charitable enough to let her off the hook.

Lily shrugs and sets her pricy leather bag down on the floor beside her chair.

‘You must think I’m an awful person.’

‘Not really,’ I say and realise it is true. ‘I think you did something awful. There’s

a difference.’

- 16 -

‘I disagree.’ Lily looks disgusted with herself. ‘What I did was awful and it

makes me a terrible person.’

Well, at least she’s admitting to it. I don’t bother to agree or disagree with her,

that’s not what I’m here for. My curiosity gets the better of me, despite how much

I’ve already discovered, and I lean across the table. ‘Why did you do it?’

Lily plays with the napkin on the table and lets out a soft sigh. ‘My father lost his

job. We had to leave our house, cancel our holidays. I didn’t want to lose my friends

as well.’ She shrugs a little and then looks at me. ‘Have you ever wanted to fit in so

badly that you’ll do anything?’

‘No,’ I say, and it’s true. I could never resort to stealing to remain friends with

someone. ‘If they really like you for you, they won’t care how much money you

have.’

The laugh when it comes is a little deprecating. ‘It must be so nice to be you.’ She

bats her mascara-coated lashes at me. ‘If you have friends, I’m sure they’re nothing

like mine.’

‘I have friends,’ I point out. ‘Irina is one of them. She would have liked you no

matter what happened.’

I don’t have to point out that she’s friends with me, but I can see that Lily is

considering that. She sits up a little straighter in her chair. ‘Are you going to tell

her?’

I nod, and Lily looks resigned, as though she already knew the answer.

‘I really didn’t mean to hurt her.’

Despite how I feel about Lily’s actions, I believe her on that. I know desperation

can push people to extreme decisions. I also know there always comes a time when

they have to face the consequences of those decisions.

We sit in silence for a little while longer and I’m considering leaving when Lily

picks up her bag again and roots around for something inside. She retrieves a credit

card — Irina’s probably — and places it on the table.

I find myself considering Lily’s position and remember what my mother said

about the job vacancy in town.

- 17 -

Lily slides Irina’s credit card across the table to me. ‘Here. Tell her that I’m

sorry?’

‘You can do that yourself,’ I take the card and place it securely into my coat

pocket.

After a brief hesitation, I tell her about the job. ‘You should look into it,’ I offer.

‘It would be a legal way to get cash if you’re so desperate to keep the friends you

already have.’

With that said, I grab my bag from the chair and throw some money on the table

for my drink. I leave Lily alone to ponder whatever it is she’s going to do now. I

have a credit card to return to its rightful owner.

I have to take a cab to get to the Anderson’s Estate in the north of London. I text

Irina on the way and she’s there to greet me as I arrive. She leads me into her

bedroom and I take my customary seat at the end of her bed, crossing my legs and

resting my bag between them. I don’t waste any time handing back her credit card.

‘You found it?’ Irina runs a finger over the card and then turns an expression on

me that’s thankful, curious and demanding all at once. ‘Who had it?’

I tell her everything — from the small observations I had made about Lily, to me

following her home and how everything added up to her taking the card.

‘You’re a regular detective,’ Irina says with a devious smile.

As if. I laugh and shake my head. ‘I don’t think so. It was easy enough to

discover if you knew where to look.’

‘I didn’t.’ I have a feeling that Irina’s pointed look is supposed to mean

something, but I ignore it. I was doing a favour for a friend, there’s nothing else

there to consider. ‘What are you going to do about Lily?’

Irina shrugs and looks torn. ‘I don’t know. She stole from me, but I still—’ she

trails off, but I understand. ‘I’ll tell my father that I bought those things. He’ll be mad

for awhile, but he’ll forget it soon enough.’

I raise both eyebrows, it’s more generous than I would have been, under the

circumstances. ‘Well you don’t have to worry about that right now,’ I say. ‘You

wanna catch a movie?’

Irina grins and grabs her bag from the dresser.

- 18 -

I may not have achieved some great feat by finding Irina’s credit card and I

meant what I said; this was just a personal favour.

The end.